רק בכל אות נפשך תזבח ואכלת בשר כברכת ה' אלקיך אשר נתן לך בכל שעריך ... (יב-טו)
In the small town of Brezhna, Ukraine, the longtime shochet began to feel his age. “Just look how his hands are shaking,” one competitor pointed out to his friend, another of the other local shochtim. His friend just shook his head in silent agreement. It wasn’t the elder shochet’s fault; he had simply reached a venerable age, and as old age set in, so did rheumatism, and trembling hands. One thing the townsfolk agreed on: they no longer trusted the shochet’s unsteady hands and they wanted him to retire. But the shochet had his pride and refused to be forced into retirement. He and the townsfolk reached an impasse, with neither wishing to yield. The tiff went on for quite some time. In the middle of the dispute, the newly appointed rabbi arrived - and with him, new hope for the resolution of the town’s problem.
R’ Sholom Sofer zt”l (einikel of the Chasam Sofer) was hired to replace their recently retired Rav. At the time, he was but a yungerman, a young avreich lacking the authority to remove the old shochet from his position. Yet, as each side became more entrenched in their opinion, machlokes took over the town. Distinct feuding lines were drawn with some supporting the respected but elderly shochet, while others opposed him due to his shaky hands.
“How can you dare retire our beloved shochet who has dedicated his life to ensuring that we eat kosher meat? Have you no shame?” argued one side.
“How can you not retire an old shochet? It is precisely our dedication to kosher meat that forces us to replace someone whose hands tremble and can no longer serve as a competent shochet! Have you no yiras shomayim?” argued the other side.
The new Rav, observing the controversy, decided to speak with the shochet. He advised him as follows: “You see how bitter this dispute is. In all honesty, I don’t think there is any substance to their complaint. As a new Rav here, however, I lack the authority to take any concrete action to help you keep your position and put an end to the machlokes. My suggestion is that you go to the gaon, R’ Moshe Yosef Teitelbaum zt”l, of Uhjel, and ask him to test your abilities. Once he sees that your abilities as a shochet have not deteriorated, he will surely write you a letter of approbation. He will attest to the fact that the meat is kosher and that will settle the matter!” The shochet agreed and left for Uhjel.
When the Uhjler Rav, R’ Moshe Yosef Teitelbaum, saw the shochet, he saw for himself how unsteady his hands were. Yet, he was unwilling to embarrass the elderly man. The Rav suggested the following: “I don’t have time this minute to sit and write up the letter. I have an idea; you go back home and as soon as I have the time, I shall write up a letter and send it straight to your Rav back in Brezhna with my feelings and considerations.” The shochet agreed and returned home.
Some time passed and the yahrzeit of the holy Yismach Moshe of Uhjel approached. When R’ Sholom Sofer made his way to Uhjel for the yahrzeit, he stopped in to visit the town’s Rav as well. “Well, well, I owe you a letter,” apologized the Uhjler Rav to the Brezhner Rav. “Please check what has happened to the letter you wished me to compose.”
He pointed to a stack of papers on top of which lay a letter rendered illegible due to a great blot of ink smeared all over it. “Let me tell you the story of this letter: When I met your shochet and I saw firsthand how his hands shook, I realized I should write to you. Still, I didn’t want to shame the poor old man so I sent him home and promised to send you the letter. When I finally sat down to write the letter and address it, I fell asleep. As I slept, I had a dream. In my vision I saw my venerable zeide, the holy Yismach Moshe, who questioned me in consternation: ‘If they are searching high and low across the whole country for a murderer, someone who wishes to harm the livelihood and to shame an old man, spilling his blood, couldn’t they find anyone better than you?’ When the dream ended, I awoke with a start and the ink pot tipped over and ink spilled over the freshly written letter and ruined it, just as you see it here. I took this as a sign that I was not to be the one to send you this letter. Therefore, I haven’t sent you anything until today.” (Excerpted from Teshuas Tzaddikim p. 511)
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