Noch a Bissel
Two merchants traveling to Memel found themselves sharing the road with a quiet, simply dressed Jew. They mocked him the entire journey — his appearance, his manner, his poverty. He said nothing.
When they reached the inn that evening, the merchants retired to their rooms. The poor traveler, unable to afford lodging, lay down on a bench in the dining hall. Later that night, the merchants decided to have a little more fun. They crept over with a lit candle and held the flame to his beard.
He woke up. Looked at them. And said softly: “Noch a bissel — a little more.”
The next morning, as they entered Memel, the town’s leading citizens gathered to welcome a distinguished visitor. It was him — Reb Yosef Zundel of Salant, the rebbi of Rav Yisrael Salanter and one of the great tzaddikim of the generation.
The merchants nearly collapsed. They threw themselves at his feet, begging forgiveness. Reb Yosef Zundel forgave them on one condition: never treat another person that way again.
The Sun Behind the Clouds
The Gemara in Shabbos (88b) says something extraordinary: “Those who are insulted but do not insult in return, who hear their disgrace and do not respond — about them the pasuk says, ‘Those who love Hashem are like the sun as it emerges in its strength.’”
Why the sun?
Rav Avigdor Miller explains the metaphor beautifully. On a cloudy day, the sun seems hidden. But clouds don’t weaken the sun. They pass. And when they do, the sun shines forth in its full brilliance — as if nothing had ever blocked it.
The same is true of a person who endures insult in silence. In the eyes of onlookers, their dignity may seem diminished. But their spiritual reality hasn’t changed at all. Hashem sees past the clouds. The humiliation is temporary weather. Who the person truly is remains fully radiant before Him.
Three Rungs
Not every response to insult is equal, though. The Maharsha outlines three levels, each one higher than the last.
The first is when you’re insulted and you don’t insult back. You might protest — “That’s not right” — but you stop short of returning shame for shame. That alone is a real achievement.
The second is complete silence. No protest, no defense. You let the insult pass and say nothing. The Maharsha connects this to the question in Tehillim (24:3): “Mi yaaleh b’har Hashem — Who may ascend the mountain of Hashem?” Silence under fire is an ascent.
The third — the peak — is Reb Yosef Zundel’s level. Not just silence, but joy. You actually welcome the insult as a chance to serve Hashem, to emulate the One Who bestows kindness even on those who rebel against Him. “Noch a bissel.” A little more, please.
Break Them on the Bava
The Gemara in Nedarim (66b) — cited by the Mesillas Yesharim — tells another remarkable story.
A Babylonian Jew married a woman from Eretz Yisrael. Both spoke Aramaic, but with very different dialects, and miscommunications were constant. One day the husband said, “Bring me two bouzinei.” In his Babylonian dialect, that meant melons. She brought him two candlesticks. He looked at them and said, “Go break these on the bava” — meaning the gate.
She went looking for someone named Bava.
She found Bava ben Buta — one of the great Sages — and smashed the candlesticks on his head.
When he asked what she was doing, she explained she was following her husband’s instructions.
Rather than getting angry, Bava ben Buta praised her for listening to her husband and blessed her with children who would become great Torah scholars. The blessing was fulfilled.
He didn’t just tolerate the insult. He turned it into a brachah.
The Signs on the Door
This kind of greatness didn’t end with the Gemara.
When Rav Aharon Leib Steinman, zt”l, returned to Eretz Yisrael after a trip to America with the Gerer Rebbe, those accompanying him were shocked to find his home plastered with offensive signs. Certain individuals had placed them on his door and walls as a public insult.
His companions rushed to tear them down. Rav Steinman stopped them.
“Don’t remove them,” he said calmly. “I’m so happy! In America I received too much kavod. I was afraid it might cost me in Olam Haba. But now Hashem brought these bizyonos right to my door — I don’t even have to look for them! If people understood the value of bizyonos, they would pay full price for it.”
He once told a troubled man that the Beis HaLevi suffered great humiliations and accepted them in silence — and the Chofetz Chaim used to actually daven for bizyonos because he understood what they were worth. Hashem rewards that kind of humility not just with personal merit, but with blessing for generations.
Mazal Tov on Your Humiliation
Rav Yisrael Reisman tells the story of an American who came to Rav Chaim Kanievsky with a complaint. A relative had insulted him publicly, and he couldn’t get past it. “I can’t look at the person,” he said. “But he’s a close relative and I can’t avoid him. What should I do?”
“He insulted you publicly?” Rav Chaim asked.
“Yes.”
“Was it in front of ten people?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful!” Rav Chaim exclaimed. “Being insulted publicly is a segulah for wealth.”
The family members standing nearby began showering the startled visitor with mazal tov wishes. One collector handed him a card. “Al tishkach oti — don’t forget me!” he begged.
The man came in nursing a wound. He left being congratulated on his good fortune.
The Sotah’s Secret
Parshas Nasso describes one of the most painful ordeals in the Torah. A woman suspected of unfaithfulness is brought to the Beis Hamikdash, her hair uncovered, forced to drink the bitter waters before all. If she is innocent, the humiliation is staggering — and yet the Torah promises she will be blessed with children. The humiliation itself becomes the vehicle for brachah.
That’s the same principle at work in every story we’ve seen. The insult that seems like a loss is really a gain — if you can bear it.
The Currency of Heaven
Let’s be honest — these are extraordinary tzaddikim operating at extraordinary levels. Welcoming insult with joy is a level most people can barely imagine, let alone reach. But that’s the peak, not the entry point. The Maharsha gave us three rungs, and even the first one — just not firing back — is a real achievement. The point isn’t to feel bad about where we are. It’s to know the ladder exists and to try climbing one rung higher than we did last time.
Each of us knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end — a cutting remark at a simchah, an unfair criticism at work, a public embarrassment that stings for days. Those moments feel like losses. But they’re not. They’re deposits.
Every insult silently endured is currency in Shamayim. Every word left unspoken is an investment that compounds forever. The humiliation that feels so bitter down here becomes priceless up there.
And yes — sometimes it is right to speak up, especially when falsehoods are being spread and silence would be misleading. But there are many situations where the truly great person stays quiet and lets Hashem keep the books.
The sun may disappear behind clouds. But it never stops shining. And one day, those who bore their shame in silence will shine forth with all the radiance of the midday sun — fully visible, fully rewarded, fully crowned.
If people understood the value of bizyonos, Rav Steinman said, they would pay full price for it. Most of us get it for free.
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