By Rabbi Leonard Rosenthal
SAN DIEGO — In preparing this week’s D’var Torah I came upon a Chassidic story whose conclusion puzzled me:
Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshischa used to ask: “What is the difference between a ‘lover of truth’ and a ‘hater of lies?'”
A “hater of lies” hates everyone, because there no one who is always truthful. On the other hand, a “lover of truth” loves everyone because there is no person who is not truthful, at least some of the time.
Everyone knows that prostitution is a sin, so no one says it is a mitzvah. But sometimes people will say that lying, the most onerous of sins, is a mitzvah.
I could not figure out what Rabbi Simcha Bunim meant when he said that sometimes people will say that lying is a mitzvah. Who could possibly think that something as vile as lying could ever be good?
And then I came across a second Chassidic story which explained it:
Rabbi Azriel, the Rabbi of Lublin, was a great mitnagid (someone who opposed the mystical and innovative practices of Chassidut). The Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin was the city’s most renown and celebrated Chassidic Master.
Rabbi Azriel asked the Chozeh: “Why you do serve as the rabbi of Lublin’s chassidic community? You are not a rabbi, you are just an ordinary Jew.”
The Seer answered him: “What can I do? Jews come to me and say that I am a rabbi.”
Rabbi Azriel told him that the next time that chassidim gather around him he should tell them that he is not a rabbi, but an ordinary Jew. Once they hear the truth they will leave him.
The Chozeh did as Rabbi Azriel said. On Shabbat he announced to the entire chassidic community: “I want all of you to know that I am neither a rabbi nor the son of a rabbi. I am a simple ordinary Jew. I don’t know Torah, I don’t fear heaven, and I don’t perform good deeds. Go away and leave me alone!”
His followers were stunned by his words, but shortly their astonishment turned to love as they thought about what he said. Truly their great seer was even a more sincere, humble, and modest human being than they thought. He wanted to deny all of the honor that they were giving him. Instead of fleeing, they grew closer to him and told others of his greatness and his modesty. Soon he had more followers than ever before.
A few days later Rabbi Azriel asked the Seer: “Did you do as I said? What were the results?”
“Yes,” the Chozeh answered. “I did exactly as you said. To my sorrow, it didn’t work. The chassidim thought I was being modest and humble, and forged an even stronger bond with me!”
Rabbi Azriel immediately gave him different advice: “I want you to go back and say” “Please know that I lied to you before. In truth, I am a great rabbi, I am very knowledgeable in Torah, I am the greatest tzadik of our generation, and no one is greater and more learned than me in the entire chassidic community!” Once the chassidim hear that you are not humble, but arrogant and obnoxious, they will surely leave you!
The Chozeh shook his head. “No, Rabbi Azriel,” he said. I am willing to say that I am not a rabbi and that I am undeserving of any honor that is paid me, for that is the truth. But I am not going to lie in front of my chassidim about what I am not!”
Sometimes we think we can actually do good by telling a lie rather than the truth. We think that we can save ourselves or others from embarrassment or negative consequences.
The Chozeh of Lublin reminds us that the ends never justify the means, and you can’t perform a mitzvah through telling a lie.
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Rabbi Rosenthal is spiritual leader of Tifereth Israel Synagogue in San Diego. He may be contacted at leonard.rosenthal@sdjewishworld.com