Insist on Your Rights or Give Way?

The Torah stresses the importance of many character traits and the rewards for ethical behavior. When it comes to foregoing what one believes one deserves, the reward is very great indeed.

Rachel Imeinu (the matriarch Rachel) is forever associated with the middah of vatranut—the character trait of foregoing and yielding to others. The Torah describes the events leading up to her marriage to Yaakov Avinu (the patriarch Jacob). Yaakov and Rachel knew that they were destined to marry one another; they also knew that Rachel’s father, Lavan, intended to deceive Yaakov and instead marry him to Rachel’s older sister, Leah. Therefore, Yaakov and Rachel made a special code between themselves via which Yaakov would know that it was Rachel under the wedding canopy and not Leah. *

However, when Rachel realized that Leah would be publicly humiliated if she was exposed, she divulged the code to her sister. Thus Leah married Yaakov instead of Rachel, and Yaakov was subsequently forced to work another seven years to earn the privilege of marrying Rachel as well.

But the story doesn’t end here. The Torah reveals to us that Rachel was actually barren, and the only reason she was eventually blessed with children was her decision to spare her sister humiliation and forego what was rightfully hers.

The Torah states: “And Hashem remembered Rachel, and Hashem hearkened to her and opened her womb” (Bereishit 30:22). What exactly did Hashem remember about Rachel? The medieval sage Rashi explains: “He remembered that she gave her signs to her sister.”

Rachel’s decision to yield her rights initially seemed like a loss—but it was precisely due to this act that she merited to become one of the matriarchs of the Jewish nation, eventually giving birth to two of the twelve tribes.

We never lose out from giving way. Even if at first it seems like a loss, in the end we only gain. And even if the gain is not always obvious in this physical world, the spiritual reward for yielding certainly exists and endures forever.

***

Sometimes, we merit to see this clearly, as the following true story shows...

One summer, I decided that in order to make a little money on the side, we would rent out our apartment for a few days. I live in a beautiful, pastoral town and it’s common for families from the big cities to rent apartments in other, more scenic parts of the country during the holiday period.

I placed several ads and eventually found a family from Jerusalem who, after looking at the photos of our home that I sent them, agreed to the price I was asking. They wanted to stay for five days, so I found a small but adequate apartment in a nearby city for a fraction of the price they would be paying. In fact, we would be making a profit of 900 shekels per day for a total of 4,500 shekels.

The three days before they were to arrive were a frenzy of cleaning, fixing minor things, washing laundry, and more. Finally the apartment was ready and we left the keys with the neighbor and set off for our own “holiday home.”

No sooner than we had arrived, my phone rang. The family from Jerusalem had arrived at my sparkling clean apartment and... the mother was calling to yell at me that it was totally inadequate.

Apparently, they had a son who was tall and broad for his age and couldn’t possibly be expected to sleep on a youth bed. Apparently, her husband was disabled and couldn’t possibly make it up the stairs to the second floor. Apparently, they had been expecting a scenic view and there wasn’t one. And, to cap it all, the clean linens my wife had spread on the beds were, apparently, dirty and creased.

I was totally taken aback—naturally—but, since I was unable to calm the woman down on the phone, I decided I would simply have to go home and figure it all out. We were, fortunately, only half an hour away.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment in some trepidation. They opened the door to me and I walked in, in shock. The apartment I had left so clean, so tidy, so sparkling, was a total, utter mess. I couldn’t begin to imagine how they had succeeded in turning it upside-down in such a short amount of time. (And, somehow, the “disabled” father had made it up the stairs and was prowling around the living room.)

One thing was true enough—the tall and broad son was indeed tall and broad. Nonetheless, no mention had been made of this in advance. They’d seen the photos I sent, which included several shots of the children’s bedrooms, so they’d known what to expect. (And, I never promised them a scenic view!)

But no amount of explanation helped. The mother was (very loudly) sticking to her version of events and I simply gave up trying. She wanted their money back, right away, and they would find somewhere “more suitable.”

I was devastated. Not only would we not be making any money, we’d actually be losing, as I had agreed to rent the apartment where we were staying for those five days. What should I do? Just give up and give in? But I was right!

After a huge inner struggle, I called my rabbi and asked his advice. I don’t know what I’d been expecting him to say, but what he did say was that although I was right, I should yield and return the money. He added that a person never loses out from giving in.

It wasn’t easy, but I returned the family’s money and they left. Now I had to decide what to do with my own family. Hoping that I could salvage something from the situation, I called the owner of the apartment we’d rented and told him what had happened. I didn’t feel comfortable asking for him for a favor, but of his own accord he said that he wanted to waive the payment for the four remaining days, and that he hoped the mitzvah would be a source of blessing for him in a certain matter where he was experiencing a difficulty.

I thanked him wholeheartedly and went to bring my family home, with such hard feelings—after all the effort we’d gone to, we were left with a net loss, plus the horrible experience of being yelled at and abused.

Later that evening, my wife and I sat in the kitchen trying to figure out what lesson Hashem wanted us to learn from the experience. It was late—past eleven o’clock—and the phone rang. My wife raised her eyebrows and I picked up. “Good evening?”

On the other end of the line was someone from Jerusalem who wanted to know whether our apartment was still available. Unlike the other family, this man wanted to exchange apartments and he added that since we lived in a quiet, attractive neighborhood, he was willing to also pay us 1,000 shekels per night.

Of course, we jumped with joy at the deal.

We quickly organized the house, and the very next day we traveled to Jerusalem with the children, everyone delighted at the opportunity to stay in the holy city. The apartment where we stayed turned out to be a beautiful and spacious one, in contrast to the old, cramped apartment where we had originally planned to stay. What’s more, we ended up with a profit of 1,000 shekels per night, 100 shekels more than we would have made.

From this whole story, I learned two things: First, as my rabbi said, we really do only gain from giving in. I was convinced that the second family was sent my way by Hashem as a reward for foregoing my rights with the first family.

The second thing I learned was the supreme importance of Torah study. How so? I spent hours placing ads, taking and sending photos, and then helping my wife to clean when, ordinarily, I would have been learning Torah during that time. I felt that the Creator of the world was saying to me: “You think that doing business at the expense of studying Torah will bring you success? I’ll show you what doing business without Divine assistance looks like.”

The Midrash tells us: “Hashem said: ‘Listen to Me, for no one who listens to Me loses out.’” From here we learn two things: Firstly, no one who listens to Hashem experiences a loss as a result. Secondly, when people don’t listen and think they can figure things out on their own, they do lose out.

May we always merit to live according to the Torah and be deserving of Hashem’s blessings.

*In those days, the custom was for a bride to be heavily veiled and thus impossible to identify. The incident described here is the source of the custom whereby the chatan (bridegroom) lifts the veil of the kallah (bride) before the marriage ceremony, in order to identify her.