blogs/rabbi-huberman

A story in the Jewish tradition tells of a wealthy man, Reb Shimon, who lived in Krakow during the 1700s.

Reb Shimon was what we could call today a “loner,” but his community referred to him as the Miser of Krakow.

When someone came to his door asking for tzedakah (charity), he would always refuse. His neighbors insulted him. They excluded him from community events.

People hated him so much that when he passed by they would point and declare, “Look, there goes the miser!”

When Reb Shimon died, the funeral society nearly refused to bury him. Some wanted to throw him in a hole with no shroud or coffin; ultimately—in accordance with Jewish law—he was given a basic burial.

But he was placed in the corner of the cemetery, along with outcasts and those who died in disgrace.

As the story goes, the following Friday, something strange began to happen. Just before noon, a poor man came knocking on the Rabbi’s door.

The man explained: “Every Friday for years and years, I received an unmarked envelope at my doorstep, containing enough money to buy food for Shabbat. But this week, nothing arrived.” 

The Rabbi gave him a small amount of money and sent him on his way.

A few minutes later, a second man arrived with the same story, and this occurred countless times throughout the afternoon.

Finally, the rabbi realized what was happening: The Miser had been secretly supporting the poor of Krakow.

Reb Shimon never revealed his identity because he did not want anyone to feel indebted to him. Rather than receive recognition, he incurred the wrath of the entire community.

There are many versions of this story extending over many centuries. Sometimes Reb Shimon is Yosele or Yisrael, and our tradition has completed this story in many ways.

But the ending I like best is this one, where the local Rabbi feels shame on behalf of the community for condemning Reb Shimon without anyone bothering to know what was in his heart.

The Rabbi instructed his own family that when his time came, rather than leave Reb Shimon buried alone, he should be laid to rest next to him.

And so it was.

After returning from a visit to the Krakow cemetery, some have shared that they stood by the faded gravestones of a Rabbi and a Reb Shimon buried together in the corner of the cemetery.

And to this day, many guides at the Krakow cemetery share this story.

I thought of the Miser of Krakow as I reread this week’s parashah, which recounts the deaths of Moses’ siblings—Miriam and Aaron

What has always struck me is that while the deaths and mourning of Aaron—and later Moses—are described in detail,—very little is said about Miriam’s passing.

Here is it, and don’t bother reaching for a Kleenex.

“The Israelites arrived in a body at the wilderness of Zin on the first new moon, and the people stayed at Kadesh. Miriam died there and was buried there.” (Numbers 20:1)

That’s it

After all, this is Miriam, who convinced her parents to have a third child even though Pharaoh had instructed that all Jewish male babies should be thrown into the Nile. 

This is Miriam, who watched over baby Moses as he floated in his basket.

This is Miriam, who danced with the women after the Israelites landed safely across the Sea of Reeds.

This is Miriam, who every time the Israelites paused on the way to the Promised Land, seemed to know where the local wells were.

How interesting that later in this week’s parashah, Moses is unable to find a source of water. Faced with the incessant grousing of the Israelites, Moses becomes impatient and hits the rock where water was situated.  Due to this outburst, rather than waiting for divine intervention, he is barred by God from entering the Promised Land.

For Moses, this is “strike three.” He’s killed the Egyptian taskmaster, smashed the original 10 Commandments, and now he has disobeyed God.

Our Sages take this a step further. They notice that with Miriam gone, the community can’t find water and concludes that it was Miriam—without fanfare or recognition—who kept the Israelites alive for more than 40 years.

And it was only noticed after her death.

Rabbi Amy Grossblatt Pessah reflects, “I wonder if the Israelites knew their water supply was due to Miriam. Did they know or was it something they took for granted because it was always there?”

She expands this idea and even challenges us to recognize the blessings of those in our lives today—which only become apparent after they pass.

Perhaps because we are so busy attending to our work, our duties and responsibilities, we fail to recognize the gifts and blessings of those who surround us.

I recall my late mentor, Rabbi Joseph Ehrenkranz, entering the door of his apartment having just returned from morning prayers, hugging his wife and reciting the Modeh Ani prayer—giving thanks for having her in his life.

I’ve begun to do the same.

It’s perhaps one of the reasons why Jews bless so much every day—food, water, wine, challah, rainbows, freedom, life. And especially on this July 4^th weekend, let us also give thanks for our country. In spite of its challenges, we are privileged to live in this land of plenty.

Sometimes like the Miser of Krakow or Miriam, we fail to realize how precious each person in our life is.

The Torah, through the eyes of teachers past and present inspires us to look deeper into the hearts of those around us. Sometimes their gifts go unnoticed. For each of us is a blessing from God.

Let us, therefore, never hesitate to let them know—while they continue to walk among us.

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv

Rabbi Irwin Huberman.