Reb Zemira lived in the times of the Tenaim, a few generations before the Zohar Hakadosh. In those days, donkeys were a common mode of transportation, used for getting from one destination to the next. Reb Zemira, too, owned a donkey, which he rode whenever he needed to travel.

On one occasion, Reb Zemira was riding his donkey along the winding roads, on his way to his destination, his mind completely engrossed in the sugya he was currently learning. His mind was so preoccupied with Torah that he did not notice when his donkey veered off the road and wandered off in whichever direction it chose.

When Reb Zemira finally took notice of his surroundings, he realized that he was completely lost. He was in a desert, surrounded by miles and miles of sand dunes, the glaring sun baking him from overhead. He had no idea where he was and which direction would lead him back home. He peered around in all directions, but found no hints or clues pointing him in the correct direction.

Meanwhile, the donkey trotted on through the desert, with a helpless Reb Zemira on its back. As much as Reb Zemira tried steering the donkey in other directions, it ignored its rider and continued on its own path.

They rode through the broiling desert, with no identifiable landmarks in sight, and soon a mountain loomed before them. Reb Zemira could see smoke coming up from the mountain, and he suddenly felt like he was extremely close to Gehinnom. He realized that Hashem had led the donkey off the road just to bring him to this frightening place.

At last, they saw another figure up ahead, and when they came closer, Reb Zemira identified the man as an Arab. “Please help me,” he called to the Arab. “I’m lost. Can you show me the way out of here?”

“You can’t leave yet,” the Arab responded. “You are here for a reason. Follow me.”

He led Reb Zemira and the donkey to a deep crack in the ground. From within the crack, Reb Zemira heard terrible shouting. “Please stop!” the voices were screaming in pain. “Please stop! We regret what we did!”

“What’s going on?” Reb Zemira asked the Arab, cringing from the sounds.

“This is one of the cracks of Gehinnom,” the Arab explained. “You’re hearing the sounds of people screaming in pain.”

Reb Zemira had trouble stomaching the terrible yelling, and he looked around desperately. “Show me the way out of here!” he cried.

“No, it’s important for you to hear this,” the Arab said firmly.

But the sounds of people in excruciating anguish was too much for Reb Zemira to bear, and so he began to run away. However, after just a few feet of running, he fell to the ground, exhausted from the unbearable heat and the difficult experience, and promptly fell asleep.

As he slept, he saw a man stepping up out of the crack in the ground. He approached Reb Zemira with a beseeching expression on his face. “Please, help me,” he begged.

“Who are you?” Reb Zemira asked him.

“I don’t remember my name,” the man responded. The terrible fright of Gehinnom had caused him, like it does to many others, to forget his name.

“Why are you in Gehinnom?” Reb Zemira asked him.

“In my lifetime, I was a butcher,” the man explained. “I sold cuts of beef to my fellow Jews, all under the label of perfect kashrus. However, in truth, the meat I sold was treif. I did this because treif meat was cheaper for me to obtain, and so it increased my profits significantly, but my love of money caused an entire community of Jews to eat non-kosher meat unknowingly.

“After I passed away, I began to suffer for my actions. Every day, three times a day, I am placed in front of ferocious dogs, and they eat me apart. The pain is unbearable. After the dogs devour me, limb by excruciating limb, my body is put back together again so that I can undergo the same torture another time, and another. This happens three times a day, every single day for eight entire years, since the day I died. The pain is indescribable, and I simply cannot bear it.”

After hearing his story, Reb Zemira asked, “Why is this your punishment?”

“The Torah says that when neveilos and treifos are found, they should be given to the dogs, as a reward for the dogs not barking when the Jews left Mitzrayim,” the butcher responded. “Because I stole the treifos that rightfully belonged to the dogs, the dogs are now taking back their food by eating my flesh.”

“And how do you think I could help you?” Reb Zemira asked him.

“If my son would only say Barchu Es Hashem HaMevorach, and the people would respond in kind, that would save me from my terrible punishment,” the butcher said. “If my son would say Kaddish, and the people would answer amen, that, too, would relieve me from my misery. If my son would only say a dvar Torah and learn some chumash, my suffering would be abated. If only he would say a Mishna, they would put me in Gan Eden! And if he would teach Torah publically to others, then I would receive jewels on my crown!”

The man looked sadly at Reb Zemira. “I don’t know my name or my son’s name. But please, you must help me! Go the the city of Ludkia and ask there for the son of the butcher. Please, help me!”

At that point, Reb Zemira awoke. The painful yelling was still blaring in his ears, but he realized then that he had been led to the desert in order to help the butcher. He returned to his donkey and the waiting Arab, who showed him the way out of the desert. Soon, Reb Zemira found himself in the woods and back into civilization.

When he returned home, he did some research to find out where the city of Ludkia was located, and wasting no time, headed there immediately. “Where is the son of the former butcher?” he asked some people who he met.

“The butcher!” a man with a full black beard spat angrily, sparks shooting out of his eyes at the mention of the hated name. “The butcher, may his memory be obliterated!”

“I understand that the butcher is no longer alive,” Reb Zemira responded. “I’m looking for his son.”

“His son is also a butcher,” a young man standing nearby informed him, his eyes blazing furiously. “His name is Nachum Hapekooli, and he’s every bit as wicked as his father. He sells treifos just like his father before him.”

“Still, I need to speak to him,” Reb Zemira insisted. “Where can I find him?”

Reluctantly, they brought Reb Zemira to meet the butcher’s son, who was really no older than a boy. Reb Zemira spoke softly and lovingly to Nachum, buying him gifts and making him feel, at last, that he wasn’t so alone.

After he’d built up Nachum’s trust, Reb Zemira finally broached the subject that had bought him to Ludkia. He described his experience in the desert and told the boy, word for word, everything the butcher had told him. “Please help your father,” he entreated. “I will teach you how to learn so that you can enable your father to leave Gehinnom.”

They began slowly, first with davening, then Chumash, and gradually, Nachum learned how to learn. Soon, he was going regularly to shul to say Kaddish for his father and learning Mishnayos like a grown scholar. Nachum Hepekooli possessed a brilliant mind, and he soon graduated to teaching Torah to others.

Eventually, Reb Zemira married Nachum off, and he fathered a son named Shimon, the very Shimon Hapekooli who was mesader the Shemoneh Esreh, which until today we continue to daven three times a day. Shimon Hapekooli, grandson of the sinful butcher, was from the greatest teachers in klal Yisrael.

Many years passed. Reb Zemira was an elderly man, and one night, he had a dream. In his dream, the butcher appeared. “Reb Zemira, your mind should be relaxed and rested, just as you relaxed and rested my mind.”

He told Reb Zemira that when his son came into the bais medrash the first time and was called to the Torah for an aliyah, the people answered Barchu es Hashem hamevorach, and at that point they lessened his Gehinnom. When his son began learning Chumash, they took him out of Gehinnom. When his son began learning Mishna, they put him into Gan Eden. And when Nachum began teaching Torah, they put him on a golden chair right next to the tzaddikim in Gan Eden.

Reb Zemira woke up and began to cry as he finally began to understand just how much the actions of children down on This World affect their parents up in Olam Habah.

When someone recites Kaddish for a niftar, he is enabling his parent or relative to gain so much! If only we internalized the massive ripple effect that our mitzvos have on our ancestors Upstairs, how much more we would do for them!

It’s not just Olam Habah where the results of our mitzvos are so keenly felt. In This World, as well, every action we take has ripple effects. Reb Zemira brought Nachum Hakapooli back to Torah and mitzvos, and that did not just help the butcher, but it enabled Klal Yisrael, forever, to have the Shemoneh Esreh.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!

This story is taken from tape #TG119-TG120