Smelling the Scent of Gan Eden
The Mishna in Pirkeh Avot famously teaches that כל ישראל יש להם חלק לעולם הבא –
every Jew has a share in the next world.
The common understanding of this concept is that by performing mitzvot, we acquire our “ticket” which will grant us entry into עולם הבא
after we depart from this world.
Rav Chaim of Volozhin, however, in his Ruah Haim, explains
differently. He writes that when a
person plans to perform a mitzvah, already at that moment he is
surrounded by a light of sanctity, and the person is, in Rav Chaim’s words, יושב כמו בגן עדן ממש מקום קדוש – “sitting as though he is actually in Gan
Eden, in a sacred place.” And when he completes his performance
of the mitzvah, this “light” which he created intensifies and then returns to the
heavens, and this becomes the person’s Gan Eden which he enjoys after
he departs from this world. Rav Chaim
concludes by noting that by performing a mitzvah, הוא מסוכך בצל הקדושה וריח גן עדן נכנס עמו
בחייו – “one is enveloped by the
shade of sanctity, and the scent of Gan Eden enters into his life with
him.”
The Sefat Emet, in Parashat Toledot,
writes that on Shabbat, which resembles the experience of the next world, the kedushah
of all the mitzvot we performed throughout the previous week descends
upon us. This is the concept of the נשמה יתירה – the “extra soul” with which we are
endowed on Shabbat. This refers to the
special dimension of sanctity which we receive as the kedushah of our mitzvot,
which normally remains in the heavens, stored away until the afterlife, comes
down and envelops us.
The Sefat Emet explains on this basis
the Gemara’s comment that one’s clothing on Shabbat should be different from
the clothing he wears during the week. On
Shabbat we wear the “clothing” of our mitzvot, which come to us from Gan Eden. These spiritual “garments”
have the special “scent” of Gan
Eden, as Rashi comments in
Parashat Toldot. The Torah tells that
Yitzhak smelled the fragrance of Yaakov’s garments – וירח את
ריח בגדיו – and Rashi explains that this refers to the
“scent of Gan
Eden” which
accompanied Yaakov when he came before Yitzhak to receive his blessing. We wear these fragrant “garments” every
Shabbat, and this is why we smell spices when Shabbat leaves, during Havdalah, to compensate for the special scent of Gan Eden
which has just left us with the conclusion of Shabbat.
The Sefat Emet cites in this context a remarkable story told in
the Zohar (vol. 3, p. 186a) of Rabbi Yitzhak and Rabbi Yehuda, who once
traveled together and arrived at a place called Kefar Sachnin, where Rav
Hamnuna used to live. They lodged in his
widow’s home, and when her son returned home from school, she told him to
approach the guests to receive their blessing, as they were great tzadikim. The boy began making his way towards the
Rabbis, but then he suddenly turned around.
The boy told his told his mother that he did not want to go over to
these men because they had not recited Shema that day, and he learned in
school that one who did not recite Shema
at its proper time is under a “ban” throughout the entire day.
The Rabbis heard what the boy said, and were astonished. They blessed him and acknowledged that they
had not recited Shema that day
because they were preoccupied with a different mitzvah, explaining
that a person involved in one mitzvah is exempt from others. They then asked the boy how he knew that they
had not recited Shema, and he replied that he could tell from the scent
of their garments which he smelled as he approached them.
Indeed, as Rav Yaakov
Hillel (in his commentary to Shivheh Ha’Ari) cites from the
Hid”a, each mitzvah has its own unique fragrance, and the
Arizal was capable of recognizing which mitzvot people were
involved in by smelling their garments.
And the fragrant smells of all the mitzvot we perform
throughout the week come down to us
each and every week on Shabbat.
A remarkable story is told in Artscroll’s biography of Rav Ovadia Yosef
(Maran HaRav Ovadia, by Rabbi Yehuda Heimowitz) that underscores the
power of this “scent” of our mitzvot, and how the great tzadikim
are capable of “smelling” this unique fragrance. We quote the story here with permission from
Artscroll:
Mr. Moshe Friedman was born in Poland in 1930, and his family
survived the war through a series of miracles that brought them to Siberia. When the war was over, Moshe’s father heard that
the
Nazis ym”sh had made
soap out of Jewish bodies, and he decided to return to Poland to buy
as many of these bars of soap as he could and give these remains a Jewish
burial. Father and son traveled back to their hometown, and spent days combing
the streets and offering to purchase the townspeople’s Nazi-supplied soap.
This part of Moshe
Friedman’s life story was known to the family; the rest was not — until it
became revealed through Harav Ovadia.
Mr. Friedman moved to
America, married, and had children. When he was getting on in years, one of his
sons in-law, who is of Syrian descent, offered to accompany him to Eretz
Yisrael. Mr. Friedman was delighted to visit the Holy Land,
and especially to see gedolei Yisrael and receive
blessings. One of the
stops they made was at Harav Ovadia’s home. No sooner had Mr. Friedman walked
into the study than Harav Ovadia asked, “Why do I detect the scent of Gan Eden on your clothing?”
Mr. Friedman did not
know what to answer.
“What special deed
have you done in your life?” Harav Ovadia asked.
At first Mr. Friedman
would not answer, but when Harav Ovadia kept repeating the question, he said,
“Well, I have a several children whom I support so they can devote their lives
to studying Torah.”
“That’s not it,” Harav
Ovadia said. “Others do that as well and their clothing doesn’t have the scent
of Gan Eden. What else did you do?”
Harav Ovadia sensed
that Mr. Friedman knew the answer, but wasn’t willing to say it in front of others.
He sent all the people present out of his room, including Mr. Friedman’s son-in-law.
The only other person who remained was a young man named David, who acted as an
interpreter, translating
Mr. Friedman’s English
and Harav Ovadia’s Hebrew. When everyone left, Mr. Friedman told Harav Ovadia a
story that had happened on the last day he and his father had attempted to buy
and bury human soap in Poland
— a tale, he said, he had not shared with anybody.
After spending a few
weeks in Poland, they had
already bought and buried all the soap they could find, and they decided it was
time to rejoin their family in Siberia. The
day they were planning to leave, however, a non-Jewish man approached the
15-year-old Moshe Friedman and asked, “Are you the one who is buying the
human soap?”
Moshe confirmed that
he was.
“I have a full box of
such soap, and I’m willing to sell it to you.”
The man named a price,
but Moshe did not have enough money on him, and his
father was nowhere in sight.
“I don’t have money
here,” he said, “but give me the soap, I’ll bury it, and I’ll bring you money later.”
“No, I want the money
up-front,” insisted the seller.
Moshe thought for a
while and then said, “Look, I have this pair of warm,
woolen pants, and yours are thin cotton.
I’m willing to trade my pants for yours if you’ll allow me to buy the
soap.”
The man quickly agreed
to the deal; a pair of warm woolen pants were a premium commodity in the
harsh European winters.
After the two traded
pants, Moshe buried the box of soap, and then
rejoined his family in Siberia, undoubtedly shivering
his way through the winter in those cotton pants.
When Harav Ovadia
heard this story, he said, “This explains why your clothes have the scent of
Gan Eden. The neshamot of all the Jews whose remains you buried were all kedoshim,
who died ‘al Kiddush Hashem’ and are therefore in Gan Eden, and these neshamot
have been accompanying
you throughout your
life.”
The humble Mr.
Friedman never told his family of this exchange. When they asked about his
visit to Harav Ovadia, he just said, “It was very inspiring.”
In 2004, Mr. Friedman
passed away, and David, the interpreter who had been in the room and now lived
in the same community, came to console the mourners.
“The story with the
pants was so inspiring,” he remarked.
“What story? What
pants?” the mourners asked, befuddled.
David was shocked that
they hadn’t heard the story. True, Mr. Friedman had told Harav Ovadia that he
hadn’t shared the tale with anybody, but David hadn’t realized that that
included Mr.
Friedman’s own family.
He then retold the entire story, giving the family great comfort as they came
to appreciate their father in a new light — all due to the ability of
a gadol hador to detect the
“scent of Gan Eden” on
his clothing.
Even in our times, we have with us the “scent” of Gan
Eden, and we have great tzadikim who are capable of smelling
it.
Recognizing that this “scent” descends upon us every Shabbat
should enhance our appreciation of the sacred quality of this day, and should
inspire us to take full advantage of the unique spiritual opportunities offered
by the special gift of Shabbat.
(For more on this fascinating topic of the scent of Gan Eden, please visit http://www.learntorah.com/lt-shiur-details.aspx?id=9505.)
