Even the Greatest Forget: A Lesson in Torah and Humility

The young Torah scholar wandered through the study hall, glancing at the open Talmud pages of those learning in the Belz beit midrash more than 150 years ago. He softly hummed a tune that echoed the sweet rhythm of Torah study. He walked from one side of the room to the other, pausing near each student to see what they were learning. Strangely, no one seemed to notice him at all.

That’s because the 'yoshvim' of Belz, a term used for Jews who devoted themselves almost entirely to Torah and Chassidus, cutting themselves off from most worldly concerns were so deeply immersed in their learning that they simply didn’t see Rabbi Tzadok HaCohen of Lublin moving among them.

Rabbi Tzadok had come to Belz due to personal hardship. His marriage was very difficult. His wife did not allow him to study Torah in peace. Although he tried to compromise and keep the home together, she refused to meet him halfway. When a marriage reaches a point of no return, Jewish law allows a divorce, but even that she would not agree to.

So, as halachah (Jewish law) permits in rare cases like this, Rabbi Tzadok traveled from city to city seeking signatures from one hundred rabbis for a heter meah rabbanim, a special document that would allow him to remarry despite the situation.

When he arrived in Lemberg, a large city near Belz, Rabbi Yaakov Orenstein, the leading rabbi of the city, saw him and took pity on this brilliant young man who had to go through such a painful journey. He offered advice from the heart: “Travel to Belz. There, under the guidance of the holy Rebbe, Rabbi Shalom Rokeach, the 'Sar Shalom' of Belz, you’ll find many great rabbis gathered. It will be easier for you to collect the signatures you need.”

And so, Rabbi Tzadok journeyed from Lublin in Poland to Belz in Galicia. When he entered the study hall, he quietly observed the learning going on all around him. Then, as evening approached, he climbed the central platform, gave a soft knock for attention, and suddenly the whole room fell silent.

Rabbi Tzadok began to speak. What followed was a Torah discourse that stunned everyone. He somehow wove together all the different topics each of the students had been studying though they were working on completely separate subjects, into a single brilliant, deep, and beautifully interconnected explanation. It was clear to all: this was someone with rare and exceptional insight.

Years later, Rabbi Tzadok would become known for his deeply philosophical and spiritual writings that continue to inspire Torah learning today.

The excited students quickly approached their Rebbe, the 'Sar Shalom,' and told him that a remarkable scholar had arrived. The 'Sar Shalom' called Rabbi Tzadok and asked him to repeat his shiur (Torah talk). Rabbi Tzadok did so with the same clarity and depth.

Afterward, the 'Sar Shalom' gently pointed out that the entire foundation of the discourse was contradicted by an explicit Mishnah, a basic, well-known teaching. Rabbi Tzadok was devastated. How could he have forgotten something so clear? He felt deeply ashamed.

Sensing his pain, the 'Sar Shalom' didn’t let him remain in that place of sadness. Instead, he shared a comforting story about his own teacher, the Seer of Lublin (Rabbi Yitzchak Yaakov of Lublin), one of the great Chassidic leaders.

The Seer once heard of a simple Jew in town who would buy combs and leave them in the public bathhouse for others to use. He saw this small act of kindness as a mitzvah and praised the man.

But a Torah scholar in Lublin heard this and questioned the Seer’s praise. “If giving out combs in the bathhouse is truly a mitzvah,” he asked, “why didn’t King David do it? He said that when he entered the bathhouse, he felt bare of all mitzvot until he remembered the mitzvah of brit milah (circumcision). Wouldn’t King David have handed out combs if that too was a mitzvah?”

The Seer of Lublin responded with a gentle smile: “It’s an explicit Mishnah that a king is not allowed to bathe together with others. He must bathe in private. So who would King David have given a comb to?”

The 'Sar Shalom' looked at Rabbi Tzadok and said with warmth, “You see? Even the greatest minds can forget something that’s written clearly in the Mishnah.”

With that, Rabbi Tzadok's burden was lifted. It was a reminder that even Torah giants are human. Forgetting does not lessen the light of one’s learning or their closeness to Hashem, it simply means they are still on the path, like all of us.