Rav Tuvia Bolton
The
Garbovskis, Igor, Vladimir and their parents lived in Kiev in a
modest home. They were typical Ukrainian Jews: proud they were Jews,
as ignorant about Judaism as a Jew can be and had a strong desire
immigrate to Israel.
But
they had differing ideas about how to do it.
Vladimir,
always the idealist, wanted to leave immediately. He figured that
with his degree in engineering he would surely succeed in the land of
the Jews. But Igor and his parents wanted to wait until they became
more proficient in Hebrew and gathered sufficient funds, then they
would all move together.
But
Vladimir wouldn't hear of it. One day he announced that he had
purchased his ticket, packed his bags, made arrangements and would go
alone and before they knew it he was gone.
At
first Vladimir phoned home once a week and was full of good news: He
became a citizen and was living temporarily in one of the immigration
centers. He was learning Hebrew and he had been promised a job as an
engineer as soon as a position was available.
But
a half a year later he didn't sound so enthusiastic: The engineering
job never materialized, he was working 'temporarily' as a gardener,
he had moved out of the Immigration Center and due to low funds was
renting a dingy apartment in the city of Ramle.
His
parents suggested that he return home and Igor not only seconded the
idea but began pressuring him; come home and in a year or so we will
all move together and help each other.
But
Vladimir would have no part of it. In fact, it made him angry; bad
enough that the Israeli Government wasn't helping him, now his family
was against him?!
He
began calling home less frequently and his conversations were tense
and often ended in quarrels. Until he stopped calling altogether.
Igor
tried to call him back, but with no luck; at first he didn’t answer
but eventually he was told that Vladimir’s phone had been
disconnected. In desperation he contacted the Israeli police and the
immigration service but they were of no help.
He
felt guilty; perhaps it was his fault; maybe he had been to forceful,
to negative? Perhaps if he had been more friendly etc. etc. until
finally he decided there was no other way to calm his conscience and
his parents’ worries than to travel to Israel and locate Vladimir
himself. With a heavy heart his parents agreed and he was off.
Igor,
unlike his brother already knew Hebrew fairly well and in no time he
settled in. He immediately found himself an apartment in Tel Aviv got
a job as an apartment broker to Russian immigrants and just days
after he arrived in Israel began looking for Vladimir.
But
he discovered it wasn't so simple.
First
he went to the immigration center but they had lost contact with him.
Then he located the apartment in Romle only to discover that Vladimir
had moved out several months ago and all the landlord and neighbors
could say was that he looked depressed.
He
went to the company for which his brother had worked as a gardener
and they told him that he had been a good worker for the first month
or so but then he began complaining and refused to work. He said it
wasn't fair that an engineer should do such menial, low paying work
so they had to fire him and since then, three months ago, they hadn't
seen him.
Igor
contacted the police again, got on the radio, spoke on the Russian
stations, put ads in the Russian newspapers with his brother's
picture and even printed advertisements and put them on telephone
poles in the streets. But nothing worked. And he began to suspect the
worst.
After
a year of fruitless searching in Israel suddenly an idea popped into
his mind, maybe his brother moved to America. After all a lot of
Russians that didn't make it in Israel went there. And, although Igor
realized the irrationality of his thinking; if he couldn't find
Vladimir in little Israel he certainly wouldn't succeed in the
U.S.A., nevertheless he bought tickets and flew to Los Angeles.
A lot of Russians live there.
But
as expected, despite a month of praiseworthy efforts he came up with
nothing. So he decided to try in New York for a week or two and then
if nothing turned up he would return to Israel.
But
in New York he fared no better. He put ads in the Russian papers,
even got his plea announced on a few Russian radio stations but with
no results.
Then
on Friday, three days before his return flight on Sunday night, he
happened to strike up a conversation with some Russian speaker in the
hotel lobby where he was staying and when he mentioned his missing
brother his acquaintance replied,
"You
can’t find your brother? Why, if I was you I would go to the
Lubavitcher Rebbe and ask for a blessing."
Igor
had no idea what the man was talking about. "Rebbe? Lubavitch?"
he replied, "No, I'm sure that my brother would never go any
Rebbe."
But his acquaintance explained how this Lubavitcher Rebbe was known to help people in the most miraculous ways, told a few stories to make his point and finished by saying the Rebbe gives out one dollar bills, blessings and advice every Sunday from his headquarters in Brooklyn and that he should go there.
Igor
couldn't believe that this fellow was telling the truth. He had heard
stories of Chassidic Rebbes doing miracles but he was sure they were
just fables or fairy tales.
But
then he thought to himself that he really had nothing to lose and was
free Sunday morning. Not only that but according to his fellow the
Rebbe was very friendly and spoke Russian.
So
that Sunday morning Igor found himself standing in a huge line of
several thousand people that wound around a large red brick building
in Brooklyn and an hour later he was face to face with the Rebbe.
Just
as the man in the hotel said; the Rebbe was very impressive but also
seemed very warm and friendly. So Igor said in Russian, "I'm
looking for my brother who has been lost for a year. Can you help
me?"
The
Rebbe smiled, gave him two dollars and said, "One is for you and
the second give to charity and you will find your brother."
Igor
took the dollars, said thank you and moments later was in the subway
back to his hotel trying to understand what happened. He concluded
that the dollars were probably some sort of good-luck magic charm and
although he did not believe in such things he put them in his wallet,
returned to his room, packed his bags, rested for a few hours, went
to the airport and forgot the whole thing.
When
he arrived in Israel he took directly from the airport a cab to
Jerusalem where he already had a few meetings planned
Then,
once in Jerusalem he got out of the cab and immediately at least five
poor people surrounded him and asked for donations. Usually he would
simply ignore them, but this time he suddenly remembered the Rebbe's
words, dug his hand into his pocket and begrudgingly gave the Rebbe's
dollar to one of them thinking to himself, 'At least I'll see if that
Rebbe's blessing was real'.
But
he didn't have to wait long. Although the bum that he gave the dollar
to tried to avert his gaze there was something familiar about him.
“Vladimir?” Igor asked in disbelief. The disheveled beggar lifted
his head and their eyes met. He took a good look. It was none other
than his brother!
Vladimir
took his brother back, called his parents and when they were finally
united and fully realized what a miracle they had experienced they
all decided to learn more about and be more connected to Judaism
Reprinted
from the Parshas Chaya Sarah 5777 email of Yeshivat Ohr Tmimim in
Kfar Chabad, Israel.
