When the holy tzaddik, Rabbi Yisrael of Ruzhin, fled Russia and crossed the border into Austria, he arrived at a village and asked, “What is the name of this village?” They told him, “Sruliva.” He then asked them, “Do you know the meaning of this name?” They replied, “We don’t know. But at the edge of the village, there is an old man, over a hundred years old, who rarely leaves his bed. Perhaps he knows.”
The Rebbe requested that they ask the old man, and indeed, he knew. The Rebbe asked that they bring the old man to him, and they brought him on a sled. The elderly man began to tell his story:
When I was a young shepherd in this area, a wolf appeared and approached my flock. I cried out, but there was no one to help me. I was terrified. The wolf came closer and snatched a lamb. The next day, the wolf returned, and again, he snatched another lamb. On the third day, I was too afraid to go alone, so I asked some friends to accompany me with sticks and stones. But when we saw the wolf approaching, everyone was gripped with fear.
Suddenly, I noticed a man sitting on the mountain above. I recognized him as a Srul—(a Jew, Israel)—who often came here to meditate and study. Seeing him, I cried out, “Srul, come help me!” The Jew descended from the mountain and approached the wolf. As he neared the wolf, he looked back at me and said, “Do not be afraid, the wolf is no longer alive.” I responded, “But I still see him standing!” The Jew insisted, “He’s not alive. Come closer, and I will show you.” We approached the wolf together, and indeed, it stood like a block of wood.
The Jew then asked me, “Do you have a knife?” I answered yes. He told me to skin the wolf and make a fur garment from it, which I did.
As he recounted the story, the old man lifted his garment and showed the Rebbe the fur coat he still wore. The old man continued his story:
When we saw this, we all understood that this man was a holy individual. Below that area, there was a spring and a well where the Jew would occasionally come to immerse himself. Since it was winter, when he emerged from the water and stood on the ice, his skin would stick to the ground, leaving tracks of blood on the ice. The villagers decided to place rags there so that the feet of this holy Jew would not stick to the ice.
Over time, the surrounding villages learned about this, and the people decided to fence off the well and the spring so that animals would not drink from the water. They named the spring “The Holy Spring.” Once, the son of a certain man was ill, and after drinking from the holy spring, he was healed. The news spread, and everyone began to take water from the spring for healing. Eventually, people started to settle around the spring and the well, and this village was established. They named it “Sruliva,” and that name remained.
The Rebbe of Ruzhin thanked the old man for his story. The elder returned home, and upon arriving, he passed away. The Rebbe of Ruzhin then revealed that the Jew known as Srul was none other than the holy Yisrael Baal Shem Tov, of blessed memory.[1]
This wondrous story was preserved thanks to one simple thing—a fur coat. The coat sustained the memory of the miracle for the old villager. His life was intertwined with that coat: until his last day, he wore it, and after he bore witness to its essence and origin, he departed this world, having fulfilled his purpose. What is the message we can learn from the making of the coat, and why was it important for Rabbi Yisrael of Ruzhin, who was named after the Baal Shem Tov, to ascertain the source of the name of the village?
The killing of the wolf occurred in a unique manner—it remained standing yet had no life within it. Why was its vitality taken in such a way? When the soul departs so quietly, without struggle, almost without anyone noticing, it becomes evident that life and death are in the hands of God alone. The wolf could have been killed in other, more externally impressive ways—lightning, thunderous noise, a direct curse, and so on. But if we delve deeper and reflect, we see that the way the wolf died revealed something entirely different—a higher reality, a supreme force with absolute control over the life of all creatures. Killing in the heat of battle could give the impression that the slayer had a vested interest, as if he felt endangered by the wolf and therefore mustered all his strength and courage to overcome it. But the Ba’al Shem Tov sought to reveal the existence of the Creator of all, the Master of souls. He wanted to show that even what appears to the eye as living and threatening has no real substance apart from the word of God that animates it. Indeed, in an instant, its vitality vanished. And the real amazement of the villagers was their recognition that Srul (the Ba’al Shem Tov) was a holy man of God, and that everything he touched became sanctified.
Thus, the villagers did not perceive the Ba’al Shem Tov as a mighty warrior or a hunter but understood that they were encountering something far more exalted.
Even when confronting evil within a person, the Ba’al Shem Tov adopted a similar approach. Chasidut teaches that “he who wrestles with a vile person becomes defiled.”[2] We do not fight each negative trait individually; rather, we direct all our forces toward a singular, overarching battle—the question of whether “God is my rock and portion forever,”[3] or, God forbid, not. If this is the case, then the vitality of the forces of impurity and negative traits will naturally diminish on their own, without the need to struggle with them directly. If not, then the work of the tzaddik (righteous person), as described in the Tanya, is to continue awakening the essence of the soul through Torah and prayer until it desires to do good, rather than waging an endless and futile battle to force the body and soul to follow the path of goodness in every detail, as it stands on its own. This contrasts with the beinoni—the intermediate person—whose constant struggle is, in fact, his defining task and brings great delight Above, as the Tanya explains in detail: “When the other side [forces of evil] is subdued below, the glory of the Holy One, blessed be He, rises above all.”[4]
There is a saying that if a person breaks his evil inclination, he has not gained anything; instead of one inclination, he now has two. In a similar vein, if the Ba’al Shem Tov had killed the wolf in another manner, the villagers might have believed that he did so through his own power. They would have been saved from that particular wolf but would continue to fear other wolves—especially in the absence of the Ba’al Shem Tov. However, in the way that the Ba’al Shem Tov acted, he illuminated the situation with the light of truth, revealing that the wolf had no power to harm at all. Evil has no inherent power; it only gains strength from the fear and belief that people invest in it. If you know not to fear anything in this world, except the Almighty alone, you will see that “the wicked, even in their lifetimes, are considered dead,”[5] and “soon the wicked will be no more; you will look for them, but they will not be found.”[6]
[1]. Shmu’ot VeSipurim, p. 9.
[2]. Tanya, ch. 28.
[3]. Psalms 73:26.
[4]. Ch. 29.
[5]. Tanchuma Berachah 7.
[6]. Psalms 37:10.
