Rav Meir’l Premishlaner was from the early Chassidic leaders, a tremendous tzaddik and great mekubal. When he was young, he would go around to different rebbes to reap as much as he could from each tzaddik’s unique path of avodas Hashem. He would spend time observing how the rebbes acted, how they davened and learned, and he soaked up the Torah they taught.

At one point, he spent a long time with the holy Chozeh of Lublin, where he hoped to glean from the tzaddik’s holiness, purity, wisdom, and Torah. The Chozeh famously had a pair of eyes that could see through everything. He could see what was happening on the other side of a wall, or even what was happening in a different town across the world. When his eyes bore into someone, he saw not only straight through them and their most hidden, innermost thoughts and desires, he also saw back to their previous gilgulgim.

While Rav Meir’l Premishlaner was in Lublin, he noticed that the Chozeh would daven wearing an old, tattered tallis. It bothered him that such an exalted sage, who had ruach hakodesh, had a torn, fraying tallis. He didn’t dare voice his thoughts to the Chozeh, who surely knew what he was doing, but every time he watched the Chozeh daven in his tattered tallis, it bothered him.

Rav Meir’l was in Lublin for a long period, observing and gaining inspiration from the holy Chozeh’s ways. When he finally took leave of the Chozeh after a lengthy and uplifting visit, he resolved to save up money to purchase the Chozeh a new tallis with a beautiful atarah, just like a tzaddik of his caliber deserved.

And so Rav Meir’l began to save up, penny by penny, for the Chozeh’s tallis. Since he already lived in abject poverty, it took a long time, but eventually he saved enough money to purchase a beautiful, white tallis as a gift for the Chozeh, along with an atarah and the strands he would use to make the tzitzes.

He went to the mikvah to purify himself properly before winding the tzitzes. With each twist of the strands, he had in mind the shem Havaya and the greatest kavanos. He knotted the tzitzes with care and precision and then attached a beautiful atarah to the tallis. When the gift was complete, he set out to deliver it to the Chozeh.

During the journey, Rav Meir’l found himself once again debating whether it was proper to present the Chozeh with a new tallis. After all, the tzaddik had worn his tallis for years, and the tattered tallis now contained unfathomable levels of holiness. The new tallis, while crafted with the purest of thoughts, was missing the holiness that seeps into a garment worn by a tzaddik every day.

After much deliberation, Rav Meir’l finally made up his mind that he would gift the new tallis to the Chozeh as intended. When he arrived at the Chozeh’s home and was welcomed inside, he presented his gift.

“I would like to give the rebbe a gift,” he said respectfully. “What else can I give but something spiritual, like a tallis? Please accept this gift from me. Zeh keili v’anveihu! It is beautiful and mehudar, made with my purest possible kavanos.”

The Chozeh, who foresaw Rav Meir’l’s future as a great gaon and baal ruach hakodesh, had been very warm and friendly to the young talmid chacham during his previous visit. Now, he smiled as he accepted the tallis from Rav Meir’l. “If you are giving me this tallis as a gift, I will accept it.”

He took his old, tattered tallis and folded it up. “This,” he said, handing the worn tallis to Rav Meir’l, “Is a gift for you, from me.”

Rav Meir’l took the yellowed tallis with shaking hands. The Chozeh’s tallis! It wasn’t a piece of old woolen material, fraying at the edges, but a medium of holiness. This was the tallis that had rested upon the holy Chozeh’s head day after day, absorbing the kedushah of the tzaddik’s tefillos. It was this tallis that he had merited to receive from the Chozeh as a gift!

He thanked the Chozeh and left the room, clutching the precious tallis, still attempting to process what had just occurred. He could scarcely believe that he was now the owner of the Chozeh’s tallis!

Within minutes, however, there were others who descended upon him to claim that he was, in actuality, not the owner.

The Chozeh had sons and many grandsons; he also had many chassidim and talmidim, amongst them some who shared an extremely close relationship with him. Word that the Chozeh’s holy tallis was in Rav Meir’l’s hands traveled through the Chozeh’s inner circle almost faster than the speed of light, and they were all astounded than the young upstart, an outsider, had received such a precious gift from the Chozeh.

The first attempts at contesting Rav Meir’l ownership of the tallis took place while he was still outside the Chozeh’s house. “I am the Chozeh’s eldest grandson,” one man informed Rav Meir’l. “The tallis belongs in our family. I’m sure the Chozeh didn’t mean to give it away.”

“You must have misunderstood him,” a gaunt, middle-age man with serious eyes agreed. “I’ve been learning under the Chozeh for many years already, and he has never done something like this before.”

“I’m sorry, but I understood the Chozeh perfectly well,” Rav Meir’l responded, tightening his grip on the yellowed material. “He gave it to me with his own two hands and told me that it was a gift.”

A short, balding man coughed lightly. “Ahem. You don’t think it’s strange that the Chozeh gave his tallis away to a stranger?”

“The Chozeh gave it to me,” Rav Meir’l continued to insist. “You are welcome to ask him yourself. I don’t know why he decided to give it me, but he did, and it’s mine.”

While it was a bitter pill for those close to the Chozeh to swallow, none of them were ready to contest the Chozeh’s decision. They watched Rav Meir’l walk away and resigned themselves to the loss. Though they could not understand the Chozeh’s decision, it was his tallis, and if he had chosen to gift it to Rav Meir’l, there was nothing they could do about it.

One of the Chozeh’s chassidim was a tall, broad-shouldered man whom we’ll call Zalman. Zalman was somewhat of a bully; an obstinate fellow who stopped at nothing to achieve his desires. He was used to having his peers cater to his demands, since no one wanted to risk upsetting a man like Zalman, with a temper fiercer than a raging firestorm and fleshy fists that seemed capable of terrible destruction.

When he heard about the Chozeh’s tallis and the young stranger who had received it, he decided that this was an injustice that needed to be corrected. How was it fair that a young newcomer who happened to stop by to visit the Chozeh received something of infinitesimal value just like that? What about him and all the other chassidim who lived nearby and frequented the Chozeh’s home and bais medrash on a constant basis?

Some quick research revealed that Rav Meir’l was staying at a local hotel for the night and planned to start his return journey home the following morning. Realizing that this was possibly his final opportunity to retrieve the tallis, Zalman went to the hotel to pay him a visit.

Armed with a thick pile of a cash and an even thicker stash of intimidation tactics, Zalman went to the hotel and knocked on the door of Rav Meir’l’s room.

Rav Meir’l answered the door with a guarded look in his eyes. “Can I help you?” he inquired.

Zalman flexed his muscles. “I want the tallis that the Chozeh gave you,” he said bluntly, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Rav Meir’l didn’t flinch. “I’m happy that you understand the value of the tallis, but I don’t plan on giving it away.”

 “You weren’t planning on giving it away,” Zalman corrected him, his body language and tone threatening. He stared at the younger man with steely eyes. “Are you sure you won’t be changing your mind?”

Rav Meir’l stared right back at him. “I’m sure,” he said quietly, his tone just as determined as Zalman’s had been.

“I want the tallis,” Zalman declared, and for a moment, he resembled a petulant child more than a menacing adult. “I’m even willing to pay you for it.” A pile of banknotes appeared in his hand, and he waved them in front of Rav Meir’l’s eyes.

“I’m truly sorry, but the tallis is not for sale,” Rav Meir’l told him. “I wouldn’t sell it for any money in the world.”

Zalman pocketed the money and brought his face mere inches away from Rav Meir’l’s. “Who do you think you are?!” he yelled, his cheeks bulging and his face turning a royal shade of scarlet. “You upstart, you! You visit the Chozeh and just walk off with his tallis! You think that’s how it works?!”

Rav Meir’l sighed. Unlike the others who had contested his rights to the tallis, this fellow did not seem the type to listen to reason. There was no use defending himself further. “I’m sorry that I can’t help you,” he said to the still screaming Zalman. Then he gently shut the door and locked it.

Zalman continued yelling through the closed door until he finally ran out of steam. As his muffled cries faded, Rav Meir’l heaved a sigh of relief that the other man finally understood that he would not be able to get the tallis.

But his relief was premature.

Zalman stalked out of the hotel, but unlike Rav Meir’l’s thought, he had not given up. His lips were set in a resolute line, and the determination pulsing within him was stronger than it had been before. No one said no to Zalman, and if the young troublemaker didn’t realize that yet, he would soon enough. 

The following morning, after Shacharis, Rav Meir’l took his small case of belongings and the treasured tallis and set out in a horse and wagon through the forest. He didn’t notice Zalman, who was following after him on horseback, taking care to remain in the shadows as he bided his time and waited for the perfect moment to attack.

At midday, Rav Meir’l stopped the horse and climbed down from the wagon to stretch his legs for a little bit. This was the moment Zalman had been waiting for. With a burst of speed, he closed in on the hapless Rav Meir’l, and before the latter could process what was happening, he was bound hand and foot.

From his position on the forest floor, unable to move, Rav Meir’l watched in disbelief as Zalman climbed onto the wagon and returned moments later, waving the tallis triumphantly.

“That’s mine,” Rav Meir’l called. “You are a thief! Let me free and give it back!”

Zalman gave a gleeful chuckle. “It’s not yours anymore, and I am not a thief,” he declared, throwing down some money at Rav Meir’l’s tied feet. “I am buying this tallis off of you fair and square. So long!” He mounted his horse and was off in a cloud of dust.

“Come back!” Rav Meir’l screamed after him. “Help! Help!”

But the rustle of leaves and the shrieking of the wind were the only sounds that answered him.

Realizing that help wouldn’t be so swift in coming, Rav Meir’l began struggling with the ropes binding his hands together. He pulled his hands apart as much as he could, even as the ropes tore into his skin, and managed to loosen them slightly. Applying pressure from his teeth, he managed to loosen them even more, and then, finally, his hands were free.

His slack fingers had difficulty opening the knots on the rope around his feet, but eventually he succeeded in freeing his feet as well. He stood up and began running in the direction that Zalman had rode. It was a fruitless pursuit, since Zalman had been on horseback and had left some time earlier, but Rav Meir’l was anguished over the loss of his tallis so he did it anyway.

It was with tremendous disappointment that he returned to his wagon. He had merited to have the holy Chozeh’s priceless tallis in his possession for just a few hours, and in an instant, he lost it. What a loss! What a priceless loss!

Brokenhearted, he continued on his journey. In the next city he drove through, he met the son of Rav Michel Zlotchover, a great mekubal. His eyes lit up. Perhaps the holy Rav Michel would be able to help him! He asked the tzaddik’s son for directions and veered off his intended route to go unburden himself to Rav Michel.

Rav Michel Zlotchover was known to sit at his desk with his head down, even when people would come into the room to request a brachah. He only lifted his head to acknowledge the people coming to seek his blessing when they sat down directly across from him.

When Rav Meir’l arrived at his doorstep, however, as soon as he put his hand on the mezuzah, Rav Michel came out to greet him. “Meir’l, my son,” he said warmly; kindly. “What happened?”

From the tzaddik’s voice, Rav Meir’l understood that he had already divined everything that had happened. He began to cry, the bitter tears over his loss trailing down his cheeks. “I was zoche to have the Chozeh’s tallis in my possession for just a few hours,” he said through his tears. “And then someone stole it from me!”

Rav Michel let him cry, identifying with his anguish and pain. “Meir’l,” he said after a while. “I want to give you a gift. I will give you my own tallis. I am not the Chozeh, nowhere near him, but I will give you my tallis.”

He opened a cupboard and removed his own tallis, also old and worn and yellowing. It wasn’t just any tallis, but the holy tallis of Rav Michel Zlotchover, a tallis saturated with holiness. “This is for you,” he said, giving the tallis to Rav Meir’l.

Rav Meir’l thanked Rav Michel with tears in his eyes. Rav Michel’s gift, while precious in its own right, didn’t measure up to the Chozeh’s, but it did provide him with a measure of comfort. Still, when he left Rav Michel’s home with his tallis in hand, the pain of losing the Chozeh’s tallis was still acute.

The years passed, and Rav Meir’l tried to put the story out of his mind, but only partially succeeded. He became a great tzaddik and rebbe in his own right, a baal ruach hakodesh and a mekubal. People would flock to his home from all over the countries to request brachos and segulos, and his blessing helped countless desperate people.

His own loss, however, continued to disturb him whenever he thought about it. Whenever he recalled the story, he felt the pain and anguish all over again. He could have had the Chozeh’s tallis, but alas, it was gone. He found it difficult to forgive Zalman for robbing him of what was rightfully his.

One day, a dibbuk entered the body of a little girl who lived in the Belz area, rendering her incapacitated. At loss of how to help her, her family went to the alter Belzer Rebbe, the Sar Shalom of Belz, and asked him to take the dibbuk out of the girl. The Belzer Rebbe sent his greatest talmidim to speak to the dibbuk and find out whose neshamah it was and why it had entered the girl.

Rav Meir’l Premishlaner, though far away from Belz, knew what was going on. He knew all about the dibbuk that had entered the girl. “Meir is not a talmid chacham,” he murmured to himself about himself. “And Meir is not one to take nekamah. But how can he forgive the man who stole the tallis of the holy Chozeh of Lublin? If it was a materialistic item, surely I would forgive him. But how can I be mochel this man who stole a spiritual thing from me?”

Indeed, the dibbuk was the soul of Zalman, the man who had stolen the tallis that had been gifted to Rav Meir’l by the Chozeh of Lublin. After he passed away, although he had many mitzvos, the sin of stealing the tallis and causing so much anguish to a talmid chacham barred him from achieving peace. Instead, his soul wandered the world, constantly fleeing menacing angels that were chasing it. It finally found refuge within the little girl.

At the moment that Rav Meir’l uttered the pained words of his difficulty in forgiving Zalman, far away, the Sar Shalom of Belz exclaimed, “How can I do anything to help this little girl if Rav Meir’l Permishlaner is not mochel the neshamah that grabbed hold of her?”

Knowing the terrible plight of the little girl, Rav Meir’l worked on himself to forgive Zalman, and he ended up being mochel him completely, enabling the Sar Shalom in Belz to coax the dibbuk out of the girl.

Zalman had many good traits, and he did many mitzvos, but his single bad habit, that of bullying others into accepting his will, led him into a deep web of self-destruction. It was just one bad habit, but that one habit caused him to lose his olam habah and an eternity of peace.

Because a bad habit doesn’t remain just a bad habit; it spirals into the worst possible sins. 

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!

This story is taken from tape # 259