“Thank You, Hashem,” I whispered, “for choosing me from so many thousands here”: An adopted child makes the journey of discovery

As told to Shmuel Friedman

He was born in a poor Brazilian town and left in the local orphanage. At the same time, Reb Shaul Tzemach and his wife, a frum couple from Ashdod, Israel, decided to adopt a child and bring him up in their Torah home. And so, as Hashgachah brought their lives together from two ends of the world, little Andiano Fernandez soon became Yossi Tzemach. Three decades later, Yossi decided to complete the puzzle. What would he find on his search in a rundown Brazilian alleyway?

SHAUL TZEMACH

When my wife and I realized that b’derech hateva we wouldn’t be able to have biological children, we considered all the options and finally decided, on the advice of our rav, to travel to Brazil. This was 1987, and when people hear that, they immediately think of the horror stories of baby trafficking that plagued the country in the 1980s and ’90s, but our agreement was supervised and legal on all fronts — and saved us several long years had we decided to wait in line and try for adoption in Israel.

It’s important to note that, in relation to adoption procedures, Brazil is divided between north and south. In the south, at least back then — although they say it’s been cleaned up — it was common for babies to be abducted and sold to the highest bidder, or even for mothers to sell their infants on the streets. The agency we worked with was in the north, and the process was organized, legal, and humane. That’s not to say that we weren’t afraid to travel to Brazil. We didn’t speak a word of Portuguese, and had no idea how we would manage or how we would deal with all the government offices. But our rav in Ashdod has a brother in Brazil, and he agreed to take us through the process. He introduced us to a Jewish doctor there who helped us work with the authorities and even took us to the orphanage.

It was pretty common then for an indigent mother to leave her newborn in an orphanage. Brazil has many poor neighborhoods, and some of these families prefer to leave their children in the orphanages, hoping it will give them a chance for a better future.

When we arrived at the orphanage, a nurse told us to wait, and then she came out, wheeling a large carriage that was divided into five compartments — with five babies inside. But for some reason, these babies put us off — we didn’t connect to any of them, and asked the nurse if there were any more babies available.

“There’s a long line,” she told us abruptly. “Either take a baby from this carriage, or leave. I have no time.”

At that moment, a doctor emerged from the nursery, and I went over to him and put a wad of cash in his hand. The doctor looked at the nurse, and instructed her in Portuguese to bring out another carriage. As we peered inside, we both spontaneously pointed to the last baby in the carriage, a four-month-old infant. We felt an instant connection, as if we were somehow redeeming the soul of this child. The baby looked back at us, with what seemed like pleading eyes.

The adoption process required us to stay in Brazil for a month, and after a week with our new son, we decided it would be better if our new child had a sister to grow up with. The agency, for their part, agreed to give us another baby. The entire process went smoothly until we hit a snag at the end, when the agency refused give us back the passports they’d taken as security. Apparently, two Israeli couples who’d preceded us had given back the babies they’d taken, after discovering that the infants had major medical issues.

Between a helpful Chabad shaliach and our rav’s brother, we were finally given back our documents and allowed to leave with our precious cargo — an instant, beautiful family. The first thing we did upon arrival was to make a bris for Yossi, with Rav Meir Bransdorfer ztz”l, with whom I’d had previous connections, serving as mohel. Rav Bransdorfer was always there for Yossi, from his early childhood until his teens, and Yossi was literally a ben bayis in his home.

We didn’t want the issue of our children’s adoption sprung on them by surprise, and we knew that if we didn’t tell them, sooner or later they’d find out anyway — between the neighbors who remembered their arrival, and their own South American look. So we told them how they were born in a different country, to different parents, and that we became their parents.