Why was the holy temple in Jerusalem destroyed by the Romans? The answer is quite simple, the Jewish people hated each other without reason.

Why do we hate other people? Because we think we know everything about them — who they are, why they do what they do. Parents think, “These are my children, so I know what’s going on with them.” But sadly enough, much of the time we’re totally wrong…

We so misjudge each other. That’s why the Torah says that if we hate people, or even if we’re only angry — we have to try to find a way to tell them, to talk to them about it. Because really, it might only be a misunderstanding.

Sometimes we meet people who seem to us a little bit crude, a little bit impure — certainly not holy. So we want to ignore and shun them. Sadly, the truth is, we have no idea what a person might be doing when we’re not looking. The rabbis teach us that, even when we see others doing wrong, we have to believe that in the inside of their insides they’re really the holy and deserving of the gifts of heaven.

Everybody is created in G-d’s Image. What does this mean? That just as G-d is so hidden and mysterious — just as we can’t see G-d — so too we can’t really know what’s going on in the depths of other people. And unless we love them with all our hearts, we’ll never know…So we have to remember: don’t ever judge. Because you never know…

Many years ago, in the city of Częstochowa, the Jewish people were good and tried their best to keep Shabbos (the Sabbath day) and ate only kosher food. They all prayed three times a day. The tailor, the schneider Yossele never went to the synagogue or to buy kosher meat. He never joined others in their community gatherings. The only place people ever saw him was in the local inn late at night, drunk. So Yossele was a total outcast.

Sadly, if people’s clothes were torn they had to go to him; after all, he was the only tailor in town. Other than that, nobody ever spoke to him. And nobody cared about him at all.

One day, after the morning prayers, the holy rabbi of Częstochowa saw that a crowd of people had gathered in a corner of the shul. The chevra kadisha (burial society) was trying to gather some people together for something, but nobody wanted to join. The holy rabbi hurried over: “What’s going on here?”

The leader of the chevra kadisha looked embarrassed. “It’s nothing, holy rabbi. Don’t bother yourself about it.”

The rabbi insisted: “Tell me. I want to know.”

“Well … it’s just that that disgusting Shiker Shneider (drunken Jewish tailor), and he was really the lowest of the low — died today, and nobody wants to go to the funeral.”

The holy rabbi stared at the chevra kadisha. “I didn’t know there were any disgusting Jewish people in Częstochowa,” he said coldly. “Just who in our city is considered so unworthy that no one will do the mitzvah of accompanying him to his final resting place?”

So they told him, “Yossele the di Shiker Shneider…”

The holy rabbi turned very pale. The people around him were afraid he might faint. To everybody’s amazement, he started crying from the deepest depths of his heart. “I can’t believe it,” he sobbed. .. My dearest friend, the tailor, has left the world!

What time is his funeral? I, for one, will certainly be there…”

Word quickly spread throughout Częstochowa that the holy rabbi was going to the funeral of Yossele the schneider Now, everybody knew that the rabbi never went to a funeral unless it was for a tzaddik, a holy man. So many began to think maybe Yossele hadn’t been just a tailor; he had been a lamed-vov tzaddik, one of the thirty-six hidden holy people. And suddenly everybody wanted to go to his funeral.

So the Jewish community of Częstochowa turned out for Yossele’s funeral. Everybody was praying, “Tailor, please forgive us for the way we talked about you. We didn’t know you were so holy… Schneider, please bless us…” The mothers were begging, “Holy Yossele, please pray for our children … please bless my daughter so she can get married to a good husband…” Everyone was crying. The holy rabbi walked right behind the casket, with big tears rolling down his holy cheeks.

Many young students of the holy rabbi also went to the funeral. They remained quiet and paid their respects, but after the funeral was over he went up to their holy teacher and asked, “Rabbi, what’s going on here? The tailor was just a simple man, maybe even a little bit sinful. So tell us the truth. Why did you mourn him so much? What did he do to deserve such a funeral?”

“My students, we know so little about other people. Let me tell you the story…”

Do you remember the orphan girl, Feigele, who grew up in my house? My wife and I adopted her when she was only a baby, and took care of her like she was our own daughter. Well, six months ago she was ready to get married. So we arranged a match for her with another orphan — a good boy, from a nearby city. We borrowed money from every single person we know to make her a beautiful wedding. The wedding was a few weeks ago. And just minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start, Feigele’s groom came running up to me and said, “Rabbi, there’s something you forgot! You didn’t buy me a new tallis, a new prayer shawl.” You know, it’s the custom for the bride to give her groom a new prayer shawl.

I said, “You’re right. But please have mercy! I just can’t get you a new prayer shawl right now. A tallis costs ten rubles, and not only don’t I have a single kopek left — I don’t even know anybody I can borrow the money from. Let me get it for you in a few weeks.”

The groom began to cry. “Rabbi,” he begged. “Everybody will laugh at me if I don’t have a new tallis.”

I knew he was right. And he had nobody else in the world but me. How could I refuse him? So I said, “Okay, I’ll do my best. Wait here, maybe G-d will open the gates for me.”

I started walking down the street, trying to think of someone — anyone — from whom I could get the money for the tallis. I didn’t know where to go or what to do, so I decided that I’d just go up to the first house with a light on and ask for the money. As I walked, I saw a light in a window, so I just went right up to the house and knocked on the door. It was the tailor’s house.

When Yossele opened the door and saw me standing there, his face lit up with joy. “Rabbi, I never dreamed you’d come to visit me. It’s such an honor … I know I don’t deserve it … thank you for coming. You know, I’d do anything for you…”

“Gentle tailor, You know, the orphan Feigele is getting married tonight. And I need ten rubles to buy a new prayer shawl for her groom.”

The tailor’s face fell. “Oy, Rabbi,” he almost whispered. “I wish I could help you, but you know how poor I am.” And I did know. Then he said slowly “But, I think I could give you one ruble.”

I smiled at him. “Schneider,” I said. “Thank you so much for whatever you can do. May the Master of the World bless you with everything.”

The tailor gave me the one ruble, and I left. I still didn’t know where to get the rest of the money but somehow I felt lighter. I had so much more hope. I was walking slowly down the street, wondering where else to go, when suddenly I heard someone running after me. I stopped and waited. It was the tailor. And as he came up beside me, I saw that he was crying like his heart was broken.

“Yossele!,” I exclaimed. “What hurts you so much? How can I help you?”

“Rabbi, G-d knows how poor I am. But from time to time I’ve managed to save a few kopeks, and now I have nine rubles that I have saved. Holy Master, it’s my whole life’s savings. But if I gave it all to you … if I gave you all of my money now … do you think…” and he started crying so hard he could hardly speak. “… Do you think that I might … that maybe I could … have a place in the World to Come?”

I put my hands on Yossele’s head, and I said, “Holy Tailor, I know how poor you are, I really do. But Feigele is waiting, her groom is waiting — for them every minute is an eternity. If you do this great mitzvah and give all your money to me now, it will be because of you that their wedding will take place. And I swear to you by the G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, by the G-d of our Four Holy Mothers, that you will have a place in the World to Come…”

“And so, I went to Yossele’s funeral. And I cried as I walked behind his coffin. Because I could see that his soul was wrapped in the tallis he had bought with his last ten rubles for the groom of the orphan Feigele.”

You know, we think we’re so observant. We trust so much in what we see. But the truth is, if we only see with our eyes, we’re sometimes totally blind. Because we can’t penetrate to the deepest depths. Can we ever see in what kind of prayer shawl other people’s souls are wrapped?

We need to look at each other in a different way, not only with our eyes, but also with our hearts. And most of all we have to remember: no matter how wise we think we are, we never know.

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

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