Someone once asked Rav Meir Premishlan, “I have an enemy who looks for ways to make my life difficult. He taunts me, he robs me, he bothers my children. He creates opportunities to shame me and destroy me. What can I do about him?”

“Go over to your enemy and make peace with him,” Rav Meir advised.

“How do I do that?” the man wondered. “He hates me. We’ve hated each other for years.”

“Let me tell you a story,” Rav Meir replied. “And the story will answer your question.”

This was the story he relayed.

***

Rav Meir possessed ruach hakodesh, and he was not hesitant to display his heavenly knowledge. Unlike many other tzaddikim, who hide their ruach hakodesh other than on very rare occasions, Rav Meir would speak out exactly what he knew. This bothered both laymen, who were sometimes insulted by the things he said, and by other tzaddikim, who felt that ruach hakodesh was supposed to be kept hidden.

Despite the public opposition to his practice of speaking ruach hakodesh, Rav Meir was firm in his opinion that what he was doing was correct. He felt that he was doing it purely for the sake of Heaven, to bring people closer to teshuvah and Hashem, and that his actions were completely justified.

One of the sages who was staunchly outspoken in his disagreement with Rav Meir over ruach hakodesh was the great tzaddik Rav Yehudah Hersh. Rav Yehuda Hersh was a brilliant talmid chacham and a mohel, and he vehemently opposed Rav Meir’s standing on this matter. Needless to say, there were soon large teams of followers backing up both sides, escalating the conflict.

There was one man, whom we’ll call Pinchas, who desperately wanted peace, and he brainstormed for a way to lower the levels of friction and bring the two tzaddikim back together. When he had a baby boy, he decided to use the opportunity to bring his plan to fruition.

First, he arranged for Rav Yehudah Hersh to serve as the mohel. Then he asked Rav Meir to act as sandek.  Both agreed, not dreaming that the other would be in the same room, and Pinchas promised to pick them up on his wagon to bring them to the bris. On principle, the two gedolim never spoke to each other, but now, thanks to Pinchas’s maneuvering, they would be at the bris together.

Figuring out the logistics proved to be a complicated task for Pinchas. For a long time, he deliberated about who he would pick up first. After a while, he decided to pick up Rav Yehuda Hersh first. He reasoned that with Rav Yehuda Hersh’s stern, powerful personality, he might refuse to enter the wagon if he saw Rav Meir sitting there. Rav Meir, on the other hand, was full of smiles and good cheer, and he would surely agree to come along even with Rav Yehuda Hersh present. 

On the morning of the bris, Pinchas drove by Rav Yehuda Hersh’s house to pick up his mohel. “I’ll just make another quick stop to pick up the sandek,” he told the sage as he turned his horse in the direction of Rav Meir’s home.

Rav Yehuda Hersh nodded agreeably, still completely in the dark about Pinchas’s plans. But when the wagon pulled up in front of Rav Meir’s home and the tzaddik emerged, he turned his face away. It was clear that he was displeased, even angry, at Pinchas’s scheme.

Rav Meir entered the wagon and saw Rav Yehuda Hersh. The two had never been alone together, and he realized that this was an opportunity, once and for all, to make peace with the Torah giant sitting stonily in the wagon opposite him. Leaving the door of the wagon open, he took his seat and decided to say a story. Whoever wanted could listen, and if Rav Yehuda Hersh desired to tune him out, that, too was within his rights.

“By the Spanish Inquisition,” Rav Meir began, “There were many challenges and much suffering. Anyone who did not betray his yiddishkeit and accept a foreign faith was expelled from the land. They had to leave all their riches, their money and land, their respectable proffesions and loyal servants. They were forced to start over as penniless refugees in a strange new country.

“There were those who were not willing to give up their powerful positions and comfortable lifestyles, and they resolved to live hiddenly as Jews while outwardly displaying themselves as Christians. While some of them managed to retain their Jewish practices, their children and grandchildren were lost to the Jewish people forever.

“In one case, there was a Jew who held a very influential position in the king’s court. At the time of the Spanish Expulsion, he converted to Christianity while secretly clinging to his true heritage. After his conversion, he continued serving the king as a trusted advisor until the day when he took ill.

“The king was terribly afraid of losing such a dedicated and wise advisor, and he deployed the best doctors to the ill man’s bedside, hoping they would manage to nurse him back to health. But alas, it seemed that the advisor would not make it, and the doctors informed the king that his end was near.

“With the advisor on the threshold of death, the bishop was summoned to perform dying rites at his bedside. As he performed his rituals, the bishop was astounded to note that the dying man, who was barely lifeless, turned his head away. At that moment, he realized that the advisor had not truly converted, as it had appeared, but had remained steadfast to the faith of his fathers.

After making sure that the room was empty, the bishop leaned over the dying man, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad,” he whispered. “I, too, am a Jew. Just like you. And I will help you repent before you die.”

With difficulty, the advisor managed to ask the bishop to ensure that he was brought to kever Yisrael after his passing. Then, together, the two of them recited Shema, and with that, the advisor passed away.

Rav Meir turned to Rav Yehuda Hersh. “Like those two back in Spain, the two of us are here to serve Hashem. You serve Him one way, and I do it differently. But we are both flying under the same flag. If we both believe in Hashem, then we are on the same team. Let’s not oppose each other. Let’s serve Him together!”

Rav Yehuda Hersh turned around and gave Rav Meir his hand. “Shalom Aleichem,” he said warmly.

Together, the two gedolim went to the bris. Together, they brought another child into the covenant of Avraham Avinu. And together, they taught the entire assemblage the meaning of peace.

Sometime thereafter, Rav Yehuda Hersh’s daughter took ill. He sent a messenger to Rav Meir to request a brachah. In response, Rav Meir sent back his leftover Havdalah wine. “If she drinks it, she will have a refuah sheleimah,” he instructed, and indeed, that is what happened.

***

Rav Meir Premishlan turned to the man who’d asked him advice on how to make peace. “You must live a life of joy and not allow the small things to damper your enthusiasm for life. That will enable you to love your fellow man, to be nice to your fellow Jews, even your enemies, which will ultimately lead to peace.

For those who are happy with themselves and happy with those around them will lead truly joyous lives.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!

This story is taken from tape #TG92