A Blessing from India

On November 26, 2008 Rabbi Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were murdered in a terror attack in Mumbai, India. This tragedy was horrific. After the murder of the family, many people shared stories of how Holzbergs lived their lives helping people around them. Yet, there is one very special story that was shared by their brother-in-law Morchechai Kaler that was absolutely life changing.

The Kalers married in March of 2005. Right after the wedding they hoped and prayed to start a family. However, it soon became apparent that their path to parenthood was not going as smooth as they had imagined. After more than a year, they were diagnosed with “unexplained infertility”. To a young couple in their early twenties this diagnosis was absolutely devastating. They traveled from doctor to doctor, yet these visits did not bring the desired result. A few years passed and the pain of being childless became deeper and stronger. They tried fertility treatments but were unsuccessful. They were drained emotionally, physically and financially. Slowly, they were giving up hope to ever become parents.

Throughout this entire process, Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were the couple’s strongest supports. They offered encouragement in every possible way. On the 18^th day of the Jewish month of Elul on September 18, 2008, Kalers called Gabi to inform him that they are giving up on the dream to ever have a child. Gabi would not hear of it and he relentlessly tried to convince the couple to continue with the fertility treatments. He suggested that they contact an organization that could provide financial support. After a long conversation, the Kalers felt that they have what it takes to continue to fight for their dream. Before Gabi ended the call, he blessed the couple to have a child during the coming year.

As Gabi suggested, the Kalers contacted an organization that helped them set up an appointment with a great doctor and they immediately began treatment again. As time went on, the doctor recommended a more invasive approach. The Kalers were hesitant to continue, but yet again, the Holzbergs cheered them on, advising the couple not to give up.

The first of the invasive treatments was scheduled for November 26^th, 2008. As they were driving to the appointment that afternoon, they received a call from a family member. They were told that “something happened in Mumbai and no one can get in touch with Gabi or Rivky”. The couple debated whether to continue to the appointment or immediately turn around and head back, but after much consideration for what Gabi and Rivky would have wanted them to do, they decided to go to the appointment. It was not long after they left the doctor’s office when they heard of the terror attack in Mumbai….

The turmoil and sadness was beyond words. Yet, as a legacy to Gabi and Rivky, they agreed to complete the cycle of new treatments. It took every ounce of their faith and determination to go to these appointments and after the treatment was completed, they received a call of their lifetime. “Congratulations! Your test came back positive! You are expecting!”

It was a dream come true when nine and a half months later, on the 18th day of the Jewish month of Elul in 2009, exactly one year from the day that Gabi Holzberg had blessed them, their precious baby girl has entered this world. 

A Message from a Mother

Miriam Perlstein was one of eight siblings who survived Auschwitz.  It was so unusual for a family of eight—seven sisters and one brother – to emerge intact from the notorious death camp that when they landed on Ellis Island after the War, they became a media sensation.  Repeatedly photographed and interviewed, they were besieged by reporters who wanted to know : How was this possible?  What made you so unique?  Practically everyone else’s family was decimated.  Most of the survivors who limped into “The New World” had lost parents, children, spouses, siblings.  But for an entire family of eight to have survived and found each other!  How could it happen?

                “Miracles,” the siblings answered patiently to everyone who asked.

                And it was true.  Miracles had abounded in all of their lives during their incarceration at Auschwtiz, but Miriam’s, they agreed, was vastly different from those experienced by Esther, Faigy, Sima, Yitu, Monci, Binyamin,  and Leishu.  While their miracles fell under the realm of what could be called the rational, Miriam’s belonged to a different category altogether.

                Several weeks after her arrival at Auschwitz—after having survived several “selections” and having kept death at bay—sixteen-year-old Miriam was suddenly pulled out of the row of prisoners lining up for “roll call” one morning, and transported to a separate section of the camp  where a different procession was in place.  Perhaps something about Miriam’s demeanor that day had displeased the Nazi soldier whose gaze had settled upon her, or perhaps there was simply a quota to fill.  For whatever random reason that no one could ever explain (and was there an explanation, after all, for the Nazis’ haphazard and merciless decrees?) Miriam had been directed to join the column of prisoners marching slowly towards the crematorium that would turn them into ash.

                At first, Miriam thought that she might have been sent on a new work detail.  But the women in front of her and the women behind disabused her of that notion.   “Isn’t there anything we can do?” she begged them.  “Look around you,” they whispered.  “Nazi soldiers with guns everywhere. How can we possibly escape?”

                Miriam looked at where the women pointed.  Unlike them, however, she didn’t see the menacing guards with their drawn guns, nor the German shepherds who helped herd the pitiful tatters to their inevitable fate.  What she saw instead…several yards from where she stood…was the thoroughly unexpected but utterly beloved visage of her mother, Chinka Chaya Baba, who had been transported with her daughters to Auschwitz and then transferred to a different barracks somewhere else.  All these weeks, the daughters hadn’t had any contact with their mother, and couldn’t find her.   What was she doing here of all places, Miriam wondered, right near the crematorium, and why were the soldiers oblivious to her presence?  It was an incongruous emotion to be sure, but even as she trudged towards certain death, Miriam’s heart exploded with joy to see her mother again.   But why was her head not shaved like everybody else?

                As Miriam studied her mother in shock and bewilderment, her mother raised a scrawny arm, motioning that she should join her. Miriam glanced meaningfully at the guards nearby.  I can’t, she signaled with her eyes.  Her mother nodded her head encouragingly and beckoned her again.  How could her mother think that she could escape?   Miriam waved her hand at the soldiers who flanked her.  It’s impossible, her movements said.  But suddenly, there was a commotion in the back of the procession, and several guards dropped behind to investigate.  NOW! her mother gesticulated wildly.  It made no sense, it was doomed to fail, but Miriam obeyed her mother’s command.  She broke from the line and ran for her life, back to her barracks, back to where her sisters tensely waited and plied her with kisses and extra crusts of day-old bread.

                “What happened to you?” they demanded.  “Where did they take you?  Where did you go?”

                She told them everything: how her mother had astonishingly appeared at the precise place where she and the others had been rounded up, how the Nazis had been  oddly unaware of her mother’s presence, how she had  insistently pantomimed  that Miriam should run.  “And I was so overjoyed to see Mamma again!” she babbled almost incoherently, still dazed by her experience.  “She looked exactly as she always looked, they didn’t even shave her head!”

                The other sisters looked at one another wordlessly.  They too were shaken by Miriam’s recital: Her near-brush with death made them shudder in fear, but it was their mother’s intercession that made them tremble in awe. 

                “Miriam,” one of them said gently, tenderly caressing her cheek to soften the blow.“We didn’t want to tell you before, because you’re the most sensitive among us.  But we received reliable reports from several different prisoners working at the crematorium.  Mamma was killed the first day she arrived, weeks ago.”

                “But I saw her clearly,” Miriam wept.  “If she hadn’t signaled me to escape, I never would have tried.”

     As recounted by Hindy Rozenberg, Miriam’s daughter to Yitta Halberstam

 

The story is excerpted from "Small Miracles From Beyond:  Dreams, Visions and Signs that Link Us to the Other Side" and you can include the amazon.com  link if you wish, which currently offers 40% off the price.

The Power of Words

The whole of Jerusalem was in an uproar! A leader of Chasidic movement and his wife had just given birth to their first child - a boy - after being childless for twenty-eight years! Well over a thousand people came by to congratulate the proud parents. It was then that the father indicated that he would like to say a few words.

He began in a loud voice, "When I was still an unmarried student learning in the Rabbinical School, there was a cleaning lady who would come by every day to tidy up and scrub the study hall and adjoining rooms. She was a fixture in school and devoted her life to upkeeping the  building. She was, however, not a wealthy person by any stretch and as her own family grew she was at a loss of options as far as taking care of her children. She decided to bring her kids with her to work, and as she cleaned and mopped in one area of the building, the young children would run amuck, screaming, crying and generally causing quite a commotion, in the rest of the yeshiva. At first, we put up with it; we even thought it was cute for a time. But after a while, the kids really began to disrupt us in our learning. Try as we might to control them, they wouldn't listen and continued on in their childish games and noise. A number of younger students asked me, as one of the oldest in the group to ask her not to bring her children anymore to school.

"I agreed to talk to her and I brazenly walked up to her and told her that her kids were disturbing everyone in yeshiva and she should find some sort of alternative method of child-care for them. I'll never forget how she looked at me with tired eyes and said, 'Young man , you should never have the pain and anguish that one goes through when raising children.

The crowd gasped.

"As many of you know," continued the father, "my wife and I have been to countless doctors who've recommended every sort of treatment. We moved abroad for awhile to be near an 'expert' which proved to be fruitless. One last, extreme treatment was offered and after trying that, it too, turned out to be just a fantasy; we felt doomed to a life without the pleasure of raising a family.

"After that last attempt, as we walked back into the apartment that we lived in for the past twenty-eight years, our entire sad situation hit us full force, like a ton of bricks. Together, we broke down crying, trying to figure out why G-d was testing us this way.

"All of a sudden, I remembered the episode with the cleaning lady and the "blessing" she had given me. It occurred to me to try and reach her and ask for forgiveness. But after all these years, who knows where she would be?

"I spent hours on the phone until I came up with an address, which I ran over to immediately. She did not recognize me obviously, but when I told her over the story, a spark flickered in her eyes. I tearfully apologized for my harsh words and she graciously forgave me with her whole heart."
Beaming from ear to ear, the father announced, “That took place exactly nine months ago!" 

(©2014. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

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