Yom Kippur/Va'etchanan: The Villager and the Silk Shirt

The Villager and the Silk Shirt

A simple villager once visited the big city. It was a cold, wintry day, and he was bundled up accordingly—several layers deep, like a cabbage. A sweater, a light coat, and, topping it all off, a heavy overcoat that kept him warm as toast. He strolled past the storefronts, gawking at the sights, marveling at the sheer abundance of things he never knew existed and certainly never needed.

And then he saw it.

Displayed in a shop window, gleaming under the lights, was the most beautiful white silk shirt he had ever laid eyes on. It was crisp, elegant, finer than anything he had ever owned—or imagined owning. He had to have it.

Without hesitation, he stepped inside and asked to see the shirt. The salesman, eager to oblige, produced one in his size. Just as he was about to assist, another customer walked in, demanding attention. The salesman, with the easy confidence of a man who juggles clients for a living, excused himself.

The villager, however, was not a man who liked to wait. He unbuttoned the shirt, removed the pins, shook off the bits of paper, and attempted to pull it on.

The first sleeve went on, just barely. The second sleeve—well, that was an ordeal. Much twisting, wriggling, and a fair bit of muttered frustration later, he managed to get both arms inside. But the buttons—impossible! No matter how he yanked, tugged, or held his breath, the shirt refused to cooperate.

When the salesman returned, the villager, red-faced and out of breath, burst out, "You said this was my size!"

"Of course," the salesman replied, entirely unfazed. "But before putting on the shirt, my friend, you might consider taking off your coat first."

Removing the Barriers

We are all, in our own way, like that simple villager. Over time, the pure, radiant soul within us becomes covered—layer upon layer—by the weight of our struggles, the residue of anger, jealousy, greed, and the smallness that life sometimes imposes upon us. And then, when we try to embrace something higher, something holy, we find it doesn’t seem to fit.

Mitzvot are called levushei deMalka, "the garments of the King." They are meant to ennoble, to uplift. But if we try to wear them while still wrapped in layers of frustration and negativity, they feel foreign, uncomfortable—like a fine silk shirt pulled over a heavy winter coat.

That is why the Torah commands: "These words shall be on your hearts" (Deut. 6:6). Not hidden beneath layers. Not muffled by distractions. The words of Torah are meant to rest directly upon the heart, so that they can sink in, transforming not only what we do but who we are.

Before we can wear the garments of the King, we must first remove the barriers. Then, and only then, will they fit—perfectly.

(Adapted from Meshalim Ve-gam Sipurim, p. 19)