The Day Bubby was (Almost) Arrested

Jerusalem’s light rail is amazing, really. It takes me to where I want to go in minutes. The busses — they jerk their way through traffic as I hang on for dear life. More often than not, as I place my magnetic public transportation pass on the little machine that takes my fare while simultaneously grabbing the receipt (we women are born jugglers!), the driver abruptly pulls away from the curb, only to jam on the brakes a moment later to let a car through.

But the light rail! Ah, the light rail speeds smoothly through the city. The cars are immaculate, the air conditioning is just right — not too hot, and not too cold — and its big, wide, clean windows let me enjoy the scenery, which of course is magnificent. After all, it’s Yerushalayim Ir Hakodesh. What could possibly compare to the towering walls of the Old City?  

  

Yes, the light rail really is wonderful. Yet, each time I alight, I secretly tremble that I might have another encounter with (rolling drum sound, this is dramatic) THE TRAIN GUARDS.

Jerusalam’s light rail operates on an honor system. There are several automatic ticket readers at the entrance to each train, and it’s the passengers responsibility to pay by placing his Rav Kav (a magnetic public transportation pass) over the ticket reader upon entering the train. I’m an honest citizen – I pay my taxes, I pay my library dues, and I even somehow manage to pay my grocery bill – and I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to cheat the train system. At least not on purpose.

And here begins my tale of woe. It all started out when I did something really stupid: I went to a doctor when I wasn’t feeling well (Nothings worse than dealing with bureaucracy when all you want to do is lie in bed and groan). The problem was that a huge levayah was taking place at the same time that I finished my appointment. Many streets were closed off, and I knew from experience that traffic would be a nightmare. It would be much easier, and faster, for me to get home with public transportation rather than with a taxi.

Of course I paid my fare upon entering the bus. The fare included an automatic transfer to the light rail, which is probably the reason why, when I placed my Rav Kav on train’s ticket reader, I didn’t really notice if it was followed by a green light.

The two train guards, a young man and woman, strutted into the car at the Shivtei Yisrael station, one stop before I was supposed to get off. I saw them coming toward me, checking Rav Kavs, and since I was afraid of missing my stop, I quickly handed my Rav Kav to the female guard, before she even requested it.  

The guard placed it in her electronic ticket reader. But instead of handing it right back to me, the second guard immediately appeared at her side and together they ordered me to get off the train. “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I replied. “This is my stop. Please give me back my Rav Kav.”

 “You’ll get it back when, and if, we decide to give it to you.”

Huh? This was not what I was expecting.

The woman sitting across from me whispered, “Run quickly! These guys are dangerous.”

Me? Run? I could barely walk.

“What did I do?” I wasn’t feigning innocence. I really had no idea what they wanted from me.

The female guard glared at me and pulled out her cell phone. “Come with us. We’re calling the police. You rode the train without paying.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

I still didn’t get it.

As I struggled to my feet, she shouted, “You got on the train without paying.”

Around me, there was utter silence. Everyone was staring at me. I was afraid that she’d handcuff me.

I tried to argue.  “But I DID pay. And besides, if I was a thief, I would never have shoved the Rav Kav under your face. I would have stood by the door and raced off the train.”

“You can tell that to the judge.”

By this time we had gotten off the train and were standing on the platform. “The judge?” I gulped. “You mean for two shekels, eighty agurot (the equivalent of about $0.60) you’re going to take me to court? That’s insane.”

“Ah, so you’re claiming that we’re insane! You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do in front of the judge.”

I was speechless.

The guard extended her hand. “Teudat zehut, please.”

Gulp. “I didn’t bring it with me.”

The guards looked at each other. “Well, now,” they said with a smirk, “how often do you travel on the train?” Every day?” It was obvious that they were thinking, “Without paying.”

“I don’t know. Not that often.”

Another smirk.

By now I was feeling really, really sick. I was beginning to see double. The world was turning black. I wanted my Rav Kav back, and I need to get into bed, NOW.  

I respectfully asked the guards to please return my Rav Kav and let me go home. I was about to continue to say that I’d pay whatever fine they’d want me to pay, just let me go home so that I can get into bed, but before I had a chance they started to laugh at me, and then repeated that I could tell my whole story to the judge.

In their eyes I was a convicted criminal, and all because of two shekel, eighty agurot!

I really didn’t plan to burst into tears. It just happened. I had a total meltdown. “I don’t feel well,” I managed to blurt out between heaving sobs. “I’ll pay the fine, I’ll do whatever you want, but please don’t make me stand here any longer. I have to get into bed, NOW.”

The two guards glanced at each other. “You really aren’t feeling well. I guess that’s why you forgot to pay (hmmm….).” The woman gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile. “Just don’t do this again. You have to pay each time you get on the train. Make sure that the green light goes through.”

The male guard interrupted her. “We’ll let you go. But first, you have to pay. I’ll get on the next train and put the card through for you.”

The next train wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another ten minutes. By now the tears were coming fast and furious.  I really, really needed to get into my bed. Immediately! “I can’t wait another ten minutes. I don’t feel good. I need my bed. PLEASE let me go home!”

A train traveling in the opposite direction was pulling into the station. The male guard ran across the tracks in front of the incoming train, jumped on the train to put my pass through, and then gallantly ran across the tracks to return my Rav Kav to me.

 “Refuah shleimah,” he said with a smile as he me my Rav Kav.

.
“Just don’t forget to pay next time you get on the train,” the female guard added.

I thanked them and then turned around to walk home. I went straight to bed.

I learned an important lesson that afternoon: Tears can penetrate even the thickest walls and hearts. After all, the gate of tears is never closed. Even if it’s after Hoshanah Rabbah.

  

Mama Rochel - originally published in Hamodia, 2004

Mama Rochel

By Debbie Shapiro

Closing my eyes

I envision the essence of motherhood

the quintessential Yiddishe Mama

gentle, modest,

without fanfare;

quiet unassuming mesiras nefesh

constantly searching for ways to help others.

Can you imagine how difficult it must have been

for a bride,

to forgo her own happiness

and disclose the secret signs

so that her sister would not be disgraced

on her wedding day?

“A voice is heard on high

Lamentations and bitter weeping.”

Rochel, Mama Rochel

is weeping for her children

she is waiting for them

she is waiting for all of them,

every single precious one of them

to return to Him

and bring this bitter exile to an end;

only then will she be consoled.

Mama Rochel, Mama Rochel,

When will you stop crying?

When will your tears of sorrow

turn into tears of joy?

We are longing for you to be comforted,

we are waiting for you to rejoice in our joy,

and reap naches from your children’s return

like a true Yiddishe Mama.

What Does PD Feel Like

I read this post at http://www.personalmedicare.com/ and thought it was excellent. I never feel all of these at once, but the long car ride analogy and the iron man describe my life! 

After getting past an initial reaction upon learning that I have Parkinson’s disease, many people will often want to know how it feels to have PD.  I typically tell them symptoms such as rigidity, bradykinesia, etc.

However, those symptom terms are just words and phrases.

So…

What does Parkinson’s actually feel like?

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STIFFNESS AND RIGIDITY:

THE LONG CAR RIDE ANALOGY:

You have been in a car for a long ride – ten hours straight with no rest breaks.  What happens when you get out of the car after being in the same position for a long time?  You feel stiff and like you can hardly walk.  It was also probably a bad idea that you lifted weights and ran on the treadmill this morning before that long ride, because your arms and legs feel shaky and weak.

Now that you are out of the car, you have to tread in thick mud that feels like quick-sand to get to the bathroom inside the hotel.  This is how I feel when I get out of bed or get out of a chair, even if I was only in the chair a few minutes!  Before medications and when the meds either wear off (or I have a motor fluctuation breakthrough), I will feel like this even without sitting first – my walking and movements will feel this way, so that is what my stiffness and rigidity feels like.

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DEXTERITY AND FINE MOTOR CONTROL:

THE CLAW ANALOGY:

Have you ever operated one of those arcade machines that allow you to use a joystick to operate a small crane that has a claw-like grabber to attempt to pick up prize items such as toys, stuffed-bears, plastic dolls, or other items?  Do you feel frustrated when you think you have it in the grasp, but it falls out of the grasp of the mechanical claw and then back into the toy area from which it came?

What if you had to use a wrench to pick up items, open jars and bottles, and navigate a small pill from a bottle to the palm of your other hand – on a daily basis?  This is how it feels for me to try to open bottles, and do fine-motor tasks.

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ACHES AND PAINS:

THE FIGHT ANALOGY:

You have just been in a fight with a Judo and Jujitsu master who has taken you and then has thrown you like a rag doll to the ground from above his head.  After hitting the concrete, you have been kicked and punched in various body locations.

After waking up from being unconscious, you feel battered and beaten, only to go face the tasks that you have to accomplish today.  Yet, this keeps happening night after night, where you wake up feeling like you have just been in a good fight, but on the losing end!  You also must have walked home from the fight on a gravel road, because your feet feel like they are hurting from the rocks and wear and tear of the walk home.  This is how I feel many nights, mornings, and randomly in the daytime.

DYSTONIA:

THE LONG SWIM ANALOGY:

After spending a whole day of many miles of swimming, you notice your legs and feet are cramping.  Your toes curl, while your leg has the worst charlie-horse that you have ever felt, and you simply can’t walk because of the pain.  Even your shoulder, neck and parts of your back, feel like somebody has twisted them because of cramping, tightening of muscles, and stiffness. This is how I feel many days, minus the swimming and water part of the story.

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TREMOR:

THE JACKHAMMER DRILL ANALOGY:

Your very good friend had broken an arm and asked you to help drill some holes in concrete in order to get the basement ready to put some new walls in for the new room.  You are handed a jackhammer drill that vibrates rapidly back and forth and asked to make sure you drill holes exactly in the spots marked with an “X” on the floor.  This project takes way more time than you thought it would.

After you leave, you notice that your hand/arm is vibrating. You also notice that you can’t adequately write, push a button, or even coordinate lifting nor drinking your hot coffee.  This is how my tremor feels.

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BRADYKINESIA/SLOW MOVEMENT: 

THE IRON MAN SUIT ANALOGY:

You are invited to a costume party.  The party is tomorrow, but you have no costumes!  No worries – because your friend kindly provides you with his Iron Man costume, which you accept and then take home to dress in tomorrow, so that you can be Iron Man or Iron Woman!

You are also asked to bring a main dish to the party.

Unfortunately, the next day – you run late to the party, as it had taken you a long time to get the outfit on.  It was also hard for you to carry the dish.

After you arrive at the party, you notice that you are walking at a snail’s pace.  Everyone is hungry and angry at you, because you are late!  You seem to move slower than a turtle, as you try to navigate to the kitchen.  This is how bradykinesia feels for me.

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OVERALL, WHAT PARKINSON’S DISEASE FEELS LIKE:

THE BEAR MASCOT ANALOGY:

After spending a whole week of: having to go on ten hour car rides, opening things with a wrench, having mornings of waking up after fighting Judo masters, having days of swimming for ten miles, while having other days in which you spent many hours of helping your friend out by using a jackhammer wrench to drill holes in his concrete basement floor, and having just spent an all-nighter at your other friends’s party wearing an iron man costume…

You finally are told to help out at charity event by walking around every day this next week – in a bear costume!

You put on the bear costume and you notice that – in it, you feel stiff, rigid, and slow!  In this bear costume, you also notice that: you can’t really swing your arms, you feel heavy, you feel achy, and you feel like a zombie.  To make matters worse, others around you, can not understand what you are saying, nor can they make out your emotional expressions (as they can’t tell if you are happy, sad, or angry). You walk around feeling physically and mentally exhausted!

Yet, you attempt to do what needs to be done and try to go forward in this bear costume, hoping that you will not trip on something and that you can make it through the day despite this big limitation!  You wonder what your next days, weeks, and months will look like (will they be like last week?), and then wonder if you are up for the challenge – and somehow, you are!

Bubby of the Bride as appeared in Binah

It’s impossible to convey what it’s like to marry off a grandchild, especially my first grandchild. However, now that I am an experienced bubby of the bride — after all, we recently celebrated our first grandchild’s chasunah – I’d like to share with you some important points to remember as you celebrate this important milestone.

First of all, forget the mascara. I repeat, no mascara. Actually, come to think about it, it’s probably best not to wear any eye makeup at all. Yes, I know that you want to look stunning, and yes, makeup is important, especially when since most probably the photos will be treasured for generations to come, but still, at the very least, no mascara. Please.

That’s because if you’re anything like me, you’ll probably spend most of the wedding crying buckets. Every time you look at your baby suddenly so grown up and mature (would you believe it? That little chevrah-man is actually walking his daughter, MY precious einekel, to the chuppah) and your granddaughter, a radiant kallah, so grownup and mature, your eyes will inexplicably begin to water. And we all know what that does to the eye makeup. So if you don’t want your face to take on that striking zebra look, or even worse, become like me — whenever I cry my nose turns red, so between the black stripes running down my face and my bulbous red nose, I’d end up duplicating Bozo the clown. I doubt that you want future generations to remember you like that.

Second, remember that you’re the bubby, not the mommy. You are not the one making the chasunah, rather, you are a very important guest at your children’s simchah. So sit back and enjoy it! Yes, you can, and (knowing the type of woman who reads the Binah) you most probably will help your children with the financial aspects, but it’s their responsibility, and not yours. It’s also not your responsibility to take care of all the guests and make sure that everything is running smoothly. Rather, it’s your children’s responsibility to do everything in their power to make sure that that the bubby and zaidy, as very honored guest, are enjoying every moment of their nachas, so enjoy it! Which is exactly what I did. Being together with so many of my children, and dancing together in a huge circle with my daughters, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren, can only be described as a taste of Gan Eden.

Third (and yes, I know this is something we all know, but it’s good to hear it again), don’t forget to thank Hashem for bringing you to this very special day. It’s really a zechus! How many times have we tearfully davened that we be zocheh to see bonim, uv’nei bonim, oskim b’Torah umitzvos? And now, that tefillah is being fulfilled! The chain that began so many years ago, as we stood together with our husbands under the chuppah, has now grown to three links, a chazakah! We have lived to see a dream fulfilled, to watch our children, and our children, continue in the way of the Torah. It’s a matnas chinam, a present from Above.

Fourth, don’t plan anything for the day after, and if at all possible, the day after the day after, and even better, the day after the day after the day after. If you’re chassidish and have a mitzvah tantz, expect to arrive home in the early hours of the morning. And although you’ll be beyond exhausted, chances are that you won’t go to sleep. Rather, you’ll relive every precious moment, laughing and crying at the beautiful memories of that wonderful evening. If you’re anything like me, you’ll probably continue reliving the wedding for the next few days. And in the middle of all this, just when life is starting to get back to normal, there’s the big family sheva brachos.  Another all-nighter, and the cycle begins anew. But look at the bright side. If you’re reading this article (and not among the under forties taking a sneak preview), chances are that it’s been years since you and your spouse had an animated (and pleasant) discussion at three a.m. Isn’t it great to feel like a newlywed?

It's All Homework, an interview with Yael Aldrich as appeared in the Binah

When my children were young, I would find myself longing for September first. Yes, I’m a good mother, at least most of the time, and I truly love my children, but there is a limit to how much quality family time I can stand. I need structure, I need privacy, and I need time to just be, which is why I would find myself doing a little jig as the children boarded the school bus for their first day of school – and then running home to nurse a cup of piping hot coffee while savoring the sweet sounds of the refrigerator humming and the dryer working, all noises that, during summer vacation, was drowned out by my boisterous offspring being children.

It’s davka because I need structure and time for myself to be able to do anything (other than kvetch) that I am in awe of those unique, and, for the most part, very accomplished women, who choose to homeschool their 

children.

Yael Aldrich is one of who these unique and accomplished women. Mother of four, ranging from age 15 to six, she gave up an excellent career managing and fundraising for Jewish organizations to be able provide her children with a tailor-made education, where, “I can impart our family hashkafah to our children, and assure that they are receiving the type of education that I hoped they would get, one that would have a positive effect on them for the rest of their lives.”

The Aldrich children certainly do receive a high-level, well-rounded education. Their teachers are highly qualified: Yael has a double masters from Brandeis University in Jewish communal service and non-profit management. Rabbi Dr. Daniel Aldrich has two masters degrees and a PhD from Harvard. Rabbi Aldrich’s position as Director of the Security and Resilience graduate program at Northeastern University in Boston as well as his frequent travel all over the world leaves him just a few hours a week to work together with Yael to teach the children.

Their general studies curriculum includes higher mathematics; chemistry; three foreign languages: classical Latin and Japanese; logic; geography; classical literature —a high-level curriculum. Limudei kodesh includes all the traditional subjects. The older boys receive private Gemara lessons with a tutor. The program is a success. “When our oldest graduated homeschool at the end of eighth grade to attend a yeshivah high school,” says Yael, “he was above grade level in both limudei kodesh and limudei chol.”

Yael runs a tight ship. “We’re pretty structured. School starts at around nine a.m., after davening — the boys, in shul, the girls, at home — and breakfast and household chores. Every day I create a schedule of what I plan to accomplish with each child, both in limudei chol and in limudei kodesh. Then, while I work individually with one child, the other two children work on their own. Sometimes Daniel is able to work from home and can then help out with the teaching, but mostly he teaches the children in the mornings before work or after work is over for the day. In addition, we supplement our homeschool program with online classes in such subjects as literature and logic. These classes cost money, so we do our research and are careful to choose the best. But it still comes out a lot less than paying tuition!”

Although Yael’s homeschooling style follows a traditional structured curriculum, the lack of external structures leave her with more opportunity for extracurricular activities, and spontaneity, than in a regular school. So, for example, when the opportunity for a family trip to Israel opened up during the traditional school year, the Aldriches were able to take a break and go. And whereas traditional schools have off for “snow days,” the Aldriches take off for “sun days” to enjoy a spontaneous family outing (after all, when the school is in the home, there’s no problem with staying home for the snow). Yael also believes in making learning fun. The family celebrates lots of siyumim; upon completing a sefer, a parashah, a or whatever. “Of course we serve ice cream. Sometimes we invite the kids’ friends, and other times it’s just us. The main thing is that the kids enjoy themselves while celebrating an accomplishment.”

Yael began homeschooling her children when the family was living in Japan, where her husband was an Abe Fellow studying post-disaster recovery in Japan. Since there was no Jewish day school in Tokyo, they really had no choice but to homeschool. Upon their return to the United States, Rabbi and Mrs. Aldrich realized that they were on to a good thing. “We liked homeschooling our kids, and didn’t need to put them back into a regular school.”  They asked their Rav for his advice. He was very positive and told them that they were well prepared, and understand both the advantages and challenges involved.

The Aldriches keep to a traditional school schedule: school starts in September and runs until June, with a two-and-a-half month summer break. “During the summer, my kids go to camp. They have lots of friends in the community, so they have vacation when their friends have vacation, and when my husband has vacation.”  But classes do not resume on September 1. Instead, the Aldriches get together with other homeschooling families for a traditional Not Back to School Picnic. “Since everyone’s back at school and the parks are finally empty, it’s become a sort of tradition among the homeschooling community to celebrate the beginning of the official school year by getting together with other families for a day of fun. Last year the picnic was held at a beautiful lake in a State Park. The weather was perfect, and we basically had the whole place to ourselves. There were lots of great activities, and while the parents schmoozed, the kids had a great time wading in the water. It’s a great way to share ideas and provide mutual support.”

Homeschooling also has its challenges. “We spend more time with our children much more than people do, which means that we need a tremendous amount of patience.” Rabbi and Mrs. Aldrich are their children’s only mechanchim. “That means we are solely responsible for our children’s development, and that can be scary at times.” 

So how does Yael manage? “I ask a lot of shailos to my Rabbanim, for general guidance, what to teach, how to teach, and how to balance my full-time job as a mother and teacher with taking care of my personal needs.  It’s crucial that I don’t overdo it, that I take care not to become a shmatta. So I am particular to carve out time for myself, including going to shiurim, exercise classes and spending time with other adults. After all, with the kids home all day, I’m basically mothering on full burner, so I have to be even more aware of the need to take care of my intellectual, emotional and physical needs. I would say that the first thing that anyone considering homeschooling their children needs to realize is the importance of taking care of oneself.”

Yael runs a group for frum families who are homeschooling their children. “We are about 500 families from all over the world. We discuss curriculum, social issues and hashkafah. In addition, we have webinars, and, for the last seven years, the Torah Home Education conference where the parents attend lectures and network, while the children participate in group activities while meeting other homeschooled children over a long weekend. It’s the one time of the year when we actually get to meet in person, and it provides us with mutual support.”

Homeschooling is a rapidly growing alternative to conventional education. According to the United States Department of Education, in 2012 there were about 1.7 million students being home schooled in the United States, representing about 3.4 percent of the school-aged population. This growth is mirrored in the Orthodox community. In communities such as Baltimore, Miami, LA, and Chicago there are frum Jewish homeschooling communities ranging from a dozen to almost 100 families who have made the choice to keep their children out of the traditional schools and teach them themselves. Although the high cost of tuition certainly plays a part in this trend, according to Yael, homeschooling tends to attract parents who are thoughtful, willing to think out of box and dedicated enough to devote hours of their time to their children’s education.

“Homeschooling is possible. It’s a viable option that can even be fun,” concludes Yael. “Today, there is a tremendous support network available for frum people educating their children at home, so don’t be afraid to try it. You might just find that you like it!”

Journey of the Soul, published in Binah

Some thirty years ago, someone planning to travel to Uman asked my husband to draw a map of Reb Nachman’s gravesite. He drew a map, complete with street names and landmarks, from memory. At that time, travel to Uman, or to anywhere within the Iron Curtain, was an impossible dream. Had anyone told me then that within a few decades I’d be traveling on a luxurious bus to the villages of Berditchev, Mezhibuzh, Breslov, Uman and Hadiatch, where I’d spend the night in Jewish-owned luxury hotels and be served delicious kosher meals, I would have laughed and assumed that that person had a huge imagination. 

But I did, and it was amazing.

Traveling to the kivrei tzaddikim is an inward journey of connection and inspiration that will hopefully lead to permanent spiritual growth. I had two excellent guides: Mrs. Yehudis Golshevsky and Rebbetzin Tziporah Heller.

Tuesday morning, Kiev, eleven a.m.

The airport is grey. There’s a pervading sense of sadness and secrecy, remnants of the Iron Curtain. The Ukrainian officials studiously avoid even the slightest hint of eye contact, their stony gaze lacks emotion, and their mouths are set in a perpetual frown. How amazing that the warm Chassidic movement has its roots in this cold country!

We climb into our bus, reminiscent of an old-fashioned hotel, with flowered carpets, plush seats, and even a microwave and hot water urn, and set out to our first stop, Berditchev. 

Leaving Kiev, we pass Babi Yar, where 33,771 Jews were murdered. I quietly recite a few kapitlach Tehillim as a zechus for the kedoshim. Sitting in the bus, surrounded by such a wonderful group of frum Jewish women, I am filled with a sense of gratitude for the eternity of Am Yisrael.

Berditchev

While traveling through the Ukraine, our bus becomes a mobile classroom as Yehudis teaches us about the birth of Chassidus and the Rebbes whose gravesites we’ll be visiting. Entering Berditchev, she suggests that after reciting Tehillim at Reb Levi Yitzchak’s kever, we devote a few minutes to emulating his trait of finding the goodness in every Jew by focusing on judging favorably one person against whom we carry resentment.

Before leaving the ohel, we learn some of Rebbe Levi Yitzchak’s Torah, l’iluy nishmaso.

Our group is diverse: Bais Yaakov graduates, women just learning to read Hebrew, great-grandmothers, young girls, and several mother-daughter couples. Yet, standing in the ohel, reciting Tehillim, our differences disappeared. Many of the women are crying, all are visibly moved.

Mezhibuzh

After supper in the local Chabad House, we set out to Mezhibuzh, to the gravesite of the holy Baal Shem Tov. We arrive after midnight. In contrast to the primitive surroundings, our lodgings are on par with a five-star hotel, and even include disposable slippers at the side of each bed!

This is not my first trip to the Baal Shem Tov’s kever. A few years ago, my husband and I came to daven for one of our children who was in need of a yeshuah. We davened at many different kvarim, but it was in Mezhibuzh that the tears came. Although I normally don’t cry easily, I burst into tears husband later told me, is very common. My roommate had a similar experience and said she “davened like I never davened before.”   

Wednesday, I wake up at four a.m.  to go the ohel. Even at this hour, the ohel is far from empty. I am overwhelmed with a tremendous sense of gratitude. Following the previous trip, our child had a yeshuah. Just one week ago, I danced at our granddaughter’s wedding, the fulfillment of so many tefillos. And so, once again, I feel the wonder of Mezhibuzh and burst into tears of hakaras hatov for all of Hashem’s chasadim.

Later on, I daven Shacharis outside my room. The heady fragrance of clover, the sounds of roosters crowing and cows mooing, the mountains rising in the distance; the beauty mirrors the sense of spirituality inherent at this holy site.

Over a huge “Israeli breakfast,” Yehudis tells us more about the Baal Shem Tov, and the other rabbonim  buried with him in the ohel, and then discusses the idea of davening at kivrei tzaddikim in general.

“Why do we daven at the grave of a tzaddik?” she asks. She explains that davening at a grave reminds us of our mortality. That causes us to have humility, enhancing the quality of our tefillah. This is even more so when we have a personal bond to the person whose grave we are davening at, and there is a strong spiritual bond between a tzaddik and any Jew, for a tzaddik devotes his life to the Jewish people. “However,” Yehudis warns us, 

“Remember that you are davening to Hashem, not to the tzaddik. Rather, you are asking the tzaddik to be a meilitz yosher for you.”

Inspired, we return to the ohel to daven. Eventually, however, it is time to leave and return to our “hotel on wheels”; destination, the Baal Shem Tov’s shul in Mezhibuzh, a realistic model of the original shul. After reciting the Sefer Shemos Hatzadikim, a list of the tzaddikim starting with Adam Harishon, compiled by Rebbe Nosson of Breslov, Yehudis slowly starts to sing the Baal Shem Tov’s niggun.  As our voices intertwine and become stronger, we feel a sense of oneness, of belonging to a sisterhood of women thirsting for spiritual elevation. The mood is mellow. Some of the women start to dance. As more women join in, the mood turns to joyous. Soon we are all singing and dancing together. Ashreinu, mah tov chalkeinu.

The next stop is the spring and mikveh the Baal Shem Tov used to frequent. 

We drive along a bumpy country road, the sides of our bus almost touching the picket fences on either side, while the tree branches scrape our windows. There are cows grazing at the side of the road, wells in front of the houses, and old babushkas with sticks in their hands, prodding their geese along. The thatched roofed houses look as though came straight out of the shtetl.

We arrive at a modern building, housing a mikveh fed by the waters of the Baal Shem Tov’s spring, which many claim to be a segulah for refuah. Although Yehudis points out that the greatest segulah is tefillah, the women line up at the faucets to fill plastic bottles with the clean spring water. Outside, nestled in the lush valley, there is a well built over the spring, with an attached bucket for drawing the water. I manage to bring up one bucket and fill my bottle before several locals arrive, requesting money for the service, and spilling the remaining water on the ground.

Breslov

Next stop, the grave of Reb Nosson, in Breslov.

Reb Nosson, Rebbe Nachman’s primary disciple, and leader of the chassidus after Rebbe Nachman’s death, was the quintessential chassid, completely devoted to his Rebbe and to spreading his Rebbe’s teachings. He recorded the Rebbe’s lessons, devoted himself to their publication and composed the Likutei Halachos, a monumental work explaining the entire Torah based on the foundations of the Reb Nachman’s teachings.

Reb Nosson’s kever is located in the Jewish cemetery, on top of a steep hill overlooking the Bug River. As we climb the stairs leading to the kever, a group of Ukrainian peasants pass us on their way back to the village of Breslov. Much to my surprise, they reverently enter the ohel to recite a short prayer.

Uman

From Breslov, we set off to Uman. We break out in song. Some of the women go up to the mike to tell us what impelled them to make this journey. Some stories make us laugh so hard that we cry, while with others, we silently wipe away our tears. 

It is close to midnight by the time our bus pulls up to the Uman Inn, where a delicious meal awaits us. Between the homemade bread and the dessert bar, my attempts to stick to a diet are forgotten. And I had thought this was a ruchniyusdig journey!

The moment the meal’s over, I rush to the tziyun.  It is customary upon entering the Rebbe’s tziyun to give money to tzedakah, recite the Tikkun Klali, ten specific chapters of Tehillim, confess ones sins to Hashem and sincerely resolve not to repeat them. Rebbe Nachman promised that, “I will do everything in my power to save him [the one who does this] and cleanse him. I will go to any lengths for this person. I will pull him out of gehinnom by his peyos!”

Thursday morning, over breakfast, Yehudis speaks to us about what it means to made “viduy devarim.”  As she prepares us spiritually, the kitchen staff asks if we would like to perform the mitzvah of hafrashas challa. Of course the answer is “Yes.” After a short introduction to the mitzvah, four women are chosen to make the brachos on separate batches of dough.

All of us are anxious to put what we learned that morning into practice. I spend the day reciting Tehillim at the tziyun and resting from the journey. In the afternoon, most of the women join Yehudis on a walk through the city. Afterwards, some women explore the enormous Uman marketplace, where you can find anything from cows to geese to meat to shoes to furniture, while others walked down to the river.

At supper that night, Yehudis delivers a very practical shiur on how to concentrate during davening: it’s impossible to think two thoughts at the same time (Likutei Maharan I 233; II 50). Although the idea is simple, it takes serious work to put it into practice and banish thoughts not pertaining to our prayers. Later in the evening, we enjoy a kumsitz by candlelight, replete with singing, sharing inspirational personal stories, and dancing. What a special end to a very extraordinary day!    

Friday morning, Rebbetzin Heller joins our group. Her shiur on tefillah contains a very important message: we don’t always get what we want, but we become WHOM we want. Hashem doesn’t always give us what we ask for, but it is within our power to become the person that we want to become, spiritually.

Friday is spent exploring Sofia Park, davening at the tziyun, and preparing for Shabbos. Before leaving to the park, Yehudis teaches us about Hisbodedus, speaking to Hashem in our own words, and suggests that we use out time at the park to put these concepts into practice.

Shabbos: Shir Hashirim in unison, singing and dancing our way through Kabalas Shabbos, Kiddush, zemiros, shiurim on the parashah, Tehillim at the tziyun. Shabbos was literally “me’ein olam haba.” As the women reveal more of their inner selves, we become a close-knit family. But soon our experience will come to an end. After a joyful melavah malkah, we sing and dance the American contingent off as they leave to the airport. Over the next few hours, more groups leave until finally only a dozen women, including myself, remain. I am exhilarated, yet exhausted. Davening in Uman is hard work!

Hadiatch

Sunday morning. Our small group sets out to the kever of the Baal Hatanya in Hadiatch, northeast of Kiev, a seven hour drive from Uman. Traveling through the Ukraine, we pass miles and miles of fields filled with bright yellow sunflowers. Then the terrain grows more rugged with many rivers and lakes against a background of forested mountains. I stare out the bus window, watching the scenery fly by, when my eyes suddenly fill with tears. My grandfather grew up in region. He would blink back the tears as he described the beautiful countryside.

I am sure that when my grandfather left the Ukraine for the “golden medinah” both my great-grandfather, who was the shochet in Nezhin, and my great-grandmother cried bitter tears as they davened that their descendants remain frum Jews. And now, here I am, perhaps driving through the same village where they lived, matriarch of generations of Torah-observant, G-d fearing Jews. My great-grandparents are with me, shepping nachas from my family, and I am overwhelmed with a deep sense of hakaras hatov as I thank them for their tefillos.

The Baal Hatanya’s kever is located at the bottom of a steep hill, surrounded by a forest of majestic, tall trees that seems to come straight out of a picture book. In the background, there is a slow-moving river. The Baal Hatanya’s niggun, the Four Babas, traditionally played at Chabad weddings, echoes through the forest from loudspeakers placed among the trees. After davening at the ohel, we stand thee, speechless, drinking in the beauty, still under the spell of our heartfelt prayers at the kever until it is time to leave for the airport.

As I sit at my computer, reminiscing, the scenery and places have already start to fade from my memory, yet the emotions, and kabalos remain clear and vivid. Traveling to the Kivrei Tzaddikim is a journey of the soul, hopefully one that will continue to leave its impact for years to come.