The romantic reporter

This afternoon I went over to Rabbi Schapiro and told him that I felt bad and regretted his newfound inability to say interesting things in front of me. He said, and I paraphrase, "Really? You mean, you regret that you'll have nothing good to write anymore, but you don't feel bad about it." Once again I was forced to agree with his wise words. A little while later he said to me, "My father told me that there's only two peoples you should be afraid of: the Rebbe's secretaries, and the press. You know, back in Russia, there was only two people that were given kovod in town, the Rav and the moser (government informant)." I said, delighted, "Are you calling me a moser?!" He said, "No, of course not!" I got the last laugh though, "Ahh, but in six hours the whole world will think you did."
Yes my friends, the pen is truly mightier than whatever it is heads of smicha programs fight with.

Moving right along, it has come to my attention that there's a serious overusage of the word "that" on this here website. I will therefore endeavor to write the Rosh's favorite story now without using such a hideous word. Will I succeed? Who knows? Who cares? On with the story! Oh yeah, as astute readers will remember, I've written this story at least twice before. Still, if the Rosh can say it thrice a year, so can I.

Many many years ago there was a guy named Elazar Ben Dodarya. He wasn't the holiest guy in the universe; in fact, he visited every single prostitute in the entire universe. So there he was, living happily in wherever it was he called home, and he hears that there's an incredible new woman of pleasure who charges something like four hundred golden coins, which in today's money would be something like AIG, CitiBank, Ford, Chrysler, General Motors, and the United States Treasury put together. Suffice it to say, Elazar was there in a flash. As he was talking to her at she let out a bit of rearward wind, and said, "Just as the wind I released will never return to its source, so too will Elazar never return to his." For the first time ever, Elazer stopped what he was doing and thought about his situation in life. And he realized, "Hey, she's right, I'm lost!" In a flash he was sitting in a valley, his head between his knees, repenting like no man had repented before. He cried out to the mountains, representing his parents and upbringing, saying, "My sinful life is your fault!" They answered him, "No, each man, no matter how he was raised, is responsible for his actions." Next he turned to the sun, moon, and stars, representing random chance and luck, and blamed them for his evil. They too responded, "No, each man, no matter what cards chance may have dealt him, is responsible for his own destiny." At this Elazar realized that he truly was responsible for what he had done, and then he repented like a man possessed. In fact, his repentance was so great and so awesome that he died. Immediately after a voice from heaven came down and proclaimed, "Reb Elazar Ben Dodarya, you have a place in the world to come." Or something like that. I don't remember the exact details so well. I haven't heard the Rosh say this story in a long time, which kind of stinks. Point is, his repentance was so great that he was called by a title normally reserved for Tannaim, meaning that he was on their spiritual level. Yeah, he was truly the cat's pajamas.
When Reb Yehuda HaNassi, redactor of the Mishna, saver of mice, and post-death Kiddush sayer, heard this story, he started to cry. His students asked him, "Oh great Rabbi, why the tears? Isn't this an incredible story? We see the incredible power of Teshuva, raising a man from the lowest of lows to the highest of spiritual highs." Reb Yehuda said, "That's exactly why I'm crying. Just imagine if he had used this incredible spiritual power he possessed in his life! How much greater would he have been!"

Before I do a post-mortem on this story, and my performance vis-a-vis the evil word, I think I'll transmit another story which this first one has reminded me of.

There was once a guy, many many moons ago in the times of the Talmudic sages, who heard about an incredible, you guessed it, woman for hire. This one too was incredibly expensive, and there's some detail about seven beds which I don't remember, go look it up in the Meam Loaz if you're really desperate. Anyway, this here guy isn't able to conquer his natural desires, and off he flies to the loosely-moralled lady. As they're about to consummate their sin he takes off his clothes, comes to his Tzitzis, and realizes what they represent. He can't bring himself to take them off, nor to sin. The prostitute is so impressed that she converts to Judaism and marries him. I'm not making this up. Point is, it's a good thing to wear Tzitzis.

So here we are, a couple of prurient stories behind us, inspired by their lessons, and realizing several things: 1. Yes, every Jew will ultimately repent, whether he likes it or not (Ha!), but way wait? 2. It's a good thing to wear Tzitzis at all times and places, even when it's inconvenient. 3. Sometimes the word "that" can come in handy.