Who Appointed You a Murderer

One shochet in a certain town had grown very old, and his hands shook with rheumatism. The townspeople no longer trusted his unsteady hands and wanted him to retire, but he was proud and would not be pushed out. Neither side gave way, and the dispute split the town. One side asked how anyone could shame the beloved shochet who had spent his life making sure they ate kosher meat. The other side answered that it was exactly their concern for kosher meat that forced them to replace a man whose hands trembled, and asked whether they had no yiras Shomayim.

Into this quarrel came a new Rav, Rav Sholom Sofer, of the family of the Chasam Sofer, hired to replace the previous Rav, who had retired. He was still a young man and lacked the authority to remove the shochet. He took the shochet aside and told him that he was on his side but could not act. He advised him to go to the gaon Rav Moshe Yosef Teitelbaum of Uhjel and ask to be tested. Once the Rav saw that the shochet's skill was undiminished, he would surely write a letter of approval and settle the matter.

The shochet went. When Rav Moshe Yosef saw how unsteady his hands were, he did not want to shame the old man. He said he had no time just then to write the letter, and told the shochet to go home. As soon as he could, he said, he would write and send the letter to his Rav, Rav Sofer of Brezhna, where the shochet lived.

Some time passed. When Rav Sholom Sofer traveled to Uhjel for the yahrzeit of the Yismach Moshe, he stopped to visit Rav Moshe Yosef as well. The Rav of Uhjel said, "I owe you a letter. Look at what became of it," and pointed to a pile of papers, with one letter on top ruined by a great blot of ink.

He explained: "When I saw your shochet's hands shake, I knew I had to write to you, but I did not want to shame him, so I sent him home. When I finally sat down to write, I fell asleep and dreamed. My holy grandfather, the Yismach Moshe, asked me in dismay: 'If the whole country is searching for a murderer, someone who wants to take an old man's livelihood, shame him and spill his blood, could they find no one better than you?' I woke with a start and knocked over the inkpot, and the ink spilled over the letter, as you see. I took it as a sign that I was not to send it, and so I sent you nothing until today."