This week we read Parsha Toldos about the upbringing of Yaakov and Esav, and the blessings which Yaakov received from his father. I wanted to share an amazing thought and story  from a friend Rabbi Elchanan Ehrman.

Towards the end of the Parsha, the pasuk says “and he smelled the aroma of his clothes (rayach begadav)” [Bereshis 27:27]. The Medrash makes a play on words and says there is an allusion here to “rayach bogdav” — the aroma of his traitors. Yitzchak sensed people in future generations of Klal Yisrael who were traitors to the faith and yet Yitzchak received satisfaction of spirit (nachas ruach) from them. Although this seems paradoxical, the Medrash gives two examples of such individuals: Yosef Meshisa and Yokam Ish Tzeroros.

Yosef Meshisa was a wicked Jew. When the Roman enemies came into Yerushalayim and were about to enter the Holy Beis HaMikdash, they were afraid to enter. They asked for a Jewish volunteer to enter first, to prove that no harm would befall them. Yosef Meshisa volunteered. They told him, “You go in first and whatever you want take for yourself.” Yosef Meshisa went in and came out with the Golden Menorah. When they saw what he took, they told him, “It is not proper for a commoner to use such a utensil. This is over the line. Such a magnificent artifact is fit for a king, not a simple person.”

The Romans told him to go back and chose something else. However Yosef Meshisa refused. He said “I cannot go back in.” They offered him the income for 3 years of tax revenue collection if he went back in, but he still refused. He said, “Is it not enough that I angered my G-d once, you want me to anger Him a second time?” The Romans enslaved him as punishment for his disobedience to them.

What happened to Yosef Meshisa? He abandoned his people. He was a traitor. So then what happened to him that caused him to be able to defy the Romans? He had an epiphany of sorts. He realized that he had gone too far, that he had sunk too low. When even a Gentile told him “You have taken something that is inappropriate for you to have,” he realized that the Gentile was right. He realized that he went too far and had crossed the line.

So often in life, something happens to people that becomes a “wake-up call.” The people suddenly realize how far they have gone.

I would like to share with you an example I have collected this past year of what I like to call “Yosef Meshisa moments,” – when someone realizes “look how far I have sunk.” 

The next story is an essay written by a Mr. Brian Silvy. He was raised in a totally nonobservant home. He was brought up in a Reconstructionist Temple. He knew very little about Judaism. He knew that his family had a mezuzah on their door. He went to Hebrew school and could recite Shma Yisrael. That was about the extent of his Yiddishkeit. Obviously, he was one who did not leave Yiddishkeit — he never had it in the first place.

He writes:

When I was in college, I joined a fraternity. I quickly became engaged in a typical fraternity lifestyle including many self-destructive activities and forms of self-gratification — alcohol, drugs, gambling, and licentiousness. The college I was in had fraternity houses located in Jewish neighborhoods.

One night, I was extremely intoxicated at a fraternity party held in an apartment with mezuzas on every doorpost. I became alarmed when I noticed two fraternity members prying mezuzas off the doorposts. I followed them around the house and I realized that they were collecting the mezuzas as they moved from doorpost to doorpost. I followed them to a room where they tried to remove the housing and take out the scrolls. They tried to read the writing on the scrolls and then crumpled them up and tore them in half when they were unable to do so.

I felt indignant and obligated perhaps by the small spark of Judaism within me to try to stop them. I confronted them with calmness and sensitivity. “What did you do with those things?”, I asked them. “I don’t know. It’s none of your business.” was the response. “You should have left them there. You are not supposed to take them down” I responded.

“Well what are they?” I was asked. “It’s called a mezuzah and they go on the doorposts of Jewish houses.”

“Why?” they wanted to know. I realized that I did not know the answer to their question. I could feel the strength of my position weakening. “Well, what is inside them?” they asked me. Again I could not answer. I could not answer any of their questions. They were looking at me with scorn. One of the collectors asked, “Well, if you are a Jew and you do not know the answer to these questions then why should we care?” They went ahead, took all the mezuzas they had collected and threw them into the fireplace where the fire was burning.

Perhaps it was because I was so drunk, but I walked out of the room dejected and heart-broken. I walked out of the house, found a remote place, and sat down on the snow. I began crying. I replayed the incident in my mind over and over, each time coming back to the same painful question: If you are a Jew and cannot answer these questions, why should we care? That was the catalyst that began my search for Torah Judaism.

This event occurred more than 10 years ago. Now, he writes, he has been learning in Ohr Somayach Yeshiva for the past two years. He is married to his wife Elisheva Rachel. They have a young daughter. They are raising a Torah observant family… all because of a “Yosef Meshisa moment” …because someone said “If you are a Jew and you do not even know, then why should we care?”