A Failed Minyan and an Unexpected Fine: 2 Lessons From Shoftim

“An hour and a half until sunset!” I told myself.

I began searching for a place to find a minyan in the middle of the bein hazmanim break, somewhere in an isolated town in northern Israel.

I walked back and forth, hoping to find a few Torah observant hikers who had not yet prayed Mincha.

Twenty minutes before sunset, I was still searching. Suddenly, in the distance, I spotted a kippah, and then another one behind it. Two religious men were there with their families.

I ran toward them.

“Have you already prayed Mincha?” I asked, out of breath and hoping they would say no.

“We haven’t prayed,” they replied with remarkable indifference.

“Great!” I said. “Just seven more, and we’re all set!”

I looked back and noticed a large vehicle pull up about a hundred yards away. A group of religious men got out and began looking around.

I ran toward them. “Guys, how are you? Have you prayed Mincha?”

They had not.

“Great!” I said happily. “There are eight of us here, and there are another two men I spoke with earlier. Wait here. Don’t move!”

I hurried to put on my suit and hat, then ran toward the first two men, who had already made their way to the other side of the area.

I called out excitedly, “We have a minyan! Come on, everyone is waiting for us!”

But they looked at me strangely, as if I had lost my mind.

One of them said, “Do you really think I’m praying with those guys?”

I answered innocently, “Yes. Come quickly, there isn’t much time left.”

“Listen carefully,” he repeated. “I’m not praying with them. Forget it! Go find people like them to complete your minyan.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“What? Why?” I stammered.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked arrogantly. Then he muttered a few words to his friend in a language I did not understand.

They continued walking and moved farther away.

I froze.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the other group waiting for us.

What am I supposed to tell them now?

I returned to the group with a heavy heart.

“So, are they coming?” they asked expectantly.

I turned pale.

“No, I don’t know,” I mumbled. “In the end, they’re not praying. Sorry.”

I felt terrible.

Then I heard one of the men say quietly, “Maybe they don’t want to pray with us because we’re wearing flip flops?”

My heart sank.

A few minutes before sunset, the men scattered around the area. The two who had refused to pray with us left, and I was left alone, without a minyan.

I found a quiet place and began Shemoneh Esrei with tears in my eyes.

When I finished praying, exhausted, I sat down on a nearby step.

My wife came over and noticed that my eyes were red.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why did you end up praying alone?”

I looked at her and asked, “Do you want to hear why the Third Temple still has not been built?”

Changing the World Begins With Us

The Torah speaks of “matters of dispute in your gates.” Disputes among the Jewish people and the hostility that can exist between one person and another bring judgment into the world.

A person must strengthen themselves, remove hatred from their heart, and replace it with love.

Our sages teach that no person can take what has been prepared for another, even by a hair’s breadth. Yet many people wonder, “How can one ordinary person like me possibly change the world?”

This is exactly how.

Hashem expects each of us to focus on our immediate surroundings, on the places where we can improve ourselves: between husband and wife, toward our parents, teachers, friends, and the people we encounter every day.

Those seemingly small efforts can ultimately influence and change the entire world.

An Unexpected Knock at the Door

There was a hesitant knock at the door.

“Yes! You can come in.”

Silence.

“It’s open! You can come in!”

I walked toward the door, opened it, and saw two small children standing there.

“Yes, sweethearts, what do you need?” I asked in surprise.

“Hello, Rabbi. We’re collecting donations for the ‘Yad LaAvrech’ organization, which helps needy avreichim and makes sure they have food for Shabbat. You can donate according to the amounts on the vouchers. There are vouchers for 50 shekels, 200, or 300. Whatever you want is fine.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” I replied quickly.

“Then you don’t have to. Everything is fine. You need merits to donate to our organization. Have a wonderful day, and may Hashem protect you.”

“May Hashem protect you too,” I said, closing the door.

I was about to sit down when there was another knock, this time louder.

“Those kids...” I muttered irritably as I headed back toward the door.

I opened it quickly and blurted out, “Kids! I told you I’m not interested...”

I stopped mid sentence.

Two burly men were standing in front of me.

“Do we look like children to you?” one of them asked in an especially deep voice.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” I said nervously, taking in the impressive size of the two men.

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“We’re from the television license authority. We came to check whether you have a television in your home.”

I started laughing.

“Guys, can’t you see I’m religious? What television are you talking about? Come in and see for yourselves. I don’t have anything like that in my home.”

They both tried to enter at the same time but got stuck in the doorway because of their size.

“Guys, slowly, slowly. The television isn’t going anywhere. Please, check every room. I have nothing to hide.”

Then I added, “Can I offer you some coffee in the meantime?”

I waited for them in the kitchen while they searched the house.

“You’re wasting your time,” I called out as I stirred the hot coffee. “Are you coming to have a drink?”

“All right, it seems you were telling the truth,” they said as they walked toward the kitchen.

“I told you. You’re wasting your time.”

Suddenly, one of them noticed a large cardboard box sitting in the corner of the kitchen.

“What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“What do you mean, what’s that?”

“That big cardboard box. Is that a flat screen TV box, by any chance?”

“Oh, that? It’s just a box I found by the trash. I brought it home to hold the new dishes I bought before taking them for immersion.”

“Immersion, huh? You expect us to believe that? Fine, we don’t know where you’re hiding the television, but as far as we’re concerned, the box is enough evidence to fine you!”

“What? For what? What television?”

“Rabbi, you’d better prepare some checks. Together with the previous warnings, your accumulated debt comes to... Write this down. A total of 550 shekels. You can pay 50 now, 200 next month, and another 300 the month after that!”

Why We Should Pursue the Mitzvah of Charity

“Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

The repetition of the word “justice” hints to us about the mitzvah of giving charity.

There are two main aspects to giving charity. The first is to give in order to fulfill Hashem’s will and overcome the temptation of the evil inclination.

The second is to recognize that the money in our possession is not truly our private property. Rather, Hashem has entrusted it to us.

Just as a person’s livelihood is allotted from Rosh Hashanah to Rosh Hashanah, so too are their financial losses allotted. In other words, it is better for a person to give generously to charity and merit that the money given will take the place of money they might otherwise have been destined to lose.

Otherwise, that money may disappear through unexpected expenses such as a broken refrigerator, car repairs, taxes, or, God forbid, medications and medical treatment.

A person should therefore recognize the tremendous benefit that comes from giving charity and actively seek opportunities to fulfill this mitzvah with generosity and enthusiasm.