The Mishnah in Pirkei Avos famously teaches that every Jew has a share in the World to Come. The common understanding of this concept is that by performing mitzvos, we acquire our “ticket” that will grant us entry into Olam Haba after we depart from this world.

Rav Chaim of Volozhin, however, in Ruach Chaim, explains differently. He writes that when a person plans to perform a mitzvah, already at that moment he is surrounded by a light of sanctity, and the person is, in Rav Chaim’s words, “sitting as though he is actually in Gan Eden, in a sacred place.” And when he completes his performance of the mitzvah, this “light” that he created intensifies and then returns to the heavens, and this becomes the person’s Gan Eden that he enjoys after he departs from this world. Rav Chaim concludes by noting that by performing a mitzvah, “one is enveloped in the shadow of sanctity, and the scent of Gan Eden enters into his life.”

The Sfas Emes, in Parashas Toldos, writes that on Shabbos, which resembles the experience of the World to Come, the kedushah of all the mitzvos we performed throughout the previous week descends upon us. This is the concept of the neshamah yeseirah, the “additional soul” with which we are endowed on Shabbos. This refers to the special dimension of sanctity that we receive as the kedushah of our mitzvos, which normally remains in the heavens, stored away until the afterlife, comes down and envelops us.

The Sfas Emes explains on this basis the Gemara’s comment that one’s clothing on Shabbos should be different from the clothing he wears during the week. On Shabbos we wear the “clothing” of our mitzvos, which come to us from Gan Eden. These spiritual “garments” have the special “scent” of Gan Eden, as Rashi comments in Parashas Toldos. The Torah relates that Yitzchak smelled the fragrance of Yaakov’s garments and Rashi explains that this refers to the “scent of Gan Eden” that accompanied Yaakov when he came before Yitzchak to receive his blessing. We wear these fragrant “garments” every Shabbos, and this is why we inhale the scent of spices when Shabbos leaves, during Havdalah, to compensate for the special scent of Gan Eden that has just left us with the conclusion of Shabbos.

The Sfas Emes cites in this context a remarkable story told in the Zohar (Vol. 3, p. 186a) of Rabbi Yitzchak and Rabbi Yehudah, who once traveled together and arrived at a place called Kfar Sachnin, where Rav Hamnuna used to live. They lodged in his widow’s home, and when her son returned home from school, she told him to approach the guests to receive their blessing, as they were great tzaddikim. The boy began making his way toward the rabbis, but then he suddenly turned around.

The boy told his mother that he did not want to go over to these men because they had not recited Shema that day, and he learned in school that one who did not recite Shema at its proper time is under a “ban” throughout the entire day.

The rabbis heard what the boy said, and were astonished. They blessed him and acknowledged that they had not recited Shema that day because they were preoccupied with a different mitzvah, explaining that a person involved in one mitzvah is exempt from others. They then asked the boy how he knew that they had not recited Shema, and he replied that he could tell from the scent exuded by their garments that he sensed as he approached them.

Indeed, as Rav Yaakov Hillel (in his commentary to Shivchei HaAri) cites from the Chida, each mitzvah has its own unique fragrance, and the Arizal was capable of recognizing which mitzvos people were involved in by smelling their garments. And the fragrant smells of all the mitzvos we perform throughout the week come down to us each and every week on Shabbos.

A remarkable story is told in ArtScroll’s biography of Rav Ovadia Yosef (Maran HaRav Ovadia, by Rabbi Yehuda Heimowitz) that underscores the power of this “scent” of our mitzvos, and how the great tzaddikim are capable of “smelling” this unique fragrance. We quote the story here with permission from ArtScroll:

Mr. Moshe Friedman was born in Poland in 1930, and his family survived the war through a series of miracles that brought them to Siberia. When the war was over, Moshe’s father heard that the Nazis y”sh had made soap out of Jewish bodies, and he decided to return to Poland to buy as many of these bars of soap as he could and give these remains a Jewish burial. Father and son traveled back to their hometown, and spent days combing the streets and offering to purchase the townspeople’s Nazi-supplied soap.

This part of Moshe Friedman’s life story was known to the family; the rest was not — until it became revealed through Harav Ovadia.

Mr. Friedman moved to America, married, and had children. When he was getting on in years, one of his sons-in-law, who is of Syrian descent, offered to accompany him to Eretz Yisrael. Mr. Friedman was delighted to visit the Holy Land, and especially to see gedolei Yisrael and receive blessings. One of the stops they made was at Harav Ovadia’s home. No sooner had Mr. Friedman walked into the study than Harav Ovadia asked, “Why do I detect the scent of Gan Eden on your clothing?”

Mr. Friedman did not know what to answer.

“What special deed have you done in your life?” Harav Ovadia asked. At first Mr. Friedman would not answer, but when Harav Ovadia kept repeating the question, he said, “Well, I have several children whom I support so they can devote their lives to studying Torah.”

“That’s not it,” Harav Ovadia said. “Others do that as well and their clothing doesn’t have the scent of Gan Eden. What else did you do?”

Harav Ovadia sensed that Mr. Friedman knew the answer, but wasn’t willing to say it in front of others. He sent all the people present out of his room, including Mr. Friedman’s son-in-law. The only other person who remained was a young man named David, who acted as an interpreter, translating Mr. Friedman’s English and Harav Ovadia’s Hebrew. When everyone left, Mr. Friedman told Harav Ovadia a story that had happened on the last day he and his father had attempted to buy and bury human soap in Poland — a tale, he said, he had not shared with anybody.

After spending a few weeks in Poland, they had already bought and buried all the soap they could find, and they decided it was time to rejoin their family in Siberia. The day they were planning to leave, however, a non-Jewish man approached the 15-year-old Moshe Friedman and asked, “Are you the one who is buying the human soap?”

Moshe confirmed that he was.

“I have a full box of such soap, and I’m willing to sell it to you.”

The man named a price, but Moshe did not have enough money on him, and his father was nowhere in sight.

“I don’t have money here,” he said, “but give me the soap. I’ll bury it, and I’ll bring you money later.”

“No, I want the money up-front,” insisted the seller.

Moshe thought for a while and then said, “Look, I have this pair of warm, woolen pants, and yours are thin cotton. I’m willing to trade my pants for yours if you’ll allow me to buy the soap.”

 The man quickly agreed to the deal; a pair of warm woolen pants were a premium commodity in the harsh European winters.

After the two traded pants, Moshe buried the box of soap, and then rejoined his family in Siberia, undoubtedly shivering his way through the winter in those cotton pants.

When Harav Ovadia heard this story, he said, “This explains why your clothes have the scent of Gan Eden. The neshamot of all the Jews whose remains you buried were all kedoshim, who died ‘al Kiddush Hashem’ and are therefore in Gan Eden, and these neshamot have been accompanying you throughout your life.”

The humble Mr. Friedman never told his family of this exchange. When they asked about his visit to Harav Ovadia, he just said, “It was very inspiring.”

In 2004, Mr. Friedman passed away, and David, the interpreter who had been in the room and now lived in the same community, came to console the mourners.

“The story with the pants was so inspiring,” he remarked.

“What story? What pants?” the mourners asked, befuddled.

David was shocked that they hadn’t heard the story. True, Mr. Friedman had told Harav Ovadia that he hadn’t shared the tale with anybody, but David hadn’t realized that that included Mr. Friedman’s own family. He then retold the entire story, giving the family great comfort as they came to appreciate their father in a new light — all due to the ability of a gadol hador to detect the “scent of Gan Eden” on his clothing.

Even in our times, we have with us the “scent” of Gan Eden, and we have great tzaddikim who are capable of sensing it.

Recognizing that this “scent” descends upon us every Shabbos should enhance our appreciation of the sacred quality of this day, and should inspire us to take full advantage of the unique spiritual opportunities offered by the special gift of Shabbos.

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Reprinted from Embrace Shabbos by Rabbi David Sutton with permission from ArtScroll Mesorah.