The following story is told by R’ Yitzchok Zilberstein shlita in his sefer, Aleinu L’Shabei’ach. Meshulam was a star pupil in his cheder, and his parents had enormous nachas from him. Unfortunately, Meshulam’s spiritual descent began at age 17, when his mother passed away. One day, he informed his father that he was taking a trip to India together with a few friends. His father was heartbroken, and his anguish over Meshulam’s spiritual deterioration compounded the grief he felt over the loss of his wife. “Meshulam,” he said in a defeated voice, “what does a frum bachur have to do in India?”
Meshulam laughed cynically. “Do you think I’m still frum? I’m looking to find meaning in life elsewhere.”
His father could not believe his ears. He had known that Meshulam was wavering, but never thought he had deteriorated to this level. Meshulam, for his part, was unmoved by his father’s distress. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said impassively.
His father’s face reddened in fury. “Forgive you? After everything I did for you? After the chinuch that your mother worked so hard to give you? That’s how you say thank you? I’m done with you! If you throw away everything that’s important to a Jew, you’re no longer my son. I will never forgive you!” These were the last words Meshulam heard his father say.
Three years passed. Meshulam did whatever he pleased while in India. But his trip was marred by the nagging memory of his wrenching parting with his father. Since that time, he had tried calling his father on the phone dozens of times, but his father had not answered, nor had he responded to Meshulam’s letters. One day, as Meshulam was traveling through a city in India and shopping at the local market, he met an old friend from New York who had been in cheder with him.
The two enjoyed a warm reunion, reminiscing about old times and exchanging experiences. At some point during the conversation, the friend’s face took on a serious expression, and he said, “Meshulam, I am very sorry about your father.”
“My father?” Meshulam asked in confusion. “What happened to him?”
“You mean you don’t know that your father died of a heart attack six months after you left?” the friend asked in disbelief.
“They say that he died of a broken heart because you left him and traveled to India. You didn’t know?”
Meshulam felt as though he had been stabbed in the heart. From that moment, something changed in Meshulam. He couldn’t stop crying. Finally, he decided to travel to Israel to pray. His friends made fun of his decision, but he ignored them and booked the next flight to Israel. When he landed, he headed straight for the Kosel HaMaaravi.
On his way, he began to wonder whether he was even worthy of praying at the Kosel after having abandoned Judaism and having caused his father to die of a broken heart. Haltingly, and with deep emotion, he approached the weathered stones of the Kosel. He placed his head upon the stones, and his tears blended into the many other tears that had soaked the Kosel’s stones before. He cried for his past, for his present, and for his uncertain future. Most of all, he cried for having caused his father such pain. How could he ever find forgiveness for his sins? How could he ever forgive himself? His tears flowed unrelentingly.
A person standing near him took note of his distress and suggested that he write what was bothering him on a note, a kvittel, and place it between the stones of the Kosel. Meshulam liked the idea, and he wrote a note that came from the depths of his heart. “Father, I am here in the holy city of Yerushalayim, at the Kosel HaMaaravi. If your soul sees me from on high, I ask you to please forgive me! I did not mean to hurt you; it was only my yetzer hara that made me act so foolishly. I promise you that I will do complete teshuvah, and from now on I will follow the path that you and my mother taught me. Father, can you forgive me? Your son, Meshulam.”
A fresh wave of tears cascaded down Meshulam’s face as he slipped the note into a crack in the Kosel, but he did feel much better now. The note fell to the floor, however, and when Meshulam picked it up and tried to put it back into the Kosel, it fell down again. As much as he tried to get the note to stay wedged inside the Kosel, it would not remain in place.
Meshulam was deeply distressed by what he saw as Heaven’s refusal to accept his teshuvah. Again, despair swept over him. In a last-ditch effort, he decided to try to insert the note between the next layer of stones in the Kosel. He climbed onto a chair and pushed the note deep between the stones. This time, to his relief, the note remained in its place. But another note that had been wedged in that same place fell out just as Meshulam was placing his own note there. He picked up the other note to put it back into the Kosel, and to his shock, he saw that the word “Meshulam” was written on the outside of the note.
He took a closer look at the note and realized that the handwriting was familiar. This was the way his father had always written his name! With trembling hands, he opened the note, which was already tattered and yellowing. These were the words he read inside: “Ribono Shel Olam! Have pity on Meshulam ben Rivka, my young son who traveled to India two months ago. Watch over him so that he remains a faithful Jew and forgive him for all of his sins. If I could, I would tell him: ‘My Meshulam, I love you and I forgive you for everything you did. It is true that when we parted, I was very angry at you, and I said that I would never forgive you, but you should know, my dear son, that I have changed my mind, and I do forgive you. I hope and pray to our Father in Heaven that He forgives you as well and draws you back to Him in complete teshuvah. I hope that when the day comes, you will marry a G-d-fearing Jewish girl, and you will merit to raise holy, pure children to a life of Torah and mitzvos. Your father who loves you dearly, Yaakov ben Sarah.’”
Now, the floodgates opened in Meshulam’s heart, and he cried his heart out like a young child. When he left the Kosel several hours later, he was a complete baal teshuvah. Today, R’ Zilberstein concludes in his sefer, Reb Meshulam has four beautiful children, who are following in the ways of the Torah.
Rabbi Dovid Hoffman is the author of the popular “Torah Tavlin” book series, filled with stories, wit and hundreds of divrei Torah, including the brand new “Torah Tavlin Yamim Noraim” in stores everywhere. You’ll love this popular series. Also look for his book, “Heroes of Spirit,” containing one hundred fascinating stories on the Holocaust. They are fantastic gifts, available in all Judaica bookstores and online at http://israelbookshoppublications.com. To receive Rabbi Hoffman’s weekly “Torah Tavlin” sheet on the parsha, e-mail This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.