It’s Never Too Late

Meshulum was a very special boy. He was the youngest son of Yossel Rosenfeld a very religious and pious man who lived in N.Y. Yossel Rosenfeld was blessed with great wealth and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his dearest and most precious son Meshulum who was the apple of his eye. Meshulum was a very conscientious student and his teachers only had the best things to say about him. Everyone had high hopes for him and was sure that he would bring great nachas to his parents and rebbeiyim. He was the envy of all his friends, the perfect child that everyone looked up to. He could be seen bent over the Gemora learning late into the night, even after most of his friends had already left the Bais Medrash. His impeccable good middos were something everyone admired. He always stood ready to do others a favor and to help when he was needed.

The change came about slowly. It started when he was just 17 years old. Yossel didn’t know what had snapped in his son’s head. It happened after the sad passing of his dear mother, after a long and extended illness that took a terrible toll on the entire family. That’s when things began to change. It started with small subtle changes that were barely noticeable. His hair grew a little longer. His clothes were a little flashier. His interests began to change. He’d come home late at night without telling his father where he had been. He began to hang out with friends who were far from “yeshivish” and who had a strong negative influence on him

His father was very busy at work keeping very late hours and didn’t spend much time with him. Things weren’t as easy as they had been years earlier and business had taken a turn for the worse and Yossel was forced to spend longer hours at his office. When he came home, he was far too exhausted to spend any meaningful time with Meshulum. The only time he really saw his son was on Shabbos, but by then he was already quite exhausted.

What happened next came as a total shock and surprise. “Daddy,” said Meshulum on one bright and early Sunday morning toward the end of June as vacation was about to start. “I’ve decided to take a trip to India this summer with some of my friends. I just wanted to say good-bye to you before I leave. They’ll be coming to pick me up any minute.”

Yossel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He nearly fainted on the spot. “You’re going to India? With whom? What does a frum boy like you have to do in India?” Yossel was in total shock. Yossel felt like the world was opening up under him and swallowing him alive. Had his dearest son’s mind snapped? Was he for real?

“Dad, I’ve already bought and paid for the ticket and my mind is made up. Nothing in the world will get me to change my mind. I’m going and that’s it. I do hope you’ll be able to manage without me for a while.”

Yossel tried reasoning with him but all his arguments fell on deaf ears.

“The deal is closed dad. You’re just wasting your time. I’m old enough to make my own decisions in life. Have a nice day dad, and I hope to see you when I get back.”

The doorbell rang as Meshulum grabbed his small suitcase and ran outside to the waiting car. His father jumped into the car along with him hoping that on the way to the airport he’d be able to convince him to change his mind. Hot tears streamed down his eyes and he broke down and began to cry. If only his mother had been alive she certainly would have been able to convince him to stop this madness. But she was gone. Gone to a better world where there is no more suffering and pain.

As he stood there saying his last goodbye to his dear and precious son whom he loved more than anything in the world, he asked him once again. “Meshulum, tell me the truth. What does a frum boy like you have to seek in India of all places? Come with me and I’ll take you for a trip to our homeland. Let’s instead go to Eretz Yisroel. I’ll take you to all the holy places. We’ll go daven at the Western Wall.”

“Dad,” said Meshulum as he looked into his father’s sad and painful face. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on the offer some other time but for now I’ve decided to go to India. I must admit that I am no longer as religious as I used to be. Things have changed. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I must be going. The flight will be leaving shortly and I want to get a seat next to my friends.”

Yossel’s face turned as red as a beet. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Forgive you?” he shouted out in great anger. “After all that I have given you? After all that you’re dearest mother, may she rest in peace, has done for you when she was alive? This is the thanks I get in return. This is how you treat an old and broken father? From now on, I don’t want to know you. If you’ve decided to abandon all that’s precious and dear to a Jew, then I don’t want to see you ever again. You’re not my son. You can bet by my life that I will never forgive you.”

With those strong parting words said in great anger, Yossel turned around, began walking away, and burst out crying, releasing a river of tears that flowed straight out from the depth of his broken heart. He now knew that he had lost the greatest treasure he had in the world.

Those were the last words Meshulum was ever to hear from his father.

Three years past. Meshulum had the time of his life in India. There was no end to his worldly pleasures. Unfortunately, his tefillin lay in a corner collecting dust. Shabbos was just another ordinary day in the week. His yarmulka was hidden away in a drawer. By the way he dressed one would find it hard to recognize that he was Jewish. His tzitzis had vanished a long time ago, and his payos were far too short to be noticed. The only thing that seemed to creep up in his mind from time to time was his father’s last parting words. ”I’ll never forgive you Meshulum, never!” They seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his subconscious mind not giving him any rest. Many times he tried calling his father on the telephone but there was no answer. He tried writing him, but he received no reply.

One day, as he was walking about in the marketplace looking around at the wares the vendors were displaying and munching on some treif sandwich he had just bought, he suddenly met an old friend that he had known from New York. At first his friend could not recognize him.

“Can’t you recognize we?” said Meshulum to his childhood friend.

His friend looked at him in shocked amazement. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His pierced right ear with a ring hanging from it, the necklaces and chains around his neck, and the other strange clothes he wore made him look like a total stranger. It was only when Meshulum gave him his name that he put two and two together and shook his head in disbelief. They sat down and began to talk, discussing some of the things that happened back home since he had left. Suddenly his friend turned to him and said, “I’m really sorry to have heard about your father.”

About my father,” replied Meshulum in astonishment. “What happened to my father?”

His friend looked at him in great disbelief. “Didn’t you hear? Your father died nearly a half a year after you left him from a heart attack.”

However, the next sentence pierced his heart like a sharp sword. “They say the heart attack was caused because of the great pain you caused him when you left for India. Didn’t you know?”

Meshulum sat there motionless, staring straight ahead of him in total silence. Not a tear went down his face. His face looked frozen like that of a statute not showing any outward emotion.

But the moment he went back to his hotel room he lay down on his bed and began to cry bitterly. His pillow was soon as wet as a sponge that had fallen into the water. He could get no sleep. He could eat no food. He fell into a state of deep depression and just didn’t want to get out of bed. He had lost his will to live. Everything around him had turned black. He felt all alone; abandoned, destroyed. His heart was filled with intense pain and his head bent down in great sorrow. His friends tried to cheer him up but it was all to no avail. Their words fell on deaf ears as he stared blankly at the cracked ceiling above him.

Finally, one day, as if by some miracle, he jumped out of bed and told his friends that he was leaving. He was going to Israel. He wanted to visit the Wailing Wall. His friends tried to talk him out of it and even made fun at his suggestion, but Meshulum was very stubborn and persistent. He went straight to a travel agent and bought a ticket on the first possible flight.

As soon as his plane landed, he wasted no time and took the first available taxi straight to Yerushalayim and made his way to the Kosel. With great trepidation and awe, he walked over to the holy wall and hugged its massive ancient stones washed by years of tears. He lay his head down on one of its stones that had heard and seen so much pain and suffering, and he too, began to cry. He cried for the past and for the present, and for the dark and gloomy future which he now faced all alone. He cried out for the terrible pain he had caused his father. How could he ever receive forgiveness for such a great sin? His hot tears ran down his cheeks forming a small puddle at his feet. They came from the innermost chambers of his heart. How could he have forsaken everything that was dear and precious to him in exchange for some fleeting and passing momentary pleasures?

“Father, father,” he cried out from the very depth of his heart. “Look down from heaven at your dear lost child. Take be back into your arms once again and hold on to me and don’t let me fall. How I miss your warmth and your loving kisses. Forgive me for all the hurt and pain I have caused you. I know that I don’t deserve it but please understand. I meant you no harm. I was just being misled by my burning yetzer horah who enticed me with all his promises of worldly pleasures. Please, daddy, pray for me. Intercede on my behalf to our Father in Heaven. I’m sure He’ll understand. You’ve taught me that nothing in the world can close the gates of repentance. You told me that the gate of tears is always open. Talk to me! Say something. Give me a sign that you can hear me!”

An old man who had been standing next to him and heard his cries walked over to him and advised him to write down his request on a small piece of paper and insert it into the Wall. He thereupon took a piece of paper and with great embarrassment and with a trembling hand he began to write the following words. Father, I am here in the holy city of Yerushalayim and stand at the Western Wall. If your holy neshama sees me from the heavens above, I beseech you, my dearest father, please forgive me for what I have done. I did not intend to hurt you. My evil desire that burned in my heart like a raging fire got hold of me and brought me to this terrible state. I am truly ashamed of all I’ve done and hereby repent for the sins I’ve committed, and promise never to repeat them again. I promise you from the very depths of my heart that I will change my way of life and return to the ways that you and mother have taught me. Please, my dear father, I beseech you, forgive me.

“Your everlasting son, Meshulum, who loves you forever and misses you so very much.”

More tears streamed down his face but now he began to feel a little relieved and began looking for a crack in the wall to slip in his piece of paper. Strangely, every time he put the note into the wall it slipped out and fell to the floor. It seemed to him that he was receiving a heavenly message that said that he was beyond help and that his sins were too great to be forgiven.

Finally he decided to try and find a place up higher and slip his paper into one of the deeper cracks of the wall. Thank G-d, this time the paper remained in place and didn’t fall out. But, strangely, from the very crack into which he placed his paper another paper fell to the floor. As he picked up the paper to stick it back into the Kosel he noticed the word “Meshulum” written on the outside. He looked at it in amazement and noticed that it was definitely his father’s handwriting. He immediately opened it up and began reading its contents.

“Almighty G-d, please have mercy and pity on my son Meshulum son of Rivka who has traveled to India. I love and treasure him and I fully forgive him from the very bottom of my heart for all he has done to me. When I parted from him at the airport I got very angry and said that I will never forgive him. But, I’ve since had a change my mind, and now truly forgive him for everything he’s done to me. I pray to You, our Father in Heaven, that You, too, forgive him and put the will into his heart to repent for his sins. I pray that the day will soon come that he will marry a true religious, G-d fearing girl and merit to raise holy, pure children who will live a life of Torah and mitzvos.”

(Signed,)

“Your humble servant;

Yossef ben Malka”

As Meshulum finished reading the letter he sat down and began to sob like a small child. He then took a siddur into his hand and began saying Kaddish for his father. He said it loud and with great emotion, mustering every fiber in his body until it pierced the heavens above. The people all around him answered a loud Amen.

When he left the Kosel, he was a full fledged baal teshuva. As the Gemora says, “One can earn his share in the World-to-Come in just one moment.” Today, Meshulum is happily married and has four beautiful children, each one nicer than the other. His father’s prayers were answered. No prayer is ever lost. No one will be left behind. If we just open our heart like the small hole of a needle, Hashem will in turn open it up as wide as the door of the ulom that leads straight into the holy of holies.

Please note: The above story was based on a true story appearing in the Sefer ”Oleinu L’Shabeiach,” by Rav Silberstein, and can be found in volume Devorim 2 Parshas Nitzovim page 273.