This discussion begins with a brief introduction to a challenging verse at the end of Parshas Emor. Before delving into the verse, I want to share a story about the holy tzadik—righteous person, Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Barditchev. Besides being a great rabbi, he was a contemporary of the Alter Rebbe, Rebbe Schneur Zalman, the founder of Chabad chassidus—Chassidic philosophy. Their families were connected as mechutanim—in-laws, since their children married each other. Both Rebbe Levi Yitzchak and the Alter Rebbe suffered greatly from the misnagdim—opponents of Chassidim. In fact, Rebbe Levi Yitzchak was even chased out of his city for a time. Despite these hardships, one of Rebbe Levi Yitzchak’s unique qualities was his inability to see anything bad in any Jew. Even if a Jew was not religious or had violated important mitzvot—commandments, he would always find something positive to say about them.
The story goes that one Yom Kippur, during a break between services, Rebbe Levi Yitzchak stepped outside for some fresh air. He encountered a young, non-religious Jew who, shockingly, was eating a large sandwich and smoking a cigar in public on Yom Kippur. Rebbe Levi Yitzchak ran right into him. Faced with someone who had stooped to such a level—eating and smoking publicly on the holiest day of the year—what would the Rebbe say?
Rebbe Levi Yitzchak looked at him and said, “You know what? I envy you.” The young man was surprised: “Rebbe, why would you envy me? What is there to envy about me?” The Rebbe explained, “The Talmud in Yoma—tractate Yoma says that if a person does teshuvah—repentance, and does it out of love for Hashem, then all the sins he has committed are transformed into mitzvot. Can you imagine, if you only did teshuvah, how many mitzvot you would have? I could try to do all the mitzvot my entire life, but you, with all your sins, could instantly have them all turned into mitzvot.” The young man, being a bit of a wise guy, replied, “Rebbe, wait till next year—you’ll envy me even more!” But the story concludes that the Rebbe’s ability to find the good in him brought him closer, and by the next Yom Kippur, he actually did teshuvah.
Why, the Rebbe asks in the Tanya, should a sin be transformed into a mitzvah? It would make sense for Hashem to forgive the sin, or not to punish for it, but why should it become a mitzvah when it was a violation of the law? The Rebbe explains that when a person does teshuvah, he returns with greater force and passion. Just as someone lost in the desert is far thirstier than someone in a place with plenty of water, so too, someone who has strayed far from Hashem develops a much deeper yearning and love when returning. The distance creates a powerful longing to reconnect. This intense drive, born from having been far away, is what transforms the violation itself into a source of merit—the very force that propels the person to a higher level of connection with Hashem. Thus, the sin becomes a mitzvah because it is the catalyst for such powerful teshuvah and spiritual growth.
At the end of the parsha, we read about a tragic incident in which a man blasphemed Hashem. The Torah goes out of its way to mention the name of this man’s mother. Rashi asks: Why is it important to tell us who his mother was? Rashi explains that this was to show that it was only one person, from one family—she was the exception. No one else did such a thing. The Torah singles her out to emphasize that she was unique in this failing.
The Rebbe questions: Why would we want to make everyone else look good at the expense of making one person look bad? Why degrade even one individual just to show that everyone else was innocent? The Rebbe answers that, if you look deeper, the Torah’s singling out of this one person actually gives her a merit. By stating that she was the only one, it prevents others from following her example. In this way, she has the privilege of being the one whose actions serve as a warning, protecting others from making the same mistake. Thus, the Torah is not degrading her, but rather giving her the opportunity to help herself and others rise higher. Her unique situation becomes a source of merit because it leads others to avoid wrongdoing.
There’s a related anecdote from the Rebbe’s farbrengen—Chassidic gathering. At these gatherings, the important, elderly chassidim with white beards would sit behind the Rebbe. People would look at them and think, “These are the great people.” But one of them, who was a bit of a joker, would say, “No, no, I’m up here not to show off, but to tell everyone: Don’t be like me!” Sometimes, by showing an example of what not to do, even if one has made mistakes, if others learn and are protected, that itself becomes a privilege for the person. It’s not about degrading anyone or finding fault, but about giving them a chance to redeem themselves and help others. This is how the Rebbe explains the deeper meaning of the story at the end of the parsha.
Chazkol Shavach. Yadu Meirav.