Nachman stared in astonishment at the sight of the broken idol lying in a heap of rubble at the bottom of the city walls

Prologue

Medvedevka, 1798

A chassid and his illustrious rebbe emerged from the mikveh building and stood outside. The rebbe turned and stared at his chassid with piercing eyes.

“This year I will certainly be in Eretz Yisrael.”

These words, spoken by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, were the beginning of an incredible journey filled with tremendous danger and would become one of the most inspiring pilgrimages to Eretz Yisrael ever recorded. The great chassidic rebbe, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, needed to reach the holy shores of Eretz Yisrael, and he was willing to travel through fire and water to get there. So much depended upon it.

The journey to Eretz Yisrael in those days meant risking danger from threats at sea and foreign lands, including endless warfare in the ocean, Jew-hating sailors and soldiers, and storms. There were no first-class cabins, only a tiny room at the bottom of a ship that was totally unlike the sturdy, dependable ships we travel in today. The ships often carried coarse, thieving soldiers going out to wage war with enemy forces. Most of these men would not think twice about killing a weaponless passenger in order to steal their few belongings.

Despite all this, Rebbe Nachman was not afraid. He remembered well the days of his childhood, when he would take a small rickety raft down to a river, far from society, and set sail in the turbulent waters.

As the waters would toss his boat in all directions, he would raise his hands to the sky and scream out from the very depths of his neshamah, “HASHEM!”

As the river would sweep him farther away from the shore, and his small body would be flung from side to side, he would further give up on his own powers and instead recognize that only Hashem has any power. In fact, there is only Hashem. Ein od milvado. There is nothing that exists in the universe, only Hashem. So, if one is in danger, from where can help come? Only from One Source, the Source of everything, HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

And somehow, someway, the young child named Nachman would make his way back to shore. Time and time again. The frightening waters of the river did not extinguish the fire in his heart to become closer to Hashem, they only caused the flames of longing to burn stronger.

“Hashem, please send me a sign,” Nachman would cry, pouring out his heart to Hashem, talking as one would to a close friend, as he walked through huge, empty forests. “There is a statue of an idol which I have to pass every time I come to the forests to speak with you in privacy. It is positioned on top of the city gates, on the wall leading out to the road.”

When Nachman next passed the place of the idol he stared in astonishment at the sight of the broken idol lying in a heap of rubble at the bottom of the city walls.