The Moment That Changed Me Forever: Rabbi Meir Chodosh on Choosing Integrity Over Bitterness

Rabbi Meir Chodosh zt"l, the renowned mashgiach of the Hebron yeshiva, didn’t just educate his students in Torah and ethics; he also became a living example of inner change and the ability to overcome obstacles. In a moving story he would share with his students in va'adim, he revealed how a moment of deep disappointment almost led him to change his personality—but right then he chose to stand by his values, and in doing so became a greater, brighter soul. That moment, as he describes it, was a turning point in his life, and it continues to resonate today as a profound parable for anyone who truly wishes to be ma'avir al middotav.

"I was a young boy," Rabbi Meir said, "when I entered the world of Torah—from a very young age, even before bar mitzvah. I set out for places of learning until I found my place in the yeshiva of my teacher and master, the Alter of Slabodka."

"At the yeshiva, those days were a true course of elevation. But the quiet didn’t last, and the world war raging across the globe reached our doorstep. The front, shifting by the day, brought huge waves of refugees—tens of thousands of people moving almost in unison from place to place, just to avoid the line of fire. So by the age of eighteen, the wanderer’s staff was again my lot; every few days we fled farther from the terror of the conquering German army."

"It was in some small town where we found rest for a few days, when one afternoon a panic-filled rumor spread: 'The German army is approaching.' Everyone began to run for their lives and flee. I, too—and a friend from the past whom I had met in that town—began to run. We raced to the town square, planning to look for a wagon driver who would take us farther from the front as fast as possible."

"When we reached the square and I was just about to take my place on one of the fleeing wagons, my friend said, 'oy, I forgot my bundle at the inn—my documents, my money, and most of all my tefillin. Do me a kindness and wait for me while I run back and return.' I agreed, and I stood there, waiting for that friend to run and come back."

Rabbi Meir continued: "Meanwhile, before my eyes and in mere moments, the town emptied out. Wagons filled up and sped off, rushing past me, and I began to feel pressure. What will happen in another moment if there are no wagons left? Where is he—he said he would run; is this what you call running?! A thought of abandoning him crossed my mind: maybe I should leave, go, and seize a place on some wagon. I can’t wait for him indefinitely. But I immediately banished the thought—this isn’t how you treat a friend. It isn’t fair. He asked, and I will devote myself to his request; I will not, Heaven forbid, run off on him."

"The pressure grew. The last wagon had just left the square, and the once-bustling square now stood empty. And where is he, Master of the Universe—why is he delaying? But—ah!—there he is, running from afar. Finally. Now we’ll see what to do, how to find someone to take us from here. He came running, and together with him, as if from nowhere, a loaded wagon appeared. We didn’t have time to exchange a word about his delay, because with a wave of our hands it stopped, and the dignified driver up front announced that there was room for one person. My friend—as if I hadn’t just waited for him with such devotion—immediately climbed onto the wagon and vanished with it."

"It’s easy to imagine—and to feel—the shock and ingratitude that wrapped around me," Rabbi Meir recounted candidly. "What behavior! What repaying of good with bad! For your sake I lost every possibility, and you run off like that? How un‑Torah‑like. You can see on him that he isn’t a ben Torah..."

"And in those seconds of deep disappointment at the hurt that crashed into me, I decided in my heart: I won’t make this mistake again. I won’t wait for anyone anymore. I won’t wait and lose out for others. That’s it—I’m done being..."

"But a moment later, mussar had its say. 'Meir Chodosh,' my yetzer hatov spoke to me, 'Did you wait for him, Meir? You waited for yourself, because you’re not someone who runs away. Because you are a ben Torah. Because you are a decent and fair person.'"

"If so, why should you change your moral and good character because of the conduct of an unfair fellow? Did you wait because you’re a doormat? Were you disappointed because you’re an incurable pushover? Absolutely not! You waited because you are a great, elevated person—and there’s no reason for that to change."

"At that moment, when I decided that this event—this deep disappointment—would not change my personality, I truly felt myself rising and lifting. In those moments I ascended to a higher place; a significant level of my character was built in that pure moment. Then I became a different person—another Meir—Meir Chodosh!" concluded the distinguished mashgiach, his words inspiring.

Rabbi Meir Chodosh zt"l (1898–1989) was the mashgiach of the Hebron yeshiva for more than half a century. He also served as mashgiach at the yeshivot Ateret Yisrael and Or Elchanan, and was prominent among the figures of the Mussar movement.