27 Sep A SUKKAH SPONSORED BY THE ANGEL OF DEATH “HOW COME I HAVE EVERYTHING, YET I HAVE NOTHING?” WHY ENVY IS IGNORANCE

A Tale of Two Jews
In the world of
yesteryear, in a small
village near Karlin,
Belarus, lived two
Jews. One was a
Chassid—a pious
follower of the great spiritual master Rabbi
Aaron of Karlin. The other was the type they
used to call a Misnaged, a Jew who deeply
apposed Chassidim and Chassidus and
everything they represented. The misnaged
(the opponent) was tremendously wealthy
and the Chassid—a desolate pauper.
This wealthy man had everything a man
desires. He had fine children, a dedicated
wife, and was healthy like the day he was
born. All a man can wish for except one
thing: cheerfulness. He was a bitter and
miserable soul. He never had a pleasant
moment; he was always tense and suppressed.
He would be quicker to pay full price for
something than to smile. He was a religious
person, but his religion had no soul, no smile,
no joy. It was all about rigid law.
Friday evenings in this man’s home were
solemn and glum. He would sit at the head of
the ornate mahogany table with a stern face,
tense shoulders and eyes that bespoke
tension. Even the Shabbos melodies were
depressing, sung fulfilling his duty, without
warmth.
Truth be told, this man was most comfortable
and content with Tisha Bav, the saddest day
in the Jewish calendar; by contrast Simchas
Torah was a day he dreaded.
If there ever a soul of darkness, it was he!
Across the street at the corner, was a shack, a
wretched excuse for a home, where the
Karliner Chossid lived or, to be more
accurate, was surviving. He barely had
money to buy nutritious meals for his family.
He lived on the edge. But one thing that never
lacked was joy, exuberance and warmth.
Friday evenings at the chassid’s home were
other worldly. Joyful and lively tunes
reverberated throughout and the house was
filled with a heavenly euphoria and ecstatic
elation. He hugged each of his children and
made them feel like princesses. He laughed,
he sang and he danced. He loved the Shabbos
and he loved people. He was in love with life.
And so it was week in week out, the
misnagad’s home made the North Pole look
like Miami, and the chassid’s home was a
haven of warmth and light, pulsating with joy
and excitement.
Now, the chassid’s good natured personality
irked his wealthy neighbor to no end. “How
can it be,” he would often wonder “that I,
who posses all a man can want, yet I am so
bitter and angry, while this penniless Chassid
is so joyful and upbeat?!” Inasmuch as it
disturbed him, he remained bitter. This was
the 18th century, pre-therapy days, so when
you were irked by your neighbor, you just

repressed it.
The Sukkos Trauma
Sukkos was his worst holiday. The holiday of
joy was something he could not bear. He
would sit outside in the Sukkah upset and
distraught. His poor wife and children sat
with him somber and hard faced. A gloomy
atmosphere always filled the Sukkah.
Across the street was the chassid’s sukkka
full of dancing and singing. Many lechayim’s
were shared and beautiful stories told. The
Sukkah walls were bursting with positive
energy.
The Decree
One Sukkos, the positivity and joy was more
than the misnaged could handle and he
decided he must put a stop to the Chassidic
lunatic who was driving him mad. Being the
wealthiest Jew in the shtetl and practically
providing everyone’s livelihood, he devised a
plan.
You see, how would the poor chassid build
his Sukkah every year? He would approach
Yankel and ask him for a piece of wood or
two; then go to Chatzkel and request a piece
or two, then he would go to another few
friends and borrow for the week a plank or
two, and eventually put together his little
sukkaleh. So as the next year came around, as
Sukkos approached, the wealthy Jew warned
one and all not to help the chassid with his
Sukkah. “Under no circumstances is anyone
allowed to lend him lumber,” he warned.
“Anyone that does, can look for a job
somewhere else.”
His word was heeded. This year, the poor
chassid got the same response from everyone
he approached. “I would love to help you but
your neighbor forbade us to help you. I have
young mouths to feed; I’m sorry but I can’t
afford to lose my job.” Every person he went
to rejected him.
The chassid was devastated. It was a night
before his most cherished holiday and he still
had no Sukkah. He had no money to purchase
his own lumber, nor would anyone lend him
even a single plank of wood. What do I do?
He thought to himself.
Suddenly he had a plan; he would go to the
cemetery.
The Cemetery
The custom back then was, when a poor
person who cannot afford a marble tomb
would pass away, the shtetel community
would provide a wooden plank for his tomb.
The cemetery had hundreds of such planks
with the inscription “Here Lies” (Po Nitman),
and when someone poor would pass away,
they carved out his name on the plank of
wood, and stuck it into the ground. This
would constitute the tombstone on his grave.
“Well,” thought the chassid to himself, “let
me go borrow the planks of wood from the
cemetery to build my Sukkah. “Who’s going
to die on Sukkos, and if someone does, how
many will die already? There are hundreds of

planks in the cemetery. I will borrow these
planks for my Sukkah and return them after
the holiday! Certainly, the kehilah
(community) would allow me to do so.”
And so off he went with tens of wooden
planks and built himself a Sukkah the size of
an airport! The cemetery had so many planks,
that he could afford to build himself a gigantic
Sukkah, larger than he ever built before.
The Night Comes
The eve of Sukkos arrives and the misnaged
is sitting in his Sukkah rubbing his hands.
“Finally,” he says to himself as he settles in
his palatial Sukkah, “it’s about time I taught
that Chassidic dance box a lesson! Finally, I
will enjoy one Sukkos without those lively
tunes, festive celebrations, and ecstatic
dancing from the Chassid. Finally I will be
able to remain happily depressed without
anyone making me feel how misrable I am.”
You can imagine his shock and horror when
he hears his neighbor singing like never
before. The voices from the other sukkah are
more jubilant than any other year! He goes to
see for himself and… Oy! His neighbor is
sitting in a massive Sukkah, larger than ever
before, surrounded by his wife and children,
plus a few guests, dancing and singing, and
enjoying immensely.
The wealthy Jew never had a worse meal in
his life.
The next night, he could contain himself no
longer. He ran over to the Chassid’s Sukkah,
his face burning red with anger, his veins
looked like they would burst out any second.
“Who gave you this wood?” he roars at the
poor Chassid. Who defied my orders? Tell me
right now, from whom did you obtain such a
massive, beautiful Sukkah?”
The chassid, who was a clever individual,
looks at his neighbor and smiles. “First of all,
Gut Yom Tov my friend, sit down and relax
and I will explain it all to you.”
An Encounter
The Chassid tells him the following story:
Due to your decree, I was not able to gather
materials to build a Sukkah. As you know,
I’m sure, I don’t either have a steady job. So
with no Sukkah to build and no work to do, I
was left with a lot of time on my hands.
It was the night before Sukkos, and I had
nothing to do. What does a Jew with time on
his hands do? I decided to go for a walk.
I went out for a stroll. It was after midnight.
As I am strolling, I meet someone I have not
seen in a long time: the angel of death.”
“Sholom Aleichem,” I tell the angel of death.
“What brings you to our neighborhood on the
night before Sukkos?”
The angel of death tells me he came to do a
job. Someone’s time is up and he got to seize
the man’s soul.
“Who?” I asked the angel of death. Who are
you coming to take?
“Ah,” the angle of death says, “I am on my
way to kill your rich neighbor. The guy who

really can’t tolerate you. His time is up.”
So I turned to the angel of death, and I said:
“Don’t bother with him. Leave him alone.”
“Why?” asked the angel of death. “He
despises you with a passion. Why not finish
him off?”
So I told the angel of death: “It is a waste of
your energy and time to kill this man. You see
this person has long been dead. Trust me,
there is no need to kill him; he died many
decades ago. He has not been alive for
probably 50 years.”
The angel of death thanked me profusely for
giving him the night off. Then he asked me
how he can repay my favor. I told him: I need
a Sukkah!
So the angel of death told me: Go to the
cemetery and build your Sukkah with all the
wooden tombstones that are there. I promise
you, I will make sure no one dies for the next
eight days, and you have no reason to worry
about those planks of wood. You can take
them all!”
At this point, the chassid points to the walls
of his Sukkah and says: Look, I can prove it.
Pointing at the “Here Lies” (Po Nitman)
inscription that was on all the boards, he says,
“you see they are all from the cemetery.”
The Breakdown
The misnaged could no longer contain
himself. Years of ignoring and suppressing
his emotions and feelings, stifling his crying
soul, suddenly gave way, and the dam
crumbled. Rivers of tears flowed freely, as he
wept like a baby. He cried for the decades of
lost time; he cried for his soul, for a live lived
so meagerly and miserably.
“How is it that I have everything yet I have
nothing; you have nothing, yet you have
everything?” From where do you get it?
From where?” cried the welathy man in
agony.
“For this,” replied the chassid, “you need a
Rebbe.” A Rebbe lifts you up in a moment of
hardship, and empowers you during
challenging times. A Rebbe allows you to
remain connected to your own deepest soul,
reminding you of your essential connection
to G-d. A Rebbe is always there for you,
pushing you up the mountain of life, telling
you that you can climb yet higher. And when
you are connected to a Rebbe, you realize
that there are things larger than your own
ego, you don’t take yourself so seriously. You
can laugh at yourself.”
“Go to Karlin, go to the great Rabbi Aharon
of Karlin, my Rebbe. There you will begin to
live.”
Tradition has it that this wealthy Jew turned
out to become one of Reb Aharon’s greatest
disciples.