When Hashem Speaks Through Our Mistakes

I run a large business that prints and produces custom discs. With Hashem’s help, it’s a successful operation. We work with a wide range of clients—event organizers, studios, families—anyone who needs discs for special occasions, memorials, or celebrations.

One day, I had two separate orders to prepare. One was from a prestigious institution planning a donor appreciation dinner. The other was from a family who wanted to distribute 60 memorial discs in honor of their grandfather’s shloshim—the traditional 30-day commemoration after a person’s passing.

I worked carefully on both projects. The donor event discs were beautiful, featuring a moving song recorded especially for the evening. The design was elegant and matched the event’s décor perfectly. That afternoon, around 4:00 p.m., I sent the finished product to the dinner hall by courier so that the discs could be placed at each guest’s seat.

An hour later, a young man came to pick up the memorial discs for his family’s gathering. He paid, took the package, and I locked up for the night.

Later that evening, my phone rang.

“You’ve ruined everything!” the event organizer shouted into the phone. “I never imagined you could be so careless!”

I froze. “What happened?” I asked, confused. “Was there an issue with the printing?”

“Printing?!” he nearly shouted. “We gave you our special event song, and you burned the wrong discs! Instead of our music, our donors received eulogies in Yiddish! Eulogies! Imagine a donor popping the disc into his car on the way home and hearing a memorial speech for a rabbi instead of our song. We worked so hard to create the perfect atmosphere—and you made us look like amateurs!”

I was stunned. I tried to apologize. “I’ll compensate you,” I said, my voice shaking.

“There’s no way to fix this,” he snapped, and hung up.

I stood there, completely shaken. My mind was racing—how had this happened? I called the family who had ordered the memorial discs and explained the mistake. The man who answered was kind, but clearly disappointed. “It’s all from Shamayim (Heaven),” he said gently. “We realized the mix-up before handing them out, so we’ll return the discs for you to redo. It’s just frustrating—we planned to give them out at the memorial, and now we’ll have to send them by mail.”

That night, I barely slept. I kept asking myself: Is this how my business falls apart? From one mistake? I tried to find comfort. I reminded myself that Hashem runs the world—even our mistakes come from Him. There must be a reason for this.

The next morning, I got another call from the event organizer.

“You won’t believe what happened,” he said, sounding completely different. His voice was filled with emotion.

“What happened?” I asked cautiously.

“We witnessed a miracle.”

I didn’t understand. “Wait… the disc content changed somehow?”

“No,” he said. “But listen to this. One of the big donors—one of the wealthiest people we know—came to the dinner. We didn’t expect him to attend at all. He almost never comes. But this time, someone convinced him. Anyway, he called us this morning, overwhelmed. He asked, ‘Where did you get Rabbi Obermeister’s eulogies?’”

I held my breath.

“He said, ‘I knew him. He was my teacher, my mentor. I lost my father when I was young, and this rabbi became like a father to me. Everything I know, every mitzvah I still keep—it’s because of him. I had no idea he had passed away… I couldn’t sleep last night. I listened to those speeches over and over. It was like hearing a will from my rebbi. Where did you find them? Every word was true—his humility, his honesty, his kindness. We don’t see people like that anymore.’”

The donor, deeply moved, added, “I want to give a donation. I haven’t felt this kind of emotion in years. It’s like a message sent from above.”

Within the hour, he sent in a donation larger than anything the organization had ever dreamed of receiving.

That day, when the rabbi’s son came to pick up the corrected discs, I told him the whole story. Tears filled his eyes. “This is so like my father,” he whispered. “And you were the one chosen to bring merit to him—zechut ha’rabim.”

Sometimes we think we’ve made a terrible mistake. But if we look closely, we might see that even our “errors” are part of a plan far beyond us—a plan filled with compassion, connection, and Divine kindness.