Rabbi Elijah, known as the Vilna Gaon (“genius of Vilnius”), was one of the most celebrated rabbis of all time. Among his many accomplishments, one element of his life remains a mystery: his attempts to travel to the Land of Israel. We know that the Gaon was a passionate advocate of living in the Holy Land. Many of his most prominent students settled there, and he taught that only when living in the Holy Land could a Jew practice Judaism in a complete manner.
As best we know, he made two separate attempts, neither of which came to fruition.
In approximately 1777 the great rabbi raised funds to finance his mission to establish a new community in what was then Ottoman-controlled Palestine. After traveling from Vilna, Lithuania, to the Prussian port city Königsberg (now Russia’s Kaliningrad), he wrote and sent a letter to his mother promising that should he arrive safely in Jerusalem, he would pray for her there.
For reasons that are still unclear, the Gaon detoured via Amsterdam. We know this because the formal minutes of the Jewish community of the Hague record that Rabbi Elijah of Vilna received a donation towards his trip to the Holy Land. One theory suggests that he was in search of rare mystical texts, which he may have expected to be able to find in Amsterdam, which was then a hub of Jewish spirituality with a major printing press.
He stayed in Amsterdam for approximately two weeks, at the home of a learned businessman. There are some reports that the Gaon found his way to England, but that is highly unlikely. As best we can tell, after his stay in Amsterdam he abandoned his plan to travel to the Holy Land and returned home to Vilna.
Why did the Gaon change his plan? While we have no definite answer, several sources record the Gaon saying that he felt he lacked Heavenly permission. The most likely explanation is that the circumstances at the time were not favorable to establishing a new community.
According to his illustrious student, Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, when the Gaon bade farewell to his host in Amsterdam, the man asked the rabbi to suggest any improvements he could make to his life. The Gaon said that he was most impressed by everything he had seen, and there was actually something he had been wondering about:
“I noticed that every morning you prepare your wife warm water to wash her feet and bring fresh coffee to her bedroom. The Talmud1 advocates that a man ‘should love his wife as much as himself,’ but you seem to go far beyond that, showing more devotion to her than you show to yourself. Why is that?”
The man replied:
“As a child, I was regarded as a budding scholar. My father was a respected scholar although not financially successful. A wealthy businessman was impressed by me and wanted me to marry his daughter. I was still very young, but both sides came to an agreement that we would get married at the appropriate time. For six years, the wealthy businessman provided for me financially, while I continued my studies.
“Sadly, my father-in-law-to-be lost all his wealth and he could not keep his promise to provide for me after marriage. As a result, we broke off the engagement.
“Shortly thereafter, I married another young woman, the daughter of a wealthy family. Not long after the marriage, however, I became weak and sick. When the doctors gave up hope of a cure, I was sent to the town’s sick house. When I showed no sign of recovery, my father-in-law asked that I give his daughter a divorce and I obliged.
“One day, an entrepreneurial fellow approached me in the sick house with an intriguing proposition: ‘You are a brilliant scholar, yet very sick. Surely, people take pity on you. Let me take you around on my wagon from place to place, where people can benefit from your knowledge, and they will no doubt reward you handsomely. We will split the income between us.’ This seemed like a reasonable plan, and so the partnership began to our mutual benefit.
“It turned out that this fellow was not the only one with the idea. On my travels I encountered a young woman who was also being carted around. Her chaperone likewise thought that people would have compassion for a beautiful woman who was so ill and would be generous towards her. So we came up with an idea. Why not join forces? It would save us both money – needing just one wagon.
“As we got to know each other, we decided to marry. Although we were both quite unwell, we managed to put together a simple wedding. After the wedding, the bride was crying, so I asked her what was wrong. She explained that as a child she had been engaged to a promising young scholar who broke off the engagement, and she is still sad about it.
“We began discussing the circumstances around her past relationship, and it became clear that I was the person she was engaged to. We had both become unrecognizable due to our poor health.
“We were deliriously happy at the discovery. It seems that this was the woman I was destined to marry, and my illness was merely a means of ensuring that the union would transpire. Shortly thereafter we both made a full recovery.
“Now you understand why I treat my wife in such a special way. I am doing what I can to compensate for all the suffering I caused her by breaking off the engagement. I know how much pain and suffering I caused her and I am doing my best every day to put things right.”
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