They were adrift at sea - endlessly, it seemed - a fierce storm tossing the ship about mercilessly. And then, as if the vessel could take no more of the punishing, raging waves, it came to rest its worn-out hull at an island. The weary passengers disembarked, relieved to set foot on solid ground and take respite from their harrowing ordeal. Exotic fruit trees and freshwater wells dotted the landscape in profusion, a welcome sight for fatigued eyes - a virtual paradise.

The seafarers comprised five distinct types. First the introspective sort, who anticipated that the wind would soon abate and the captain would then be eager to get underway. On the other hand, they also reasoned, the wind could pick up velocity and carry the ship far into the deep blue where it could become entirely inaccessible. This group made the decision to play it safe and stayed put on board.

The second body of passengers opted to bide their time cautiously - taking in some minimal sight-seeing and plucking some of the mouthwatering fruit from the trees before returning to take their places aboard the ship.

One might say that the third group got a bit carried away by the island's exquisite allure. Awakened from their reverie by the blast of the ship's horn as the captain determined to set sail, they clambered aboard posthaste and found, to their chagrin, that the early birds were already ensconced in the choice seats.

The sounds signaling imminent departure hardly escaped the fourth division of passengers. Yet these meanderers rationalized that they still had plenty of time. After all, the sails needed to be hoisted and rigged to the mast, and the crew would surely enjoy a meal before setting out on the high seas again. They broke into a frantic run when, to their great astonishment, the craft was seen to move away from shore. The group barely made it by jumping into the water and swimming toward the ship.

The fifth unit of people remained on the island, totally heedless of the disappearing craft. So transfixed were they by the tangible appeal of their habitat that they envisioned never taking their leave. Eventually, the summer season came to a close and the fruits began to drop to the ground. Before long, there was a shortage of food as well as a lack of protective gear against the cold, and the island's inhabitants wailed over their bitter fate. Gradually, they succumbed to the agonizing scourge of hunger and body-numbing temperatures."Assissi l'chanenoch b'lev karua umurtach I've come before You with a torn and searing heart to seek Your mercy . . . like an impoverished one begging at the door" intones the chazan on behalf of the klal in the Rosh Hashanah morning service.And so it is that we mortals alight from our ship onto this world. The tzaddikim, unsayed by desire to indulge in the pleasures the "island" proffers, stay on board. Their goal is to serve their Creator faithfully until the time their souls are ready to depart this world and return to their Maker.

Then there are the fairly farsighted who are diverted but briefly by the enticements of the island. They repent their transgressions while still in the prime of their lives - the most advantageous type of teshuvah. Those of the third category tarry and come to their senses in their senior years - better late than never.

The fourth group consists of those who delude themselves into thinking that they have all the time in the world, that life will never catch up to them. It is when they spy their ship moving away, when illness overtakes them, that they muster barely the strength to rise from their sickbeds to save their souls, expressing remorse for their misdeeds.

And then there are those who are completely immersed in self-gratification, believing they will live forever. By the time the realization dawns that there is no stopping the clock and their time has run out, they missed the boat and die without virtue of having done teshuvah. Their bodies become fodder for worms and their souls face the punishment decreed by Hashem.

"Ashrei ish yerei es Hashem" exclaims Dovid Hamelech (Tehillim 112:1). Praiseworthy is the man who fears God and is repentant in his early years, when he is yet in full possession of his strength and faculties. This type of repentance is the most favored by Hashem. But Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur offer reprieve for each remorseful soul who beseeches God with a broken and contrite heart. (Shelah Hakadosh)

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Straightaway after marrying, R' Dovid shied away from any real association with the regular folk. He kept to himself in his humble abode, devoting his hours to learning Torah and to faithfully serving his Creator - his wife dutifully dedicating herself to him and to his lofty mission in life.

When the atmosphere of the big city became too distracting, he relocated his growing family to a small rural area devoid of the daily hubbub that permeated the more densely populated region. R' Dovid secured his livelihood by undertaking management of the town̓s inn, enabling him to earn his daily bread while pursuing what his soul was drawn to most.

His scrupulous honesty and unpretentiousness gained R' Dovid the admiration and reverence of the patrons, who would often see him retreat to a corner to pray after their needs were served. They discerned early on that if Dudke (as they fondly referred to him) was "studying" when they entered the tavern, they'd be waited on momentarily. If, however, they would find him in a deep meditative stance (davening), no one and nothing would succeed in moving him from his spot or interrupting his concentration.

Indeed, R' Dovid would arise early each morning and immerse himself in hours of intense prayer before greeting his first customers of the day. In the afternoon, his wife would take over as R' Dovid withdrew for Mincha prayers. The patrons, soothed by the calm and peaceful ambience, drank in the pleasure of keeping a watchful eye on their esteemed Dudke and lending an ear to the undertone of his comforting voice.

Several tranquil years later, the township's cleric passed away. His replacement developed a vehement resentment of R' Dovid's widespread popularity. So strog was the vicar's envy, augmented by his detestation of the Jewish people, that he was driven to defame the innkeeper at any cost.

On Rosh Hashanah of that year, R' Dovid was divinely inspired to abandon his routine of attending the High Holiday services in the synagogue of the big city. The tavern's frequenters who neared the inn on Rosh Hashanah were certain that Dudke had evolved into a celestial being. Even the trees seemed to sway to the melodious angelic sounds that wafted from the open window.

The cleric could bear no more. He promptly set off to fetch his comrade, the poritz (landowner), with whom he returned posthaste. Soon they too were spellbound by the rigid form of R' Dovid wrapped in his tallis. The clergyman wrested himself from his hypnotic absorption and directed the poritz to call out to R' Dovid.

"Dudke! Open the door at once!" Not the slightest hint of movement was detected. The poritz was incensed. The shameless audacity of the Jew, he spat. "Call him again," insisted his cohort. "If he will not respond, take the door down!"

"Dudke!" bellowed the poritz. "I warn you to obey my command or you will live to regret it!" R' Dovid was motionless. A blast of gunfire punctuated the momentary silence. The poritz had squeezed off several rounds of fire in the air, but his objective backfired. It was he and the clergyman who shook with fright as they took in R' Dovid's absolute obliviousness to his surroundings - as if he were not of this world.

At that point, R' Dovid paused to retrieve his shofar. The astounded onlookers froze in fear as the piercing sounds of the ram's horn reverberated around them and infiltrated every fiber of their being. A grudging respect for R' Dovid overcame them both.

"Why didn't you respond to my call?" the poritz later asked with forced assertiveness. "Are you not aware that as an overlord I am entitled to your undivided attention?"

"I was praying to the Master of all creation," came R' Dovid's steadfast reply. "at which time no earthly existence can intimidate me."

Convinced that here stood no ordinary mortal, the clergyman was left veritably in awe of this man of God who displayed such conviction and courage.

Not long afterward, as R' Dovid basked in the joyous serenity of his beautifully decorated sukkah, he received an unlikely visitor. The cleric had come to engage the rabbi in earnest discussion of religion and faith.

"I'm baffled," said the clergyman. "I've seen men of your religious persuasion praying before . . . and never standing still. They shake and sway, heads bobbing, shoulders heaving, yet you moved not a muscle."

A deferential R' Dovid indulged the cleric. "Logic dictates that one who stands before the King of kings would be transfused with a trembling fear and utmost respect. But what is a man to do if he is prone to losing himself and sinning inadvertently, thus causing a blockage in his heart - which then necessitates some joggling to dislodge the dirt that is mired in his soul?

"How does the sinner dare to stand and pray before the Master of the World, against Whom he has transgressed?" postulated the cleric.

R' Dovid expounded: "Once there lived a king who had amassed a great fortune and resolved to have a magnificent castle built. He instructed a famed architect to spare no expense in erecting the grandest edifice the world had ever seen. The builder was allotted acces to the most extravagant materials, exquisite stones, and marvelous works of art - a monumental assignment to be accomplished in a three-year time frame.

"The big day arrived, and the king was duly summoned to survey the completed superstructure. With a perceptive and penetrating eye, he inspected the minutest details of the palatial quarters, down to the smallest piece of furnishing.

"Testing every receptacle for smoothness of operation, the monarch found one drawer that would not yield despite a nudging and prodding. The craftsman produced a piece of cloth and swiped some dust from the side of the drawer. Without further ado, the drawer glided open flawlessly. He explained to the king that precisely because of the punctiliousness of every detail down to a hair, a mere speck of dust could create an impediment.

"And so it is with us, in whom God invests a pure and unblemished soul. Assuredly we should stand before our Maker upright and unmoving, with the greatest respect and awe. But our errant ways compel us to shake the accumulated grime from our neshamos, to awaken us to heartfelt prayer. Our God rejects no one, provided our faith in Him is sound. His infinite love for us, His children, motivates us to return to Him with sincere repentance."

Rabbi Yisroel of Vizhin would abide by the chassidic custom of going to Tashlich on the day before Yom Kippur. Thousands of his followers would gather by the water's edge to await his arrival, intent on witnessing the tzaddik's somber Tashlich observance.

On one such occasion, R' Yisroel noted a chassid pushing and elbowing his way in an almost feverish attempt to get close to the tzaddik.

"What is it that you hope to see?" inquired R' Yisroel of his overzealous follower.

"I am eager to retrieve the rebbe's aveiros (sins) that he will cast away. To me they would be counted as mitzvos (good deeds)." came the chassid's impassioned reply.

The tzaddik turned to address the crowd. "I am reminded that twice a year we advance toward water - Rosh Hashanah at Tashlich where we rid ourselves of our sins, and the day before Passover to prepare the water for the baking of Erev Pesach matzos.

"According to the Gemara, when we do teshuvah for fear of divine retribution, our sins perpetrated bemeizid (intentionally are converted to ones committed beshogeig (unintentionally). But when we repent out of love for our Father in Heaven, our sins become merits, for which we reap reward.

"Since on Rosh Hashanah we repent out of fear, we remain accountable for our sins - even though they're now considered unintentional by virtue of our repentance - and therefore we come to throw our sins into the water.

"On Pesach, when we do teshuvah out of love for Hashem for all the miracles He wrought for us, our sins become mitzvos. We then approach the water to retake possession of the sins we disposed of on Rosh Hashanah, in order to accrue merit."

R' Yisroel returned his focus on the source that inspired his impromptu homily. "If you wish to recover my sins, young man, wait until Pesach, when they may be of some use. Today they have no worth. Sins are just that - transgressions we should have refrained from committing in the first place."

Rachel Weiss is a frequent contributor to The Jewish Press.