Rabotai (my masters), it’s that time of day. Since we’re within 30 days of Purim, we’ve started saying some divrei Torah (words of Torah) about Purim. We’ve been giving reasons why Queen Esther did not reveal her identity to Achashverosh (Ahasuerus). Mordechai had told her not to reveal it. Obviously, there had to be logic behind that, so there are different interpretations.
Alkabetz, in his Manot HaLevi (Portions of the Levite), brings in the name of Rabbi Meir Arama (Meir Arama): What was the kavanah (intention)? “Kiven Mordechai ki hu rotzeh la'amod besha'ar hamelech (the king’s gate) tamid lada'at et shlom Esther u'mah ye'aseh bah, u'mah zeh yomru na'arei hamelech mimenah kedei leharchik hamazik u'lehakriv hamo'il lah, ve'ein safek shezeh lo yuchal lehitkayem, velo yuchal aso im yode'a besha'ar hamelech mah hu lah, ki yishmeru atzmam mildaber lefanav, velachen samach le'olam hadevarim ha'eleh bilti hagadat Esther et amah ve'et moladtah beheyoto yoshev besha'ar hamelech.”
It’s an interesting reason. Mordechai wanted to watch over Esther, especially when she was in the beauty pageant. He wanted to make sure that only good things were happening to her and that she was taken care of. Mordechai had a seat at the sha'ar hamelech, so he was able to hear what was going on. If they had known there was a relationship between Esther and Mordechai, they would not have talked in front of him. Then he would not know what was going on with Esther and could not guide her. He wanted to keep the relationship hidden so people would feel comfortable talking in front of him, because they would think, “What does Mordechai have to do with Esther?” They had no idea there was any kesher (connection), so he would be able to gain information and, through that, guide and direct Esther. That’s yet another reason.
HaGaon miVilna (the Genius of Vilna) has a different interpretation: “Lo higidah Esther (Esther did not reveal).” Why? “Hainu lefi shehaytah matmenet atzmah min hamelech.” She was always giving excuses not to be with the king. “Vegam achar shenitgaltah, lo haytah holechet ad shelakchu otah be'al korchah.” Even after she was picked, she would go with the king only if he took her by force. Clearly, she was not going to go with the king willingly. “Vehayah Mordechai mityare sheyahargu otah ve'et mishpachtah ve'et amah, ki yomru she'ein retzonam lehit-chaten afilu bamelech.” The fact that Queen Esther acted that way showed that she did not even want to be with the king. That was a bushah (shame) for the king.
“Ve'achshav mar'eh lanu hakatuv godel tzidkatah, sheMordechai lo tzivah aleha ela mechamat yir'ah shelo yahargu otah, vehi ra'atah shenohagim bah kavod gadol ve'ein mazkirim mah shehayah, af al pi chen lo higidah Esther, ki Mordechai tzivah aleha, vehaytah shomeret tzivuy Mordechai af al pi shehaytah yoda'at she'ein hata'am noheg.” That means the reason no longer applied. Even though she was going against her will, Achashverosh was not getting angry. Technically, she could have revealed her identity, but she did not, because Mordechai had told her not to.
According to this reason, Achashverosh would have taken out his vengeance on the Jewish people if he had known Esther was Jewish, because of the way she was avoiding the king. Her avoidance would have given the impression that the Jews did not care about Achashverosh and thought he was a low-life—which he was. So he would take it out on them. This is more of a sakanah (danger) reason.
One more reason for today: the Ba'al HaRoke'ach (the Roke'ach) writes in a sefer called Sha'arei Binah (Gates of Understanding): “Mordechai chashav, hi tagid lanu im yedaber Achashverosh lera'ah al Yisrael, kemo bit-chilat malchut katav sitnah, ve'im yeda shehi Yehudit lo yedaber befaneha, vehi tira ledaber tovot al Yisrael, ve'al ken tzivah shelo tagid, vetashmi'i devarav vetagidu lanu.” Beautiful! Achashverosh was an anti-Semite, we know that, but if he knew Esther was Jewish, he would not talk about his anti-Semitic plans in front of her. Then Esther would not know the information. By hiding her identity, Achashverosh would talk like an anti-Semite, as they normally do, and Esther would get all the chidushim (new insights). Exactly—she was a spy. She would be able to tell Mordechai what was going on and what Achashverosh was saying. And she would not have a problem defending the Jews, because sometimes even good goyim (non-Jews) say, “Don’t do it. It’s not worth it.” But if she was known to be Jewish, she would have a problem defending the Jews, because they would say, “Ah, you’re Jewish, therefore…” I think you said it best, Elliot: it was like having a spy in the palace, so they could get a better situation than that. That’s yet another reason.
We’re getting good reasons. Consider it your lucky day: we’ll give yet another reason. A bonus—four reasons today. “Yitachen lomar bezeh ta'am chadash.” It says, “Lamah amar Mordechai lomar lamelech shebeBigtan veTeresh mevakshim lehorgo?” Why did Mordechai save Achashverosh’s life? Bigtan and Teresh had a plot against him. Let him die; let them kill the king. Who was Achashverosh anyway? We learned yesterday that it was actually a plot against the queen too, so Mordechai was really trying to save Esther. Targum Yonatan (Targum Jonathan) says there was a plot against the queen. That’s a chidush.
He says here, “Aha, ela, kedei shelo yomru kol hayamim shehu nasui benot ovdei elilim hayah shalom ve'achshav shenasa bat Yisrael met.” The people would say that as long as Achashverosh was married to non-Jews, nothing happened. The second he married a Jewish woman, his mazal (fortune) changed, and he was killed. They would blame his death on his mazal: “Oh, he took a Jewish wife; his fortune went sour.” “Ve'ulai mita'am zeh gufa tzivah aleha Mordechai shelo tagid.” Perhaps Mordechai told her not to reveal her identity for that very reason: he was worried that if something happened to the king, people would blame it on his Jewish wife.
Anti-Semites don’t need much. They would say, “The guy was married to Vashti all these years, and nothing happened to him. During the first week he’s married to Queen Esther, there’s already an assassination attempt against him.” So they would blame it on the Jews again. It’s another roundabout way of thinking: the less they know you’re Jewish, the less they can blame things on you. Once they know you’re Jewish, they’ll blame the weather on you. They’ll blame anything—global warming, everything—on the Jews. They can’t wait to blame the Jewish people. That’s why he didn’t say it: to avoid people saying, if anything bad happened to Achashverosh, “Oh, he took a Jewish wife.”
That’s the hakdamah (introduction). Now we go to Ya'alzu Chasidim (Let the pious rejoice). David Meyer brought these Post-its so we could mark the place in the book and know where we are. We’ll make a mi sheberach for David for giving us this Post-it. They’re not easy to come by. He was so generous that he gave us one—no, the pack. He gave us one and said to use it until the stick runs out; then we have to give him three days’ notice and he’ll bring another one. God forbid he should leave the whole pack with us; that would be wasteful. Beli neder. Thank you very much. Here we’re getting a drink and everything, and here we get a Post-it. Baruch Hashem. Let’s see where we are.
“Shenei benei adam shehayu be'ir achat.” Two men lived in one city. “Ve'echad hayah chayav lenochri harbeh.” One owed a non-Jew a lot of money and wanted to run away. That’s one way to pay a debt: run away. “She'ein lo bameh lifro'a.” He had nothing with which to pay. “Im yode'a shechavero yirashenu shamayim, shelo yegaleh lenochri, im yomar lo ani rotzeh livro'ach ki ani chayav, vechoshesh ani shema ya'alilu alecha, tetzei kodem she'evrach.” If he trusts his friend, he has to tell him, “Listen, I don’t want them to blame you, because you’re Jewish too. Leave the city before I run away, so you won’t have anything to do with it. They’re going to say, ‘There was a collusion; you were in cahoots with him and told him.’ Leave on your own, maybe not permanently, but just so you’re not around when this happens. I don’t want them to blame you.” But he has to trust that the man will not go back to the non-Jew and tell him.
“Aval im yidchaku nochrim Yehudim sheyamiru hadat, im yachol livro'ach yivrach velo ye'akev.” But if non-Jews are forcing Jews to convert, then you run, and you don’t delay. You don’t tell anybody; you just get out of town if they’re trying to convert you.
“Yehudi shehayah yoshev al hamichasim.” There was a Jewish man in charge of collecting taxes. “Im hayah katzuv kach vechach lakach veloke'ach yoter, afillu min hanochrim, besof yered minechasav lefi sherabbim mekalelim oto.” If he takes more than he is supposed to, even from non-Jews, eventually he will lose his wealth, because many people curse him. That’s a general rule. It’s not good to be a tax collector, because people are going to curse you. It’s probably not good to be the tuition collector in the yeshiva either. He doesn’t give too many discounts; that’s the problem. The man comes along and does a whole scan on someone: “How many vacations? How many sets of silverware do you have? How many cars do you have?” People get upset, and when they leave, they curse the guy. You shouldn’t be in a position where people are going to curse you.
We go to Joey’s store; everybody leaves blessing him. Everybody’s a happy customer. No, but he’s there. Does he have to be there? We bless the owner. That’s a business decision, but we bless him. Baruch Hashem. Does that mean you bless him or curse him? I’m not following you. You bless him; there’s nothing left. You mean you left hungry? It’s not funny. Whatever we ate was excellent.
“She'af al pi she'amru mutar leshanot bedivrei shalom.” Even though we said you have to tell the truth, for shalom (peace), you’re allowed to adjust a little to keep the peace. “Im yavo nochri o Yehudi veyomar le'adam, talveh li ma'ot,” let’s say someone asks you, “Lend me money,” “ve'eino malveh lo beratzon ki yareh pen lo yifra lo.” He doesn’t really want to lend the money because he thinks the person will not pay him back. “Eino yachol lomar ein li.” You can’t say, “I don’t have it.” You can’t lie.
“Ki mah she'amru shemutar leshanot mipenei darchei shalom, zeh beshekvar avar hadavar.” The permission to alter the truth for the sake of peace applies to something that already happened. That’s only about a past event, so you can say something different. But when someone asks, “Could you lend me money?” and you say, “I don’t have any,” that’s not about something in the past; it’s happening now.
“Ve'af al gav de'amrinan beperek sheni, avidei derabbanan demashnu bemasechta.” Even though the Gemara says that a rabbi is allowed to adjust his words when someone asks, “Do you know this masechet?”—that’s a present question, not a question about the past—“vahu shesho'alim oto im shegurah befiv masechta zo, ve'omer lav, umeshaneh mah shehu attah.” He is changing what he says in the present. “Shani hatam mishum anavah.” That’s for humility. For humility, you’re allowed to change your present status and say, “I don’t know this masechet so well.” That’s because of anavah. But if you’re just trying to lie, how do you get out of that case? I don’t know. You have to figure out a way without lying. You can’t say, “I don’t have it.”
“Bechol makom zo hi achat min hadevarim she'afillu i yada lah avid alah.” In this case, even if we know the law, what are you going to do? “Ki lo yuchal lomar ani yachol ve'eini chafetz.” What are you going to say? “I have the money, but I don’t want to lend it to you”? You can’t say it that way. “Vechoshesh me'od al sin'ato im yesh lo.” You don’t want to get into a fight with the man. “Ela zot, im lo yuchal lehit'apek milleshaker, lefachot yachshov belibbo al devar emet.” At least he should think in his heart about something true.
Even if you have to say, “I don’t have it,” you could think, “I know I do have it, and I’m sorry, but what are you going to do? Sometimes you have no choice.” Or you could say, “It’s not a good time for me now.” Why isn’t it a good time? You have the money. Why can’t you be an emet (truthful) and tell him, “Listen, I’m not comfortable lending you money”? Good! He’s saying, “You’re not going to do that! Why get hit for that?” “Listen, I’m not comfortable. You have a reputation for not paying people back. I don’t want to get burned. Go burn somebody else.” I’ve done that in the past, and I’ve got—if that’s basically telling the guy no, then just say, “No.” “No” is okay, but you’re telling him why you’re saying no.
Jamil has the answer. There’s a man with a lot of money, and someone asks him for $10,000. He says, “How long do you need it for?” The man says, “Two weeks.” He says, “Wait two weeks; you won’t need it.” Have you heard that before? Is that a joke or is that emet? “Wait two weeks.” I know another man, Aziz, a tzaddik (righteous person), and he does lend money. One time, one of the guys in the kollel needed a loan to buy a house. This man was known for giving loans. In those days, $5,000 or $10,000 was a lot of money for a house, so you would go to him and he would automatically give you a loan of $5,000 or $10,000. But he was a funny guy; you had to catch him in the right mood.
If he was in the wrong mood, the guy would come back to the kollel with a white face. I asked, “Did you ask Mr. So-and-so?” He said, “I asked him.” “What did he say?” “I’m not a bank.” He caught him at the wrong time. Aziz said, “Mr. So-and-so, I need to borrow $5,000.” The man said, “What, do I look like a bank? I’m not a bank. Go to a bank. There’s a bank over there.” Maybe that’s the answer: “No, I’m not a bank.” I get it. That’s true. David, you don’t have to worry; we’re not going to ask you. Look how much we have—we had to sign a whole paper to get one stick in, and we had to have two guarantors. We have two guarantors here, guaranteeing that if something happens to it, they’ll cover the stick.
Ketiv (it is written), “Veshem Elohim acherim.” The Ben Ish Chai says that too, by the way. If somebody comes to you, you shouldn’t say, “I don’t have,” because al tiftach peh lasatan (open your mouth to the Satan). This isn’t being recorded, is it? My wife doesn’t hear this tape, right? Sometimes people come to collect tzedakah (charity), and you have money in your pocket, but you say, “I don’t have any money in my pocket. I can’t.” You shouldn’t lie, and you shouldn’t say “I don’t have” anyway, because you don’t want to open your mouth to the Satan and say that you should be a person who doesn’t have. You can say, “I’m supporting my daughter,” or, “I give a lot around; this is what I can do now,” whatever. You have to manage it properly.
“Ketiv: Veshem Elohim acherim lo tazkiru velo yishama al picha, lo yomar Yisrael lenochri: Halveni o halveh lecha ad yom chag shel avodah zarah pelonit.” That’s right. You shouldn’t say to a non-Jew, “Lend me money until Xmas. I’ll pay you back on New Year’s,” or, “until Easter.” You shouldn’t use a non-Jewish holiday as the date when the loan is due. “O ad yom shel oto elil.” Rather, “Ela yomar: ad kach vechach shavuot.” Tell him, “In three weeks,” even if that week is Xmas week. Fine.
“Dechetiv.” Do you know why they call it Xmas? Xmas is in Greek or Latin; the X stands for the man’s name. No, the full wording of the holiday is his name: C-H-R-I-S-T. Oh, yeah? What do you mean? Forget Xmas. The whole word of the holiday is his name. I never thought of that—I never figured out that the letters before “mass” spell the man’s name. You come every day and get a chidush. Unbelievable. Now let’s go back. What’s Xmas? Why the X? X stands for that name. In Latin, when you put an X, that’s what it stands for. So you’re actually saying it in Latin instead of English. Even saying “Kratzmach”—Kratzmach—is no good. I didn’t know that either.
“Dichtiv, veshem Elohim acherim lo tazkiru.” You shouldn’t mention the names of other gods. People say, “I’ll pay you on this date.” Don’t even say the name; don’t even say the thing. “Umashema nami lo tazkiru, shelo tigrom la'acherim lehazkiram.” You shouldn’t cause others to say it either. “Velo tashbi'u acherim bishmam, va'afilu shem chag shekorim et hachashuchim shelahem mal'ach.” They have certain holidays and call the figures “Saint this day” and “Saint that day.” He says not to say it; he says every single one. He didn’t leave one out.
“Al yizkor, yomar lenochri, hishaveh li be'Elohecha.” You shouldn’t say, “I want you to swear in the name of Saint So-and-so.” Don’t even give it credence. “O al emunah shelcha, ve'im nishba, lo yiheyeh be'edut shelo.” “Velo yomar adam kesherotzeh lehashbi'a et hanochri, yishava lo ela oto lasheker, gam zeh lo ya'aseh.” Don’t say, “I’ll swear falsely in the name of their god.” Don’t do that either. Don’t say, “He does Buddhas,” or, “I swear on the stomach of Buddha.” Don’t mention the name at all. You might say, “What’s the difference if I swear falsely on Buddha? It’s false anyway.” Don’t do that either.
“Im yomar hanochri, Eloheinu, Adoneinu ya'azrucha, al kayotzei vazeh lo ya'aneh amen.” If a non-Jew says, “May Yeshu be with you,” don’t say amen. Or if he says that the prophet, whatever his name is, should protect you, don’t say amen, because “Ki chavanato al eloah shelo.” That’s interesting. Even if he says “our God,” you have to know that when a non-Jew says that, he might mean Yeshu, because that’s part of the whole picture. That’s what they believe. When they say, “God should bless you,” you have to be careful how you answer amen. When an Arab says “God,” he means God, because he believes in the oneness of God. But when a Christian says “God,” God includes the son.
“Aval im yomar Elohecha,” “Your God should protect you,” then you can say amen. “Az ya'aneh acharav amen.” Then you answer amen.
“Ta'arovot shel sifrei goyim yachad im sifrei Yisrael, ve'asiyat sifrei goyim im sifrei Yisrael, dichtiv lo yanuach shevet haresha al goral hatzaddikim.” That’s a big question, a big chidush. Remember the book strap we used to have in school? It was like a rubber strap with a hook at the end, and you put seven or eight books in it. Tie the books like this. It would break. Before backpacks, when you had two or three books, you put a strap around them and walked around with all the colors. I feel like there was orange too, if I remember correctly. You learn everything; now we get colors.
So, with the book strap, you shouldn’t put English and Hebrew books together. You’re putting nonsense with the Torah. “Al yikshrem im sifrei Yisrael ve'al yatzni'em.” He means you shouldn’t put them in the same sack. Chacham David Biton—I told you once, we were in Magen David (Shield of David), and I had my Gemara Sukkah (Talmudic tractate Sukkah) on the table, with The Diary of Anne Frank next to it. The Diary of Anne Frank is a Holocaust book. Chacham David Biton came along and said, “What is this book doing on the same level as the Gemara?” Of course, I was a tipesh, and I answered him. I should have just taken it and put it away. I said, “No, Rabbi, this is Anne Frank, it’s—” He took the book and tore it up into I can’t tell you how many pieces. He ripped it in half and smashed it. What they didn’t do to Anne Frank in her lifetime, Chacham David Biton did to the book. They ripped it into shreds, smithereens. Happy New Year! He threw it up in the air—chasunah! Then he did it to me. He said, “You don’t answer back. This doesn’t belong on the same desk.”
You learn a lesson from it. The tzaddikim see a secular book next to a Gemara as if you’re equating them. That’s his point, that’s all. That’s what he’s telling you here. We had principals like Chacham David Biton, alav hashalom, in those days. Today there’d be a war in the school every day. They had a different way of educating. It seems you shouldn’t put the good books and bad books together. A separate bookshelf? If you can afford it, you should do it.
“Rov benei adam she-yesh lahem esek im komarim.” Most people who have business dealings with priests “einam ashirim.” They don’t become rich. “Ve-im he'ashiru, lo yaarich oshram ad sof yemeihem.” If they become rich, their wealth won’t last until the end of their days, “lefi she-maspikim lahem tashmishei avodah zarah.” What was the beginning? “Vechen ish hayare lo yaaseh veyiten tashmishei avodah zarah.” They have businesses selling idolatrous objects. There’s no berachah (blessing) in that. There’s a big question: are you allowed to sell a cross and things like that these days? Chacham Ovadia says you’re allowed; the cross is not considered idolatry, it’s a symbol. But you would not be allowed to sell—
Rabbi, in my store, when my son used to work for me, he was very religious. One time we had a piece they made called Ganesha, Lord. He went to Chacham Moshe Feinstein downtown and told him, “The other things you could sell, but this they bow down to.” Chazak u-varuch (may you be strengthened and blessed), that’s exactly the point: an image. That was a four-thousand-dollar piece. We sold unlimited amounts. But you got rid of it. Got rid of it. What if you do business with a priest? Let’s say I have a regular food store and a priest comes—No, it seems this is talking about doing it on a permanent basis.
“Lo yaaseh adam chalonot beito neged beit avodah zarah.” A man shouldn’t make windows in his house facing a house of idolatry. If a man lives next to a church, he shouldn’t put his window facing the church so that when he looks out, he sees the idolatry. “Velo yadur be-bayit she-hu neged beit avodah zarah.” Don’t live across the street from it, “lefi she-tadir poneh keneged avodah zarah.” All day long you’re looking at it. In Brazil, that’s very hard; they have it everywhere. “Uchtiv al tifnu el ha-elilim.” It is written, “Bechol derachecha da'ehu,” and that’s the case of a gate facing idolatry where the gate is low and you have to bow your head. Sometimes you have to walk through a place where they make you bow. So he walks backward, giving his back to it. Certain gates into the city were made low because there was idolatry there. “Yahafuch panav achoranit,” or go sideways, so that “kedei shelo yiheyeh nikar kemishtachaveh la-avodah zarah.” It won’t look as if you’re bowing to idolatry.
“Vechen im paga sar o melech lifnei avodah zarah.” Let’s say there is idolatry and the king walks by. If bowing to the king would look like you were bowing to the idolatry, “al yishtachaveh lo, ela yishtachaveh shelo keneged avodah zarah.” Bow in a different direction. You have to remember that in the old European countries, as they were saying about Brazil, idolatry was all over the place, so you had to be careful.
“U-maaseh be-adam echad she-shemo Rabbi Yitzchak Chasid.” There was a man called Rabbi Yitzchak Chasid, “she-haya nizhar shelo le-hikanes le-veit avodah zarah.” He was careful never to walk into a house of idolatry, which really you shouldn’t. People go to Europe on tours and visit churches. They should not! They shouldn’t go there. It happens to be nice architecture—gorgeous. So they go to the Sistine Chapel, they get excited, they go to Rome and the Vatican. It’s not really recommended.
“Besha'at petirato hayu mesimin oto le-veit hakvarot ba-agalah vehaitah avodah zarah al sha'ar ha'ir.” When this man died, they put his body in the funeral wagon and brought him to the cemetery. He had never gone into a house of idolatry and had been careful his whole life. Now they were passing an idolatrous object at one of the gates of the city. “U-varchu ha-susim.” The horses suddenly turned and ran the other way. The man managing them couldn’t control them. “Ve-hutzrechu lelech derech pirtzat kotel ha'ir she-naflah be-karov le-yom moto.” They had to go by way of a breach in the city wall that had fallen near the day of his death. They took him to the cemetery by a roundabout route, avoiding the idolatry. The horses knew! “Ve-hayu chafirot sevivoteyha ve-yatzu min ha-chafirot ve-halchu al derech ha-yashar, u-mipnei she-nizhar be-chayav shelo ratzah le-hikanes le-veit avodah zarah, asah lo HaKadosh Baruch Hu she-nafal kotel ha-chomah bishvilo.” Because he was so careful in his lifetime, they were careful after his death too, so he would not have to pass it. That’s what we call hashgachah. See the hashgachah here.
“U-maaseh be-adam echad she-haya mocher la-nochrim tzorcheihem le-veit ha-tiflut.” Another man used to sell the non-Jews things for their churches. That was his business; he supplied them with all their things. “U-cheshemet, haya yom shibush shelahem.” He died on one of their holidays, when they carry their religious accessories. “V'hevi'u hagoyim et tzalmehem keneged mitato.” They brought their images in front of his coffin. “Middah b'middah na'asah lo, middah k'neged middah (measure for measure).” He sold those things to them, and now all those things were represented at his funeral.
“Ma'aseh b'adam echad shehaya noheg b'atzmo kshehaya adam avel, bar minan, haya hu chozer mibeit hakvarot ad beit ha'avel b'lo min'alim, l'hitztayer im ha'avel.” Another man was very good. Whenever someone was in mourning, bar minan, he would follow the man home from the cemetery and take off his shoes to mourn with him. He showed kavod to the mourner. “V'yom shemet bo haya Tish'ah B'Av.” That day he died was Tish'ah B'Av. Everybody doesn’t wear shoes that day, so they all walked him to the funeral without shoes. Look at middah k'neged middah. Hashem knows how to settle the score, rabotai. You get what you deserve. You get what you put in. You couldn’t have planned that. Could a man plan to die on Tish'ah B'Av so everybody would walk without shoes? Then they’ll say this was his custom, and he got that exact reward. What goes around, middah k'neged middah, rabotai, is very strong.
“V'al kol panim yechefim, ki hakehilot hayu osot ken, v'ra'ah Hakadosh Baruch Hu shehatov v'hayashar b'einav asa, ki chen ra'ui sheyehe de'ato shel adam me'orav im habriyot, l'hitztayer im hamitztarim v'lismo'ach im has'mechim.” He says in parentheses here that a person should mourn with the mourners and be happy with the people who are happy. That’s proper behavior. You commiserate: when people are sad, you join them; when they’re happy, you join them too. That’s a good minhag (custom). It’s really amazing. Everything is settled, everything is—
Shlomo Hamelech, yes. “Ish echad…” Did you ever notice they call him Hamelech because he was a king? Shlomo Hamelech. You paid attention to that, didn’t you? And he happened to be the king. So Hamelech is appropriate. David Hamelech. Same thing.
“Ish echad halach l'veit avodah zarah v'nitcharet.” A man once went to a church and felt bad afterward. He went to the rabbis and asked, “Mah la'asot?” They told him, “B'oto yom tit'aneh b'chol shanah.” Every year, when that day comes, fast. “Ad k'dei kach?” To fast the rest of his life on that day? “V'chach asa.” That’s what he did.
“Ish echad halach b'chatzar avodah zarah.” Another man went into the courtyard of the idolatry. “Ksheyatza shama bat kol: V'oti hishlachta acharei gavecha.” God said, “You threw Me behind your back; you went into that place.” “V'nit'anah kol yamav.” He fasted the rest of his life.
“V'chatav b'Chesed L'Avraham, Ein Kol, Nahar samech-zayin: Hanichnas b'arka'ot shel goyim,” if you go into the secular courts of the non-Jews, “o b'veit tiflutam, v'hu b'chanfei sitra achara.” You’re going into the wings of the sitra achara. “Umetame'im oto me'at me'at.” Tum'ah slowly, slowly goes on him. “V'lo yada ki v'nafsho.” He doesn’t realize his neshamah is getting eaten up. “V'im ba'al nefesh ata v'samta d'varim eleh al l'vavecha, urah v'hekitzah, mitardemat yetzer hara, umizeh takish v'takish l'chama inyanim sheye'aseh chehogen, v'dai baze.” That’s the Chida talking. What do we do with secular courts today? They may not have idolatry, but in the old days secular courts were religious institutions. A person has to be careful.
“Amru lachacham: Lamah ata lo yatzata likrat melech shehu tzivah?” I guess there was a parade for the king, and the rabbi didn’t show up. They asked, “How come you’re not going?” He said, “Ho'il umevi'im psisah shelahem uktoret avodah zarah, l'chach lo elech.” They’re bringing their idolatrous object and incense, so I won’t go.
Rabbi Gifter, alav hashalom, made a big speech once when the Pope came to Miami. Certain Jewish organizations made a big thing of it; they closed their institutions that day and went to greet him. Rabbi Gifter went crazy. He said, “All right, they close the streets and it’s a day off—go learn Torah! Why waste your time greeting him? They don’t need you there.”
“Im ro'eh derech chalon beit avodah zarah o pesel, yasim michseh al hachalon.” If you can see idolatry or an image through a window, cover the window; put the shades down. Blackout. “Im nochri rotzeh lifrot me'ot l'tzorech beit avodah zarah…” The non-Jew comes to you and needs to change money. He says, “Listen, we need change in the church.” “Lo yachalif lo.” Don’t change it for him, “afilu she'eino midei tikrovet.” Basically, keep away. Keep away from anything—even if you’re not using it yourself, you’re just—Correct. But he’s going to use that money for the church.
“Chad hayah bikfar v'hayah tzarich l'aravah.” A man was in a village and needed an aravah, I guess for Sukkot. “V'lo matza aravah yafah ela bachatzar avodah zarah.” The only nice aravah was in the courtyard of the idolatry. “Amar lo zaken echad, kach aravah she'einah yafah, v'al tikach aravah yafah shebachatzer hazeh.” An old man told him, “Take an unattractive aravah rather than the nice aravah in that courtyard.” Understand?
“Mi shepoter chalom l'yehudi sheyecheta.” A man comes and tells you a dream, and you say, “Oh, I understand that dream to mean you’re going to sin.” “Ke'ilu hu hishchito.” It’s as if you caused him to sin. “Keivan shehachalomot holchim achar hapeh.” Dreams follow their interpretation. You caused the man to sin. A man comes and says, “Rabbi, I dreamt that an apple fell on my head.” You say, “That means you’re going to murder someone.” What are you talking about? We never give a bad interpretation. “V'zeh shene'emar, machti adam b'davar, v'af al pi sheyode'a bo she'af im yiftor lo lo ya'aseh kach, mikol makom yiftor sheyavo lidei avon.” Even if you know he might commit the sin, don’t say it.
“Kol otam sheyesh lahem hirhurim ra'im, v'einam mebitim mehirhurim baTorah o she'ar devarim, atid HaKadosh Baruch Hu sheyishbor libam.” Anyone who has bad thoughts and doesn’t try to remove them by thinking about Torah or other things—no good. “V'lachen, tov lagever sheyishbor libo b'kirbo, v'yihyeh nivzeh b'einav v'nimas, uletaken makom lihyot heichal Hashem.” Your body is supposed to be a resting place for the Shechinah, and the resting place for the Shechinah needs to be pure. If there are bad thoughts, the Shechinah cannot rest. “Shetishreh Shechinah hakedoshah b'kirbo, b'yoter k'sheya'asok b'machashavot tehorot”—good thoughts, positive thoughts, godly thoughts—“b'yir'ah, ahavah, deveikut, chafitzah.” “Hen al yedei machashavot ra'ot, harei hu meshukatz umto'av.” With bad thoughts, he becomes abominable. “V'sham yagi'a pelonit.” Then the pelonit, which is the sitra achara, is able to attach. “Al zot yevosh b'kirbo, v'yisgor einav, v'libo d'ma'ot yizal, v'yitz'ak lomar, ‘Hoshi'ah na haMelech.’” When a person has bad thoughts, he has to say, “Hashem, help me get these thoughts out of my mind.”
Next paragraph. “Im mar'im l'Reuven kasheh al Shimon.” Let’s say Reuven has a dream about Shimon, but it’s a bad dream; Shimon is in trouble. “Tzarich l'Reuven l'hitanot ulehitpalel al Shimon.” Reuven has to fast and pray for Shimon. “She'efshar sheShimon nazuf.” Maybe Shimon is in cherem in Heaven; they don’t talk to him. So they gave the news to Reuven so he could help Shimon. “L'chach her'u lo, o l'chach her'u l'Reuven l'ma shehu yit'arev bishvil Shimon.” Maybe they knew that if Reuven prayed, his prayer would be answered, so they showed him the dream. Why did they show it to Reuven? There was a reason. “V'im lo yit'aneh, tov l'hagid lo.” If he can’t fast, it’s good to tell him, “Listen, I don’t want to scare you, but I had a dream about you last night, something bad. I think you should be concerned,” “kedei shehu yitpalel al atzmo,” so he’ll pray for himself.
“Rak im ish ani hu, v'chalam chalom al ashir, lo yelech hu b'atzmo l'hagid lo, ela im yirtzeh, yodi'a lo al yedei acher sheya'aseh tov l'hatavat chalom, v'lo yeda mi ba'al hachalom, mishum lizut sefatayim harchek mimecha.” If a poor man dreams about a rich man, he shouldn’t go tell him himself. If he wants, he can let someone else tell him to do something good for hatavat chalom (rectification of a dream), without saying who had the dream, because of the suspicion that could arise. I guess a poor man shouldn’t tell a rich man. Why not? Tell somebody else to arrange a hatavat chalom for him. The rich man might think the poor man is eyeing him or is jealous.
“Im yomar lo ba'al hachalom la'avor al hamitzvah, lo yishma lo.” If someone tells you in a dream to transgress a commandment, don’t listen. Of course not. “Dichtiv: V'hanavi hahu o cholem hachalom hahu yumat.” “Divrei chalomot lo ma'alim v'lo moridim.” The religions of the world are based on dreams, so you cannot listen to a dream that tells you to rebel against God.
“Yesh chalom she'adam ro'eh bachalom Reuven met.” A man sees in a dream that Reuven died, bar minan. “V'yesh Shimon, o ben l'Reuven, o adam sheshmo kishmo, o to'aro v'shanim, o yechidi, v'chol yotzei shehu mesukan o mitzta'er, o me'abed mamono.” It might instead be Shimon, Reuven’s son, or another person with the same name or description, or someone else in danger, suffering, or losing his money. “Mo'il ta'anit l'hafech lakal shebahem.” Fasting can change it to the least severe possibility. “She'im hachalom amiti al yedei mal'ach, i efshar shelo yitkayem, ela sheyachol l'hithafech, b'midat hamishpat kmo shene'emar: Re'u ki ra'ah neged p'neichem, v'nehepach l'dam hamilah, uvrachamav modia l'adam mah she'atid lihyot, kedei sheyashuv bitshuvah v'yitpalel.” He’s saying that if, God forbid, you dream Reuven dies, it depends. If the dream was given by an angel, you can change the decree through a fast. There was a decree that the Jewish people would have a lot of blood when they came out of Egypt, and it changed to the blood of circumcision instead of the blood of death.
“Ma'aseh be'echad shehayah yoshev be'etzev al chalom ra shelo, shera'ah sheyamut.” A man had a bad dream and saw that he was going to die. “Amar lo hapoter she'im yiten lo lishtot yikneh chalomo mimenu.” The interpreter told him, “If you give me a drink, I’ll buy the dream from you.” Cheaper. “Venatnu lo lishtot al menat ken, umet hakoneh.” They gave him a drink on that condition, and the buyer died. The man bought the dream and it came true.
“Vechen echad hayah choleh vehigia sha'ar lamavet.” Another man was sick and near death. “Vehayah echad mitlotzetz, im titen li kach vechach ekneh li hacholi shelcha.” Someone joked, “If you give me this much, I’ll buy your sickness from you.” “Venatan lo,” and the man died. You don’t fool around with that.
We had a case in the shul. A man sold his Olam Haba to one of our members. That’s what happened; I forgot the details. He said, “I don’t need it; I’ll sell it to you.” He had a paper saying, “I hereby give my Olam Haba to this man.” In our shul? Yes. He sold his Olam Haba. He said, “I don’t need it, I don’t want it, I don’t believe in it. You can have it.”
“Ketiv, Mi k'Hashem Elokeinu bechol korenu elav, lamadta shehaKadosh Baruch Hu etzel kol adam.” That’s a very important point. God is close to you at all times. You can pray to God at any time of day. God is always next to you. It’s a very big point. “Okay, I left shul.” God is just as much on the porch as He is in shul. What’s the difference? God is everywhere. “Velachen bechol et sheyirtzeh, yachol lomar Baruch Attah o Yehi Ratzon milefanecha.” You can always make a Yehi Ratzon. Pray all day long.
“Vesheyehei ish yekayem mah shekatuv Shiviti Hashem lenegdi tamid.” God is in front of you always. “Vadai k'ish hayare vechared omed lifnei melech basar vadam. Midat haKadosh Baruch Hu einah kemidat basar vadam, she'adam omed betzarah koreh lamelech, ad shehamelech ba lesaye'o, kvar oyvim asu lo ra'ah kodem sheyavo hamelech, aval haKadosh Baruch Hu tamid asui lehatzilo.” Unbelievable. God is different from a regular king, obviously. When a man is in trouble, he calls for the king to save him. By the time the king gets there, the man has been killed. But HaKadosh Baruch Hu is right next to you. You don’t have to call Him; He’s already there and can save you immediately. You’re always walking with God.
Like in my grandchildren’s kindergarten: “Hashem is here, Hashem is there, Hashem is truly everywhere, up, up, down, down, right, left, all around.” We can have the Edmond Safra choir over here, with the chorus. Beautiful. Danny is still going. Maybe Danny should open a little choir in your offices, Sam. Bring a couple of the Von Trapps.
“Ma'aseh be'echad shechalah lamut, vera'ah kenegdo kemo anan bidmut adam.” There was a man who became sick and was about to die. He saw something like a cloud in front of him in the image of a person, “shehayah mit'atef betallit,” wearing a tallit, “uveyado zahuv,” with what looked like a gold coin in his hand. “Ve'amar lo, hazechut she'af al pi she'attah bachur attah mit'atef betallit, shelo keminhag anshei Ashkenaz shehabachurim einam mit'atefim betallit.” It told him, “You have a zechut (merit) because even though you’re a young man, you wear a tallit, unlike the Ashkenazim, who don’t have the young men wear a tallit.” That’s a zechut for you. It’s a mitzvah (commandment) to wear a tallit. “Vehazahuv shenatatta letalmid chacham ani.” And the gold coin you once gave to a poor Torah scholar, “pada'acha min hamavet letchiyah.” It redeemed you from death to life.
He saw an image of a man wearing a tallit with a coin in his hand, as if to say that those two merits—the tallit and the coin for tzedakah—saved him. “Miyad yaza, venitzal venitrapa.” He immediately sweated and was saved and healed. “Ki hamal'ach to'en zechuto shel adam beyom hadin.” Whenever you do a mitzvah, you create an advocate. The tallit went up to God and said, “He’s a good man; he wears a tallit! Nobody does that—the Ashkenazim don’t wear a tallit. And he gave tzedakah!” Tzedakah saves. There is definitely an inyan (matter) here: when you need merit, you do mitzvot, and you create more advocates to do your bidding.
When a person has a problem, doesn’t he hire a lawyer? Doesn’t he hire a to'en to advocate for him? You need advocacy in Heaven. You do mitzvot. The more mitzvot you do, all of a sudden a whole team of lawyers comes into shamayim. Where did these guys come from? “Look at the kavanah he had at the amidah (standing prayer). He gave tzedakah, he did chesed (kindness), bikur cholim (visiting the sick), learning—boom, they all come in the next day.” Now the man has to get a benefit. “You weren’t here yesterday.” “We didn’t exist. The man created us today; he put us on his payroll today, so we’re going to represent him.” Any time you need merit—for children, shiduchim, health, parnasah (livelihood)—you need to hire, and it doesn’t cost you money: zechuyot. Every time you have a zechut, bingo! You get another advocate up there. This man had two merits while he was dying: a tallit and giving tzedakah.
“Hineh chen zehu ikar refu'ot lemishehu choleh.” That’s the main remedy for a sick person. “Ve'etzah tovah sheyarbeh biteshuvah utzedakah uma'asim tovim.” It’s especially good when someone is in trouble. This man was sick; he had two more mitzvot. Two more mitzvot, and you get benefits.
One more page, rabotai. “Im bachalom amru besorah tovah le'adam, o amar lo Eliyahu o malach, lo yegaleh le'ishto, shema tagid la'acherim, ve'ein derachim la'asot nissim begaluy.” If you’re given good news in a dream, or Eliyahu or an angel tells you something, don’t tell your wife, in case she tells other people. God doesn’t make miracles publicly. So if they tell you in a dream that something amazing is going to happen, don’t tell anybody. Just let it happen. If you tell your wife, she’ll tell everybody, and then God will say, “I don’t do public miracles.” So you ruined it. Exactly.
“Al yagid adam chalomo leshe'eino ohavo.” Of course, never tell your dreams to somebody who doesn’t like you, because dreams follow their interpretation. He might say, “I once read a book about dream interpretation. That means you’re going to fall off a building tomorrow.” Tell it “ela leyirei chet,” to a God-fearing person, “sheyifterenu letovah.” “Vesheyihyeh chacham sheyeda liftor me'ein hachalom vedomeh lo.” A wise person, when he interprets a dream, has to connect the interpretation to the dream. You can’t have a man say, “An apple fell on my head,” and answer, “That means you’re going to win the lottery.” What does one have to do with the other? You have to connect them somehow. “Vechen al yish'al etzah mison'o.” Don’t ask advice from your enemy either.
Of course, don’t give dreams too much importance today. A lot of them are just imagination, the subconscious, and things like that. Maybe some dreams should concern you, but most of them shouldn’t worry us too much today. In those days they were more connected to the upper worlds, so there was communication. Today there’s a lot of static and interference.
A man came along and told the rabbi, “You rabbis know everything. Tell me what I’m going to dream tonight.” The rabbi said, “I know exactly what you’re going to dream tonight.” “You know what I’m going to dream before I dream it?” “I’ll tell you exactly what you’ll dream.” “So what am I going to dream?” “About pink elephants.” “Pink elephants?” Sure enough, that night he dreamt about pink elephants. The rabbi put the idea in his head; it was the power of suggestion. The next day the man said, “This rabbi’s a gaon! How did he know I was going to dream about pink elephants? I never dreamt about them before.” The rabbi put it in his head, and he dreamt about it.
Some dreams you have to take seriously. I’ll tell you two dreams that happened and were obviously serious. One night at my grandfather’s house, alav hashalom—Joe Safdie—they used to always have rabbis at his house in Deal. He had hachnasat orchim. That was one of his big mitzvot. He loved having rabbis in the house. One of the rabbis who used to stay with my grandfather was Chacham Avraham Salim. He’s the Rosh Yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael. Chacham Avraham, may he live and be well, was there. At se'udah shelishit, we were drinking a little, and everybody was happy. I asked Chacham Avraham, “Tell us the story of how you were born,” because he was an only child.
His father was Rav Natan Salim. Chacham Avraham said, “All right, I don’t tell this story very often, but I’ll tell you.” His parents had been married for maybe 18 years and had no children. There was a great rabbi in Yerushalayim, Chacham Yosef Yedid HaLevi. Chacham Natan Salim went to him and said, “We need a berachah.” He said, “Don’t worry; you’ll have a ben zachar. You’ll have a ben zachar; nothing to worry about.” Shortly afterward, Chacham Yosef Yedid HaLevi died. The couple thought, “There goes our berachah. The rabbi blessed us, and now we don’t have that.”
Then Chacham Yosef Yedid HaLevi came to Rabbi Natan Salim in a dream and said, “I know you’re worried that I died and the berachah won’t happen. This year you’re going to have a baby boy; you have nothing to worry about. That’s a fact.” Chacham Avraham was born that year. Then he said, “My father asked him in the dream, ‘What’s going on up there? What’s going on up there?’” The rabbi told him, “Listen, I can’t tell you too much, but I can tell you that if you’re learning Torah, you have nothing to worry about. Those who learn Torah have it very good up there; there’s nothing to worry about.” What are you going to say, that dream was just a sketch? It was a continuation of a story. He came back in a dream, his father knew it was the Chacham, he filled in the blank, and it happened—they had a baby. That happened in our time, relatively recently: 100 years, 50 or 60 years ago, whatever it is. How old was Chacham Avraham? Sixty, seventy? Sixty years ago? That’s right.
The Ben Ish Chai came to Chacham Ovadia in a dream. Chacham Ovadia was questioning whether he should join the politics of Shas (Shas) or not, because it took time away from his learning. The Ben Ish Chai came to him in a dream: “Gam mizeh al tanach yadecha. Mizeh umizeh al tanach.” Do both. Do the politics and do this; it’s a berachah. From there he said, “Okay.” The Ben Ish Chai came to him in a dream. That’s a fact; it’s reality.
There was a rabbi, alav hashalom, a tzaddik, Rabbi Moe Maslaton. He used to be the rabbi over there, if I’m not mistaken, and he was a real tzaddik. Chacham Baruch loved him. He was very sharp and always tried to sharpen the students with his sharpness. The Maslatonim in general have good memories; they’re very quick and sharp. You have to be on your toes with them.
One day, when we were learning in Lakewood, he came to me and said, “Mansour, I asked this question to all the guys in the yeshiva, and nobody can answer me.” “Okay, what’s the question?” He said, “Eliyahu HaNavi came to me in a dream last night. Prove me wrong.” I said, “Because Eliyahu HaNavi came to me this morning and said you’re in cherem; he doesn’t talk to you.” He said, “That’s the answer!” Just as Eliyahu could come to me, he could come to you too. They all answer me, “No, techum—he doesn’t go beyond the techum Shabbat; it’s Thursday; you’re a kohen; he died; tum'ah.” It’s very simple: just as Eliyahu HaNavi can come to you, he can come to me. Eliyahu came to me this morning and said you’re in cherem, so he would never come to you. Answer me, and then we’ll go to the next subject.
The last dream we have, which we know is a true dream, and then we’ll conclude with this. Many years ago—I won’t say the name of the synagogue, although I’ve said it in past shiurim—I was asked, “We want you to give a shiur in Pirkei Avot. Are you capable?” I said, “Tell me what Pirkei Avot is; I’ve never heard of it. Show me what it is, and I’ll try. Am I capable of giving a Pirkei Avot shiur, you’re asking?” I said, “Okay, give me a chance, give me a shot; I’ll practice.” They said, “We want you to give it during Sefirat HaOmer, the seven weeks of the Omer, every Tuesday night, one chapter.” “Okay, beautiful.” They said they would pay me $1,000 for the series. “No problem.” I gave the shiurim; they loved them. They videoed and recorded them and said they were going to do it every year.
I said, “Okay, beautiful. Forget about every year; just pay me my $1,000, and then we’ll worry about next year. Give me my $1,000. Next year, we can do it for 100 years; we’ll have an Olam Haba, just give me my $1,000.” The man said, “Of course, of course, it’s done. You still live over there on Avenue T?” “Yes.” “We’ll mail it to you; you’ll have it in two days.” No problem. The check is in the mail. One week, two weeks. Maybe he forgot to put a stamp on it. “No, it can’t be. We mailed it. Let me speak to the secretary.” They gave me hakafot. Every time I saw the man, he said, “You know what? We’ll cancel it; the check probably got lost in the mail.” I told him, “How come my American Express never got lost in the mail? This check got lost? My electric bill never got lost, but this got lost?” “You know what, we’re canceling it. We’ll get you a new check. We’ll authorize it; I have to get two signatures. It’s a whole waja ras.”
A year passed, and I told Sandra, “You know what? I have a little dignity, a little self-respect. I’m going to chase $1,000 now?” Kapparat avonot (atonement for sins), “keri leh lechesron kis.” That’s what they did; kapparah. Now I know they’ll make you crazy over $1,000. But I gave the shiurim; I gave them perfectly. One day I was in Achi'ezer (Achi'ezer). Isaac Paz, alav hashalom, used to work for nothing in their shul. He asked me, “How come you don’t give those shiurim in that shul anymore?” I said, “Isaac, don’t even mention it. Do me a favor. I got over it already. Now you’re opening up a wound. I’ve been in therapy for a year. You’ve reopened it. Don’t bring it up.” I started twitching. He asked, “What happened?” I said, “They beat me for a thousand bucks.”
He said, “What? I’m on the committee of that shul. They didn’t pay you? I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it!” He went berserk. “How much do they owe you?” “Isaac, I already told you, I made ye'ush.” “Ye'ush is for you. They owe you the money.” He took $500 out of his pocket. “Listen, here’s $500. I’ll get you the other $500.” I said, “Isaac, I don’t want you to pay from your pocket.” “No, I’ll get the $500. They’ll reimburse me; I’m on the committee.” I said, “Okay, Isaac, beautiful. But I gave up.” “Gave up? Don’t give up. Give it to your wife. It doesn’t mean it’s your money; you give up. They owe you the money.” I was excited. I thought that money was written off.
A few weeks later, Isaac Paz, lo aleinu, came down with a rare disease. Lo aleinu, it was a crazy story. Within a month, he died. A tragedy of tragedies. It happened so fast, and he was a good guy. What a shame. Everybody was crying at the funeral. I was crying too, because now I was down $500. “Rabbi, you knew him?” “Yes, I knew him.” I really liked him. He was a good guy.
Within the 30 days, I was praying in the Achi'ezer Torah Center. After Shacharit (morning prayers), Chacham Avraham Zaafrani—remember Chacham Avraham Zaafrani, alav hashalom, from Chalab?—asked me, “Chacham Eliyahu, can I speak to you in your office after Shacharit on Sunday morning?” What did he want? Maybe I got the maqam wrong the day before, because he used to correct me. When I got the maqam wrong for Nishmat, I followed a red book. Mistake. In Chalab, they did Saba on that day. He would correct me: “Make sure next year we don’t…” But he would correct me on Shabbat; he wouldn’t wait until Sunday. You can’t wait until Sunday for that.
He came into the office, took out an envelope, and put it on the table. He said, “This belongs to you.” I said, “Okay.” He said, “Open it.” I opened it and saw $500 bills. “What is this?” He said, “The shul over there owes you $500.” I said, “Chacham Avraham, only two people know about this transaction. I’m one of them; the other man has passed away. How do you know about it?” He said, “Friday night, Mrs. So-and-so, the wife of one of the board members of that shul, had a dream. Isaac Paz came to her in a dream and said, ‘I gave Rabbi Mansour my word that I would give him the $500. Make sure you go Sunday morning and pay him. I’m in Olam Haba; I can’t rest.’”
She woke up and told her husband. He said, “Go back to sleep. Shtuyot. Shtuyot.” If they owed someone $100, they would have said, “Hurry, we’ll get it.” But because they owed it to the rabbi, they said, “The rabbi says he doesn’t believe in dreams, especially when the dream costs you money. Shtuyot. Go back to sleep.” She went back to sleep, and Isaac came a second time. “I’m telling you, don’t fool around. You owe the rabbi the money.” Now she got nervous, and her husband got nervous. They went to Chacham Avraham and asked, “What do we do? Is it emet?” He said, “Yes, it’s emet. Pay the rabbi.”
That’s a case from our time. The man came back from Olam Ha'emet, the World of Truth. I’ve confirmed this story 100 times. Every time I see the woman, because I always think it can’t be true, I ask, “Could that dream really have happened?” She says, “Rabbi, it happened exactly as you always tell it. He came to me; I knew it was him. He said what was owed, why it was owed, and to pay it immediately.” Chacham Avraham was the go-between, and he settled it. So you have to be careful.
I have a collection agency. Play around; I have a lot of connections over there. I’ll get it somehow, so don’t fool around. Some guys need the Mafia. I don’t have to use the Mafia. I’ll bring a man down from shamayim to scare the daylights out of you until it gets paid. Anyway, those dreams—what are you going to say, check it? No.
In general, a woman once called me and said, “Rabbi, I dreamt all my teeth fell out. I learned in halachah that if you dream your teeth fell out, it’s a bad thing.” I said, “Absolutely, it’s a bad thing. When was the last time you went to the dentist?” “I have an appointment tomorrow morning for a root canal.” She had gone to sleep agonizing over the root canal, and she dreamt all her teeth fell out. That’s a subconscious dream, Freud, which we don’t pay too much attention to.
I once asked Chacham Yaakov Hillel, “When people come to me with these spooky dreams, what should I tell them?” He answered, “Tell them, ‘I wish I had such a dream.’” That’s how confident you should be that dreams don’t mean anything anymore. When you say, “I wish I had such a dream,” the person thinks, “It must be a good dream; the rabbi wishes he had it.” That’s how convinced Chacham Yaakov is that most dreams today don’t mean anything. There’s no rhyme or reason. Sometimes, the scarier the dream, the better the result. You can’t think that a scary dream necessarily means a scary result. Sometimes it works the opposite way.
So when they tell you a dream, you always have to say, “Cheir, it’s a good dream; it’s good.” If a man is really spooked, let him make hatavat chalom the next day, or a ta'anit chalom (fast for a troubling dream). A ta'anit chalom is so strong, it’s able to burn the dream like a spark can burn a piece of hay or straw. It burns it, by the way, and then one does not have to worry.
Baruch Adonai le'olam, amen ve'amen. Rabbi Chananyah ben Akashya omer. Chazak. “Ratzah HaKadosh Baruch Hu lezakot et Yisrael, lefichach hirbah lahem Torah umitzvot, shene'emar, Hashem chafetz lema'an tzidko, yagdil Torah veya'adir.”