Extremely Agitated
In my teenage years, my parents lived in Eretz Yisrael. I would often travel there to visit them, and then return to the yeshiva in France. I was once scheduled to return precisely on the day of the hilula of my grandfather, Rabbi Chaim Pinto Hakatan, zy”a, the 15th of Cheshvan. Father suggested I postpone my trip and celebrate this day with him.
“I have a lot to do in France,” I explained, and took my leave of my parents. Then I rode to the airport.
After an hour of travel, the weather turned ominous. Storm winds rocked the plane, and the flight attendants stopped serving the meals. Everyone was instructed to stay seated and fasten their seat belts. Everyone was fearful as to what would happen next.
They did not have long to wait. The plane gained altitude very quickly, rising up and then suddenly heading downward. The shaken passengers began to scream. Many placed kippot on their heads, and many began reciting passages of Tehillim aloud.
Suddenly, amid the hubbub, I heard a woman telling her husband, “Promise me that from today onward, you won’t eat unkosher food, even outside the house.” The man replied, “If I get out of this alive, I promise to eat only kosher food.” After a moment’s thought, he told his wife, “Now you promise me something.”
“What do you think I should undertake?” she asked. But before she got the words out, the plane took a dive of a few hundred meters. The shouting grew louder and turned into hysteria. But over the din of the crowds, I was able to make out the woman’s resolution.
“My sister observes taharat hamishpachah. I, too, B’ezrat Hashem, will begin keeping it,” she averred. “Do you think that is a good idea?” she asked her husband, hopefully. Her husband merely nodded in agreement. Out of fear and fright, he was too scared to speak.
By that point, I myself was worried for my life. I felt like Yonah Hanavi, who was responsible for the storm on the seas which threatened to capsize his boat. Maybe this entire turbulent situation was due to the fact that I had not heeded my father’s request to remain for the hilula of the tzaddik, Rabbi Chaim Pinto, zy”a.
I immediately set forth a prayer in the merit of my holy ancestors. I asked forgiveness for all my sins. If I had mocked the memory of my grandfather, I asked to be pardoned. But it seemed as though my prayers went unheeded, for, each time I trembled in prayer, the plane trembled from the winds, seeming to fall apart from the shaking.
I suddenly remembered Rabbi Chaim Halberstam of Sanz, zy”a. He lived in Poland one hundred and fifty years ago, at the same time that my holy grandfather, Rabbi Chaim Pinto, lived in Mogador. I decided to add a prayer, “In the zechut of Rabbi Chaim Halberstam, may it be Your will, Hashem, to change the weather for the better. When I land safely, I promise to purchase all of this tzaddik’s holy writings.”
Then I added, “Today is the hilula of my grandfather. Just as a celebration is arranged in this world, surely the tzaddikim on High are arranging a celebration, as well. Certainly, the tzaddik, Rabbi Chaim Halberstam of Sanz is participating in the hilula in the Upper World. If that is the case, I ask that he ask forgiveness in my name for not remaining to celebrate in Ashdod.”
After I finished this little soliloquy, I noticed that the weather calmed down. The airplane, which just moments before, seemed about to be torn apart, flew normally.
All of the passengers breathed a sigh of relief, pleasantly surprised at this turn of events. The captain, as well, expressed his amazement at the entire episode. He could not fathom how the plane had hit such a maelstrom. The control tower had not predicted such stormy weather, and the state-of-the-art radar system never signaled such turbulence.
The stewardesses returned to distributing the meals. I was shocked to see the man, who, moments before, avowed to eat only 100% kosher, digging into his nonkosher meal like a hungry raven.
“Dear fellow passengers,” I addressed the couple, “have you forgotten your promises of a half hour ago? You undertook to eat only kosher if the storm would abate.”
The couple merely stared at me in anger. They thought I had no business meddling into their affairs. They continued eating their meal with gusto.
But their punishment did not take long in coming. A moment later, the plane lost altitude at a terrifying speed. It took a five hundred meter dip. All of the food trays went crashing to the floor, and the flight attendants instructed everyone to fasten their seat belts as the plane, once again, began rocking to and fro.
I immediately began praying that we arrive safely in the merit of the tzaddikim. The couple looked at each other and then at me. They seemed to get the message sent to them from Heaven. I think they were thinking, “How unstable we are. In a moment of panic, we make all sorts of promises to do teshuvah, but when things stabilize, we completely forget our former promises and return to life as usual.”
“Don’t humiliate yourselves,” I called out to them. “Either you believe in Hashem, to Whom you prayed and made all sorts of resolutions, or you do not believe and do not undertake any mitzvot. But if that is the case, you have no right to ask Him for favors when things are tough.” They finally nodded at me in agreement.
I will never forget those fateful moments in the airplane. All the passengers clearly felt the danger they were in. They were keenly aware that there is life after death and a future accounting for all their deeds. The cries of Shema Yisrael which emanated from many lips were perfect proof.
I heard an elderly Jew ask someone, “Please say the Shema with me. I never said it before.” Even a man who never said the Shema in his life clearly recognizes the Creator when he is facing terrible danger. He asked to say at least one prayer before his soul departed.
After the couple determined never to eat nonkosher again, the weather turned pleasant. The winds stopped, and the plane continued calmly. The stewardesses, once again, distributed meals. But this time, many Jews who had donned kippot, headscarves, or whatever they could get hold of, were ashamed to eat nonkosher food. The couple I kept a vigil on refused to finish their meal. It was sordid to them now, in more ways than one.
We got to talking. They told me that for the past twenty years, they had not been meticulous in the area of kashrut. They had always refrained from eating treif, but never distinguished between milk and meat. From now on, they proclaimed, they would be scrupulous in all areas of kashrut.
Baruch Hashem, we merited a safe landing. As we stood on terra firma, our faith was re-affirmed. Each person knew what he needed to improve, and made firm commitments to do so.
This trip taught me a powerful lesson. Heavenly-sent tribulations are meant to imbue a person with yirat Shamayim and bring him back to the correct path. On the other hand, the Yetzer Hara is extremely powerful. He casts a person into forgetfulness, thereby causing him to repeat his sins.
A Case of Heavenly Protection
My holy father, Rabbi Moshe Aharon, zy”a, was once on his way from Morocco to Eretz Yisrael. He suddenly realized that his suitcase, containing his money and passport, was missing. He was greatly distressed by this.
He immediately turned to Hashem in supplication. He asked that the merit of his father, Rabbi Chaim Pinto, should protect him, and his suitcase should remain untouched.
His prayers were heeded. Father retraced his steps and found his suitcase intact, resting exactly where he had left it.
Years later, I found myself traveling by train to Paris. As I was disembarking, there was a great tumult. Many people wished to get on the train, and there was a lot of pushing. As I tried to make my way off the train before the doors closed. I forgot my valise, which contained my divrei Torah, as well as money, passports, and official documents which were necessary for my journey.
I only realized a while later that I was missing my valise. I became very distraught. I was upset about losing the copious handwritten divrei Torah, into which I had invested tremendous effort. It is the spiritual acquisitions which I amass in this world that will escort me on my final journey and speak in my defense in the World to Come. In contrast, the loss of money and passports would prove a headache and inconvenience merely in this world.
As my father before me, I turned to Hashem, asking Him to allow me to find my valise, in the merit of my holy ancestors. I returned to the place where I thought I had left it. It was safe and sound, waiting patiently for my return.
My companions had already given up on ever finding the lost valise. They had told me there was no chance I would ever retrieve it. Imagine their surprise at seeing it in my hands. They thought their eyes were playing tricks on them. Finding the valise amid all the chaos of the train station was nothing short of a miracle of the highest order.
I, too, was stunned by this turn of events. The train station is a place abuzz with humanity, as thousands pass by every hour. How is it possible to locate a lone valise amidst all the hubbub and hullabaloo there? And how could it be that no one else noticed a forsaken valise?
We must train ourselves to believe, unquestioningly, that Hashem can do anything, even that which contradicts the normal course of events, rendering the seeing blind, if He is so disposed, as the pasuk states, “They have eyes but cannot see.” In this manner, I reclaimed my valise and continued on my way.
Many years after my father’s passing, I found a note among a pile of papers he had left behind, in my sister’s house in New York. It said, “The secret of Moshe Rabbeinu was revealed to me from Heaven.” When I read this, I nearly keeled over. I never knew that my father had merited a Divine Revelation. Now, years after his death, I discovered this revealing note.
There is no doubt that had father told me in his lifetime that he merited a Divine Revelation, I would have been skeptical. Therefore, Hashem arranged things so that I should find this note only years later, when I was capable of appreciating another aspect of Father’s greatness.
Lineage Is a Tool to Serve Hashem
I often meet ignorant Jews who take pride in their rabbinic lineage, as their families boast a history of rich Torah giants. This makes them secure in the belief that they will merit a portion in the World to Come. They themselves, though, don’t bother to invest in Avodat Hashem and fritter away their lives on inanities.
A man once approached me, all smiles, as though we were old acquaintances. When he saw that I did not recognize him, he asked me, surprised, “How can it be that the Rav doesn’t recognize me? I’m the son of so-and-so, a great tzaddik, the son of so-and-so, a tzaddik in his own right. These were great tzaddikim of note. Certainly the Rav knows who they were!”
I replied, “Of course I heard of your righteous father. I even knew your grandfather, who was a great Torah scholar. I knew these men by the merit of their Torah knowledge. But you, I don’t recognize at all. I never even heard about you! How do you have the audacity to take pride in the Torah of your fathers, when you do not continue in their distinguished ways?”
The Jew’s mission in this world is to exert himself in Avodat Hashem and acquire a portion in Torah and mitzvot. These merits will advocate on his behalf in Olam Haba, and his neshamah will have the honor of sitting among the neshamot of his righteous fathers. But he should not rely only on the merit of his ancestors to protect him from harm.
The maxim “When will my deeds reach those of my forefathers?” applies only to those who continue the legacy of their ancestors by serving Hashem as they should. But often, the descendants glorify themselves in their lineage and fail to uphold the connection to their exalted past. They thereby hurt and shame their holy fathers in the Upper Worlds.
Torah Is Not a Given
I was once asked to deliver an address in a yeshiva, late at night. I was very impressed to be met by four hundred young men, involved in their Torah studies. The staff members pointed out three boys who had been far from Torah and mitzvot and had merited returning to their Father. Each of these boys, they averred, was a descendant of a prominent, world-renowned tzaddik.
I had the chills as I gazed at these young men. The merit of their ancestors stood by them, bringing them back to the path of Judaism. But Torah is never a given. It does not automatically pass through the bloodstream from father to son. Every generation must pursue it on their own, acquiring it by their own sweat and toil.
What a person does inherit, after he has exerted himself in acquiring Torah knowledge, is the assistance of his righteous fathers. These three boys were a case in point. Until they took the first step of doing teshuvah, their fathers’ merits were ineffective. Once they made that daring move, returning to Torah and faith, their fathers’ merits surely helped them see blessing in their endeavors.
A Curse Laid to Rest
When I was once in Venezuela, a woman came to me, asking for a berachah. She was devastated, relating that many family members had died young, rachmana litzlan. Those who survived were very worried about their fate.
I sank deep in thought. After a few moments, I asked her whether her family was by any chance Kohanim.
“Yes,” she replied.
“If that is the case, you are likely descendants of Eli Hakohen, who were cursed by Elkanah Hanavi, and later, by Shmuel Hanavi, that they would die in their prime.”
The woman was filled with dread, mortally afraid for the rest of her family. I gave her instructions for a tikkun. Baruch Hashem, from then on, this tragic form of death stopped visiting her family.
Reports of this episode spread quickly. It proved that the words of Tanach are true and relevant in our day and age.
The Picture of Purity
When I was in New York, a Jew named Menachem T., who prayed at the Yad Avraham Beit Hakeneset, approached me, asking for a blessing for his sick father.
This story took place before Menachem was a ba’al teshuvah. His clothing attested to his detachment from all things Jewish. Nevertheless, I told him, “The fact that you came to ask for a berachah from a rabbi proves that you are a believer. It is up to you now to take that belief to the next level, strengthening your faith and knowledge of Judaism.”
I asked, “Were your parents mitzvah-observant?”
“No,” he replied, adding, “I’m not completely certain, but I am pretty sure that there were never mitzvah observers in our family.”
I replied, “Someone who looks at you would have a hard time believing that you had a righteous grandfather. I want to ask you to do something. Go to your parents’ house and look through their albums. Find a picture of your grandfather. If he had a beard and payot, it is a sign from Heaven that his merit will stand by you. If this weren’t the case, you would not have approached me to begin with. This might also be a sign that you should become a ba’al teshuvah, thereby bringing merit to your father, for a complete recovery.”
Menachem continued, “As far as I know, there were no religious Jews in my family. It is difficult to imagine that my grandfather had a beard and payot.”
“What can you lose? Please do as I ask and see what you come up with.”
Menachem’s parents lived in Netanya. He took a plane and flew over the Atlantic, in search of the picture. He rifled through their albums, until, to his utter surprise, he came upon the image of a distinguished-looking man, adorned with a full beard and payot.
Menachem studied the picture. On the back, he read one word, “Menachem.” He immediately approached his father, asking him whose picture this was.
“This was my father, of blessed memory, after whom you are named.”
At that very moment, something stirred in Menachem’s heart. The spark of Judaism, contained in every Jewish soul, was fanned into the fire of teshuvah.
After some time, when Menachem’s father began noticing the change in his son, he told him, “I can now leave this world in peace, for I know that there is someone who will say Kaddish for me.”
The man passed away that same day.
As long as the son did not do teshuvah, restoring to the family its rightful birthright, the father battled his illness, amidst tremendous suffering. His soul refused to leave its earthly abode. Once the father saw that he was leaving his family’s heritage in good hands, his soul was calmed, and he was able to rest in peace.
