The Power of Forgiveness: Rabbi David’s Journey of Selfless Giving

As soon as you step into the Mea Shearim neighborhood in Jerusalem, a warm, nostalgic feeling fills your heart. The narrow streets, the low-rise buildings, the delicious aroma of freshly baked challah from the bakeries, and the comforting scent of traditional foods all create a deep sense of connection. Children play freely in the courtyards, while elderly men walk slowly, leaning on their canes—these simple, everyday moments offer a glimpse into the unique and beloved atmosphere that makes this neighborhood so special.

It wasn’t always this way. Over a century ago, when most Jews lived within the Old City, efforts to expand the Jewish community into the Mea Shearim area were well underway. Various communities, eager to encourage settlement in this new neighborhood, bought land at low prices, built homes, and rented them out for small payments or even for free to those willing to settle there.

Communities established small “mini-neighborhoods” such as Batei Neitin, Batei Wittenberg, Batei Ungarin, and others. It’s hard to imagine now, but at the time, people were given housing in Jerusalem without charge. All they had to do was participate in community activities, like attending Torah classes and arriving on time for prayers. My grandfather, Rabbi David Betelman, of blessed memory, lived in one of these neighborhoods. He was a truly remarkable servant of Hashem, a gifted educator, and incredibly organized. It’s no surprise that he would always arrive early for prayer, well ahead of the required time.

The synagogue's gabbai was a man shaped by life's hardships, his tough exterior a reflection of all he had been through. Known for his rough manner and strict commitment to punctuality, he ran the synagogue with a no-nonsense approach. The congregants, familiar with his tough nature, did their best to avoid crossing him—especially when it came to being late for prayers.

As time passed, Rabbi David’s health began to decline. He found it increasingly difficult to prepare for prayer early in the morning, and sometimes arrived later than usual, not out of negligence, but due to his illness. One morning, as the prayer service concluded, the gabbai approached Rabbi David, visibly upset. "Aren’t you ashamed?" he scolded. "Is this how you behave, coming late to prayer as if nothing happened? You live here for free, and all we ask is that you show up early for prayers. “This is a charitable arrangement!” the gabbai snapped. Rabbi David lowered his head, deeply embarrassed. He hadn’t expected kindness or concern—but being scolded so harshly, and in front of everyone, cut deep.

The gabbai, clearly upset, kept going, his frustration spilling out in a stream of harsh words. "This is shameful! Here we have a young man, not even thirty, who doesn’t understand the value of commitment or punctuality!" Rabbi David stood there, humiliated, not responding. He knew that trying to explain his illness would only provoke the gabbai further and wouldn’t calm the tension. With no choice, he remained silent, enduring the cruel words that were unjustly directed at him. After the gabbai finished his rant, he went off to prepare himself a cup of tea, while Rabbi David was left standing, feeling the weight of the public humiliation.

A few minutes passed, and then the gabbai returned to the synagogue. "Gentlemen!" he announced loudly. "I’ve run out of my medication and need to go to the pharmacy in the Old City. I don’t have the strength to go myself. Can anyone help?" By this time, most of the congregants had already left, and Rabbi David was among the last, still packing up his tefillin (prayer items). The gabbai, still sitting in his chair, didn’t seem to notice that Rabbi David had already finished his preparations. Without hesitation, Rabbi David approached him. "Good morning," he said warmly. "I can go get the medications for you. Please give me the prescription, and I’ll bring them to the pharmacy."

The remaining congregants looked on in awe. Just moments ago, the gabbai had insulted Rabbi David, publicly shaming him. And now, Rabbi David was the one volunteering to run an errand for the very person who had humiliated him. Yet, the gabbai, seemingly unaffected by it all, handed him the prescription and some money, adding one last sharp remark: “And next time, try not to be late.”

Despite his illness, Rabbi David set off, running to the pharmacy. An hour of effort, running to and from the Old City, just to help the man who had hurt him so deeply. But for Rabbi David, it wasn’t about the gabbai’s harsh words. It was about doing a mitzvah (good deed) and making the effort to forgive, even when it was incredibly difficult.

When Rabbi David returned after delivering the medication, a few of the congregants who had witnessed the whole event gathered around him in astonishment. "Rabbi David," they said, "how could you do this? It’s one thing to forgive, but this is above and beyond. You ran for someone who hurt you so badly, and on the same day? How did you manage to act with such kindness?" Rabbi David smiled gently and replied, "I have a practice: when someone hurts me, I make an effort to forgive them quickly. But with the gabbai, I couldn’t just forgive him easily. I felt I had to go out of my way to help him, to truly act for his benefit. Only then could I fully forgive him, and release the pain."

Rabbi David’s actions teach us a profound lesson about forgiveness. Forgiveness isn’t always easy. Sometimes, the hurt is so deep that it feels impossible to let go. But if we make the effort, if we go the extra mile, forgiveness can heal us and open the door to peace and renewal. It’s not just about letting go of anger—it’s about taking action to move forward, to act with kindness even when it’s hard. Through this, we can transform our pain and truly forgive, finding peace in our hearts.

Final Thoughts on Forgiveness
Rabbi David’s story teaches us that forgiveness is a powerful tool, but it’s not always simple. Letting go of emotional wounds isn’t always easy—it can take time, effort, and sometimes even personal sacrifice. But when we choose to forgive, especially when it’s hardest, we open ourselves up to a life filled with peace, abundance, and goodness. Forgiveness is not only about erasing wrongs—it’s about opening new doors to healing and spiritual growth. May we all strive to forgive and find peace, just as Rabbi David did.