Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the Jewish year. This is the day that we shed ourselves of excess baggage, of those needless obstacles on our path to human fulfillment.

The following true story, set in early-20th century Siberia, gives us pause to reflect on our own station in life, and how our unique set of circumstances is custom- engineered to lead us on our own destiny with greatness.
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The train's wheels chugged along. The blast of the steam horn echoed through the air, clearing the way for the train racing from Warsaw on its way to Russia. The railroad cars were jammed with hundreds of recruits in sparkling uniforms just out of the factory. Their crisp newness made a pleasant sound in the soldiers' ears. The air was lightly scented with the smell of fear mixed with burning steam from the powerful engine.

In the midst of this sea of humanity sat one figure completely different from the rest. A thick-bearded soldier leaned his head back upon his pack, which contained all of his possessions, and he gave a muffled sigh. He would have happily forgone the doubtful pleasure of being the lone Jewish soldier among this jumble of thousands of Russian and Polish recruits [in the Czar's army]...

The train's whistle announced an upcoming station.

"Where are we?" the passengers asked, their eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Everyone off immediately!" the officers shouted. "You've reached paradise. One of these days you're going to long for this black hole!"

"Black?" the recruits wondered. "There's nothing here but white snow!"

"But they're right," one of the soldiers explained nastily. "When you're 2,000 miles from home, everything is black."

Deep in the icy wasteland, thousands of miles from civilization, the soldiers descended, trembling from the cold that seemed to cut their flesh like swords. They were settled within a huge army camp. No one had the slightest idea of what he was to do in this forgotten place: Officers muttered something about continuing the journey to the borders of Manchuria, near China, to the battlefields of the Russo-Japanese War, but it seemed that even they were not certain of anything.

They stayed in the camp awaiting orders.

The group was sitting in the dining room eating their tasteless army meal. A tall figure entered the room, and caught the attention of the listless diners. The officer in charge jumped up respectfully and fearfully to greet the general, whose uniform glistened with medals.

The general motioned lightly with his finger. The officer quickly walked with him to a corner of the room. After a moment he returned to the soldiers, his face a mask of confusion.

"Is there a Jewish soldier here?" he asked hesitantly.

Hundreds of eyes turned towards Chaim Shlomo.

The officer took his arm with distinctly unmilitary gentleness. "Our esteemed guest, General Nikolai Fyodorov, wishes to speak with you."

Chaim Shlomo followed the general, who gestured to him to join him outside. A short and swift walk brought them to the edge of the camp. They stopped near the general's quarters.

"I have something confidential to tell you," the general said sternly. "But if you reveal a word of it --" The words he did not articulate could be clearly heard ripping threateningly through the frigid air.

"I am a believing Jew. You can have full faith in me," Chaim Shlomo declared ceremoniously.

"Okay, then," the general began, looking suspiciously around him [and began to relate his own tale of woe:]
 

The sound of wailing pierced the icy vastness. "You have a little boy," the army physician told General Fyodorov, the happy father.

The Jewish wife of the top officer shared his joy for only seven days. Her deceased father, who had been a G-d-fearing Jew in his life, had allowed his heavenly rest to be disturbed and had descended into her dreams. "Know, my daughter, that this son born to you is a Jew. You must circumcise him!" The dream recurred night after night for several months. The general's wife almost lost her mind. How many times, after all, could a person see her dead father and remain sane? She beseeched her husband again and again, "You are a gentile but your son is a Jew. He must be circumcised!"

"And where am I to find a Jew in this frozen desert?" he would protest.

The argument began anew each day until today, when the wife had warned him, "If you can't find a Jew, don't bother coming back home!"

"And now that I've found you, do you know what to do?" The general pressed his fingers together, until the tips turned white.

Chaim Shlomo could hardly speak; his heart beat wildly inside. One moment's illumination, and suddenly everything was magically clear. All the shadows and the darkness, all the suffering and torture, all were destined just for this moment. To bring a child into the covenant of Abraham, here, at the very end of the earth.

"I am a professional mohel," the broken whisper, trembling with joy, barely came out of his dry throat.

The infant's cry of pain there in frozen Russia was obscured by the ecstatic weeping of the mother, who had finally merited to see her son circumcised. Remarkably, it even brought a sigh of pleasure to the gentile who was his father.

"What can I do to reward you?" the general asked, clearly moved.

"I don't need anything. I have but one request: Exempt me from the army," Chaim Shlomo answered. "I cannot keep my Torah in the army."

General Fyodorov was an important figure, and he used all his many connections for Chaim Shlomo's sake. After a short time, the young Jew was free.

"There are times when a person must travel to the ends of the earth to help a Jewish soul," his rabbi, the Sefas Emes, explained after Chaim Shlomo had happily returned home with his story of Jewish sacrifice. "Now you've done your duty as a soldier."