To Reb Berel of Beshenkovich, nothing was more precious than the opportunity to hear the profoundly spiritual and inspiring teachings of his Rebbe, the Rebbe Rashab (Rabbi Shalom DovBer of Lubavitch), first-hand.

On one occasion, Reb Berel set out by foot to Lubavitch. The journey was long and his feet ached, but knowing he would soon hear the sweet words of Chassidus made every step worthwhile. When he finally arrived, however, Reb Berel discovered that the Rebbe was absent, on leave to the quiet, lush countryside. A kind stranger gave him directions and he took off again immediately, without even taking a short break to catch his breath, so much did he yearn to hear Chassidus.

But again he was met with disappointment. The Rebbe had no plans to say Chassidus, he was told.

Heartbroken and spent from his efforts, Reb Berel slumped to the ground in abject misery.

A simple Jew, pious but unlearned, lived nearby. Every day he would furnish the Rebbe’s table with milk, cheeses, and butter from his dairy farm. He also took responsibility for ensuring the Rebbe would have a minyan (quorum) of men with whom to pray, frequently running to surrounding villages to find enough willing Jews to participate.

This simple Jew had become like a member of the Rebbe’s household—free to come and go as he pleased. When he saw Reb Berel’s deflated figure in the street, he thought that the stranger was in dire need. Perhaps he lacked a good meal or a bed, or maybe even some money. He rushed to help.

“Thank G‑d, there is nothing I need from you,” Reb Berel sighed. “I just wanted to hear some Chassidus and I’ve come a long way to do so. But it seems like it’s not going to happen…”

Without thinking, the dairy farmer ran straight into the Rebbe’s house.

“Rebbe!” he cried with alarm. “There’s someone who came all the way here just to hear you teach Chassidus and he’s miserable. Miserable! Whenever I see someone in pain, I give him eggs, maybe some butter, or milk. You, Rebbe, can help this Jew by saying Chassidus.”

Barely an hour later the Rebbe announced that he would give a Chassidic discourse in his room.

Reb Berel sat, enraptured, listening to every word with delight. He left the Rebbe’s room, face aglow, warm with the knowledge that he had at last fulfilled the purpose of his journey.

Noticing this sincere display of joy, the dairy farmer entered the Rebbe’s room again. In a breathless, excited tone, he described what he had seen and requested a blessing: In Gan Eden, in the World to Come, he wanted to experience that same delight Reb Berel had felt after hearing the Rebbe speak.

“Every time you recite Tehillim (Psalms) from cover to cover, you merit a special reward,” promised the Rebbe. “In addition, you will merit to understand the Tehillim on a deeper level in the World to Come.”

Placated, as soon as he exited the Rebbe’s room the dairy farmer grabbed the nearest Tehillim and began to recite it with newfound fervor, confident that he would one day experience the great joy he had seen on Reb Berel’s face that day.