Obstacles
Everything was packed. One suitcase contained enough food for four days. Just before our shuttle was scheduled to arrive, the phone rang...
Everything was packed. One suitcase contained enough food for four days, plus a Crockpot and immersible water cooker…Just before our shuttle was scheduled to arrive, the phone rang…
There is a very special relationship between a chassid and his rebbe; a rebbe demonstrates through his words, writings and actions an attainable path in building a real and deep relationship with the Almighty. A chassid, in following that path, attains, not only a deep and viable relationship with his Creator, but with his mentor as well.
This is the story of my first journey to our rebbe’s grave in Uman. Before setting out on that journey, I asked my husband what I should do when I first arrive. Should I recite Tikkun Klali or pray in my own words (hitbodedut) or recite Tehillim? He told me that I should articulate my relationship with the Rebbe and with the Chassidus in general. As a result of this journey, I discovered the depth and definition of that relationship.
Everything was packed. One suitcase contained enough food for four days, plus a Crockpot and immersible water cooker; the other, sweaters, long underwear, wool stockings, mittens, hats and warm pajamas. Just before our shuttle was scheduled to arrive, the phone rang.
I jumped to get the call, positive it was one of the children calling to say goodbye.
It was my neighbor. “Debbie,” she said, “When traveling to a tzaddik, there are always menias, obstacles, to prevent you from making the trip. Don’t let them stop you. You must really want to get there if you want to get there.”
I laughed. “I heard it’s very cold in Uman; they haven’t had such weather since the Second World War. They’re expecting it to go down to twenty below on Shabbat. That’s enough of an obstacle for me. I don’t need anymore.”
After a few more well wishes, I closed the phone to rush out to our waiting shuttle. My teenage daughter, Malky, and I were on our way to Uman, the grave site of the Breslover Rebbe, Rebbe Nachman.
When it comes to traveling, I’m almost compulsive in my organization. I usually check my purse at least a dozen times before leaving on a trip, to be absolutely positive that I haven’t left any of my long list of necessities behind. This time, however, I decided that since I had checked the papers the night before, there was no need for me to check them again.
When the airport security guard asked to see my passport, I discovered that I had my cancelled Israeli passport with me instead of my valid passport.
I immediately phoned my husband, positive that it was somewhere on the dining room table. He turned the table upside down (literally) but could not find it. He emptied the closets, moved the closets and checked all the trash cans. My passport had disappeared.
Meanwhile, I went to the government office located in the airport to ask for a special transit pass. But they told me that it was out of the question. Without a passport, I could not get on the plane.
We bought the tickets several months before. They were extremely inexpensive – and they were not transferable. If I missed this flight, I would not be able to take a later one.
The security guard allowed us to enter the check-in area. “Sometimes,” he told me, “they’ll let you travel on your American passport. It doesn’t hurt to try.”
I tried. The woman at the check-in counter immediately realized that since my American passport was issued in Israel, I was obviously an Israeli. When I explained that I had no idea where my Israeli passport had disappeared to, she referred me to her supervisor. The airline supervisor referred me to the government office in the basement. The clerk at the government office phoned her supervisor in Jerusalem, who explained that I could not leave the country without a valid Israeli passport.
This was some obstacle!
I phoned my husband. He was turning the house upside down, but he still couldn’t find the passport. I turned my purse inside out, my daughter turned her purse inside out, and then we removed everything from our suitcases to check if it was there. But the passport had disappeared into thin air!
I was beginning to realize that there was a definite possibility that I wouldnot be able to travel. But my daughter could still go. “Malky,” I said, “you have a passport, and food, and a room in the hotel. There will be plenty of other heimishe Jews there. You go. I’m sure you’ll be all right. Daven for the two of us. Meanwhile, I’ll do everything in my power to get on that plane.
But if Malky was going alone, she would have to have someone to help her in the Kiev airport and travel with her from Kiev to Uman. There was a Chassidishe couple standing in line behind us. I asked them if they were on their way to Uman
They were.
I explained my predicament.
As soon as I mentioned my name, we began playing Jewish geography. The husband was a good friend of my husband. The wife was my daughter-in-law’s first cousin. Once our credentials were established, the wife’s smile widened and she enthused, “We’re renting a four room apartment in Uman. Your daughter can stay with us.”
I was overwhelmed.
“And besides,” she continued, “it’ll be so much nicer for me. This way I’ll have someone to keep me company.”
This was the first time they were taking a vacation in over twenty years of marriage.
“Don’t worry. I’m Malky’s new mother,” she continued, putting her arm around my daughter’s shoulder.
With a mother like that, I wondered if Malky would ever want to return home.
Malky and I quickly rearranged the suitcases. With a hug and a kiss (and a silent sob) she was off, while I remained behind.
I phoned my husband; still, no passport.
I went to a different check-in line. Again – I was told to get a permit from the government office. I returned to the government office. Again – the clerk phoned the main office in Jerusalem. Again, I was told that I couldn’t leave without a valid passport.
I looked at my watch. Boarding would begin in less than ten minutes; take-off was in another half hour. I was stumped. I would never make it. There was nothing – absolutely nothing – that I could do. It was completely beyond me.
I decided to try one more time, although I didn’t think it would make a difference. Waiting my turn, I prayed like I had never prayed before. “Hashem,” I prayed, “it’s a privilege to travel to the tzaddik; please make me worthy of that privilege. There’s only One who can take me there, and that’s You. Please open my heart so that I will be worthy of You taking me on spiritual journey.”
The lady ahead of me finished checking in her luggage. I nonchalantly walked up to the counter, my heart pounding. I handed my passport to the agent. I could feel the sweat rolling down the back of my neck. I was silently screaming.
“Do you prefer aisle or window?” the agent asked.
“Aisle.”
The agent took my luggage and handed me the boarding pass. “Boarding started five minutes ago,” she said. “You’d better hurry.”
I wanted to jump up and wave my hands in victory. Instead, I smiled politely and said thank you before hurrying to the boarding area.
Once I was out of earshot, I phoned my husband. “Start saying Tehillim,” I told him. “I have the boarding pass. Now I have to get through border control.”
I stopped to say a few chapters of Tehillim before approaching the border guard.
The guard glanced at my passport. “There’s no stamp that you entered the country,” he stated. “Why not?”
“That is strange, isn’t it?” I replied, trying to sound as nonchalant. “Someone told me that I might have a problem with it. I guess I’ll have to take care of it one of these days.”
The border guard laughed, stamped my passport and let me through.
I walk a few steps and then stopped to phone home. Dovid,” I said, speaking in a low tone while trying not to jump in jubilation, “I’m going.”
“All right. I’ll put up some spaghetti for you.”
“No. What I meant is that I’m going to Uman.”
Silence.
I checked the phone to see if it was connected. It was. “Are you there?” I asked
Still no answer.
“Dovid?”
“I had to sit down. I almost fainted.”
The plane crowded. We were seated next to a dog that barked the entire way – and my daughter is petrified of dogs. Uman was freezing. There were only two tiny radiators in the women’s section – and the large room had no insulation. Our Crockpot broke, and we had trouble preparing cooked meals. The taxi that we took from Uman to the airport was so cold that the inside of the window was covered with a sheet of ice. Much of our food was frozen and inedible. The market was closed because of the weather, so we had no fruits or vegetables
But that was all insignificant. It didn’t matter. We had succeeded in reaching the Rebbe! We had the privilege of praying at Rebbe Nachman’s tzion! We were worthy of making the journey.
We had overcome the obstacles!
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