The Piaseczner Rebbe uses a Mashal to encourage teens to work on uncovering the potential they have inside themselves. From the fourth perek of Chovas HaTalmidim. More for a serious tisch than a Havdala.
There was once a poor Jewish shoemaker living in Israel, with his shop located at a crossroads. His entire income was based on passersby; if someone happened to break a heel or tear a shoelace in his vicinity, he repaired it for them and life went on. As you can assume, he didn’t make very much money this way, but he and his family got by. Still, though, everyone was happy; this shoemaker was a God-fearing man who knew where his priorities were, what’s the ikkur and what’s the tafel, and he had succeeded in instilling the same values in his kids.
This shoemaker wasn’t a particularly learned man, but he did what he could; he especially connected to Tefilla. Spontaneously, whenever he felt the need, he would leave his cramped house with its single room and take a quick walk over to the forest, where he would stand and converse with his Creator. Entire conversations, ranging from praise to request, discussions and demands, were expressed by this poor shoemaker during these sessions; while the sight of an expressive, verbose shoemaker with his face afire having a conversation with emptiness unnerved passersby on the nearby road, the people of the town were used to it already; "It must be the Sandler Chassid," (as he was known) they would say to each other.
During the last war, people stopped traveling totally; this made for rough times for the shoemaker and his family. Finally, the day came when there was nothing in the house. The day after comes, and still no food. By the third day, with the kids crying for something to eat, getting weaker and weaker, the shoemaker had no choice. Weak and faint with hunger as he was himself, he left the house to try to find something. His wife calls after him, telling him that if he leaves now, he won’t be there with them when they finally die; she’d rather they die together. The shoemaker, though, wasn’t interested in dying; he was headed to his forest, to see what God had to say.
He started davening, and realized something strange. His main problem, the biggest thing bothering him, he told Hashem, wasn’t the lack of food. It used to be that man had real interactions with God - neviim, miracles, gilui shechina, things like that. Then, people had real relationships with Hashem. The problem the shoemaker had was that Hashem had removed himself from his nation! It was too hard for them to see Hashem interacting with them daily - they felt removed and distant. Instead of asking Hashem for food or bring him and his family back to life, he focused solely on asking Hashem to come back to his people and have a relationship with them the way he used to. Finally, his weakness overcame him and knocked him out.
From his sleep, he smelled an unbelievable smell, one which was able to wake him up from his sleep. Looking around for the source, he noticed a beautiful flower growing nearby in the forest. Realizing that this flower would be able to give his family renewed strength, he picked the flower and started running home. On the way, as he reached the road, a carriage carrying a rich man happened to be passing by. Noticing the beautiful flower clutched in the poor man’s hand, the rich man stops and offers some money for the flower. Refusing the money, the poor man instead proposes some bread for him and his family. The rich man agrees immediately, hands over a sackful of bread, takes the flower, and drives away. Hardly believing his luck, the poor man hurries home with food for his family.
That night, the man’s father appears to him in a dream, clothes torn and crying. He told his son, "Your tefilla today really tore the heavens apart. Malachim were crying, tzaddikim were up in arms-it made such an impact that Hashem decided to bring Mashiach! Since it was your tefilla that started it off, it was decided that Techias Hameisim, the first step, would be given to you, so we gave you the flower. You were meant to take it, go to Me’arat Hamachpela, get the Avot and Imahot, go find Moshe Rabeinu-it was going to be the end of days. The Satan, though, was worried. Mashiach, to him, means the end of the line-he’s getting Shechted! So he was given one opportunity to get the flower back, to stop the whole process. He dressed up as a rich man, and you gave him the flower without batting an eyelash. The moment you did that, everything was ruined. Angels are screaming, 'Who is this guy? What was he thinking?' The opportunity is lost, just because you couldn’t finish the job you needed to do.'"
There are many possible nimshalim for this story. Some people focus on the trust in tefilla this guy had; some focus on the deterministic nature of the world, where sometimes whatever you do will never be good enough. Others point to the fact that Mashiach is sometimes right in front of our noses, and all we need to do is take that one step to bring him in. Almost everyone, though, can’t understand how it could be that this poor shoemaker was held accountable for giving the flower away. All he wanted to do was save his family! This seemed at least a little unfair, especially since the shoemaker had no way of knowing that he was about to mess up the biggest deal in history.
The Piaseczner Rebbe says, that’s the whole point. If you’re so frustrated at the fact that this guy’s called to the table for something he couldn’t have known about, fine. But what about you? Every person has unbelievable amounts of potential waiting to be galvanized and put into play. When you make a conscious decision to not push as hard as you can, to put in less than one hundred percent, you’re worse than the shoemaker! You know what you could accomplish, and consciously decide to let it go! The next time you have to decide between pushing yourself and taking the easy way out, remember the shoemaker and the potential that he gave away, and realize that you’re making the exact same call.
Submitted by Tzvi Goldstein