A rabbi dies and is waiting in line in Heaven. Ahead of him is a guy who's dressed in sunglasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket and jeans.
The angel at the front desk asks, "Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit?"
The guy replies, "I'm Joe Cohen, taxi-driver, of Noo Yawk City."
The angel smiles and says, "Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter."
Now it's the rabbi's turn.
He stands erect and announces, "I am Levi Rubinstein, rabbi of Beth Tikvah in Cleveland for the last forty-three years."
The angel consults his list.
He says, "Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter."
"Just a minute," says Levi, "That man was a taxi-driver and he gets a silken robe and golden staff. I am a humble soul, but still I wonder, how can this be?"
"Up here, we work by results," says the angel, "During your sermons, people slept; while he drove, people prayed."
This, of course, is but the latest in a long line of "why him and not me?" jokes about how various people are perceived in Heaven. There is the lawyer version ("We have lots of rabbis: he's the first lawyer!"), the one in which G-d is mistaken for a doctor and so on. We'll publish a book someday, if it hasn't already been published.
Meanwhile, the book we're mainly concerned with, Torah, says this week in Ki Tisa that the L-rd asks Moses to request of the people of Israel a "ransom" for their souls (The word "ransom" here is used as it is when one has to pay a ransom for taking a life, but not with intent to murder. In other words, you are responsible for a human life, in this case your own). What is the ransom? One half-shekel. How about those who have 300 sheep and only one child, and can afford more? Still one half-shekel. In fact, no one is allowed to pay more. Your soul, although unique, is worth exactly as much as the souls of every other Jew, accomplished or lethargic, upright citizen or criminal. In Heaven, you'd get the same car, whether it's a Ferrari or Hyundai, that they give everyone.
Does this mean that we're all worth the same? Not exactly. It means our souls are all capable of providing the same nourishment and spiritual riches. What we do with that soul, how well we use what is given to us, that's a different matter. Our souls give us the potential to be infinitely good. Our actions determine how well we've used that potential (and, of course, the kinds of getting-into-Heaven jokes others tell about us Jews, especially about us rabbis).
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Rabbi Deitsch is the Director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania.
The angel at the front desk asks, "Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit?"
The guy replies, "I'm Joe Cohen, taxi-driver, of Noo Yawk City."
The angel smiles and says, "Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter."
Now it's the rabbi's turn.
He stands erect and announces, "I am Levi Rubinstein, rabbi of Beth Tikvah in Cleveland for the last forty-three years."
The angel consults his list.
He says, "Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter."
"Just a minute," says Levi, "That man was a taxi-driver and he gets a silken robe and golden staff. I am a humble soul, but still I wonder, how can this be?"
"Up here, we work by results," says the angel, "During your sermons, people slept; while he drove, people prayed."
This, of course, is but the latest in a long line of "why him and not me?" jokes about how various people are perceived in Heaven. There is the lawyer version ("We have lots of rabbis: he's the first lawyer!"), the one in which G-d is mistaken for a doctor and so on. We'll publish a book someday, if it hasn't already been published.
Meanwhile, the book we're mainly concerned with, Torah, says this week in Ki Tisa that the L-rd asks Moses to request of the people of Israel a "ransom" for their souls (The word "ransom" here is used as it is when one has to pay a ransom for taking a life, but not with intent to murder. In other words, you are responsible for a human life, in this case your own). What is the ransom? One half-shekel. How about those who have 300 sheep and only one child, and can afford more? Still one half-shekel. In fact, no one is allowed to pay more. Your soul, although unique, is worth exactly as much as the souls of every other Jew, accomplished or lethargic, upright citizen or criminal. In Heaven, you'd get the same car, whether it's a Ferrari or Hyundai, that they give everyone.
Does this mean that we're all worth the same? Not exactly. It means our souls are all capable of providing the same nourishment and spiritual riches. What we do with that soul, how well we use what is given to us, that's a different matter. Our souls give us the potential to be infinitely good. Our actions determine how well we've used that potential (and, of course, the kinds of getting-into-Heaven jokes others tell about us Jews, especially about us rabbis).
-------------------------------
Rabbi Deitsch is the Director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania.