Many years ago, I was consulted by a young man — let’s call him Aaron — who was mired in some sticky shidduchim-related issues. He was dressed like a typical chassidishe bochur, but his last name had a Sephardic ring to it. I asked him to explain the apparent contradiction.

“My family was originally from Morocco,” Aaron began. “My grandfather moved to Austria before the war and later escaped to Argentina, where my father attended a Satmar yeshivah. Twenty years ago, my father came to New York and, following ‘tradition,’ sent me to a chassidishe yeshivah. In Argentina there were only two choices: a secularized Jewish school or Satmar. My grandfather chose the latter, and that’s why I look the way I do.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, Aaron added that he is a direct descendant of a famous Torah personality whose peirush on Chumash is printed in every edition of Mikraos Gedolos.

“You have quite some yichus,” I acknowledged with highly raised eyebrows.

“I usually don’t tell people about it,” Aaron replied sheepishly. “I don’t want to feel that I am being treated deferentially because of it. I only mentioned it to you because you commented on my last name.”

In the weeks that ensued, Aaron and I tackled his crippling low self-esteem and social anxiety, which were seriously impairing his shidduchim opportunities. When we started, I thought to myself that it was going to take quite a while to get Aaron up to where he needs to be to get engaged.

Less than three months after I began working with Aaron, he informed me that his first beshow had been scheduled for later that week. I congratulated him on reaching this milestone. And then we reviewed some of the anxiety management strategies we had worked on, which would come in handy at this critical upcoming meeting with the girl and her parents.

A few days later, Aaron called to share the good news that he was a chassan. He asked, therefore, if he should cancel his next appointment. Why not keep it, I suggested, so that we could have a termination session.

Aaron readily agreed.

When he came for his last appointment, we reviewed the successful work we had done, focusing on how far he had come in such a short time. “It was truly l’maalah min hateva how quickly you accomplished what you did,” I acknowledged. “Normally, it would have taken much, much longer to overcome those challenges.”

At that time, I attributed Aaron’s unnaturally rapid progress to the zechus avos of his illustrious ancestor. However, as Rabbi Yosef Elias ztz”l, the former menahel of Breuer’s High School and Seminary, would say, “I reserve the right to get smarter as I get older.” Today, I have come to understand that miraculous yeshuos are not reserved only for those with special yichus. Rather, each and every one of us has unfathomable zechus avos.

And we can all soar to extraordinary heights on the wings of our tefillos, as Dovid Hamelech declared, “Karov Hashem l’chol kora’av” (Tehillim 145:18). Specifically at this awesome time of the year, when we are (or should be) more focused on tefillah, it is critical to remember that Hashem is truly the kol yachol. We should not to hesitate, therefore, to daven fervently for whatever we need for ourselves and our families.

This fundamental precept was recently driven home for me when I heard the following incredible episode regarding Rav Nochum Cohen of Yerushalayim, who is consulted each week by hundreds of people seeking his brachos and/or counsel, and with whom I have been privileged to enjoy a close kesher for over 30 years.

A while back, a middle-aged married man — let’s call him Mendel — came to Reb Nochum in desperation, just to unburden himself.

“My father threw me out of his house and his life years ago,” Mendel vented. “He hasn’t spoken to me at all, and he refuses to attend any of my simchahs. At this point, I feel like an orphan. And since so many people know about this already, I am ashamed wherever I go. I just don’t know how my family and I can survive this anymore.”

“How did this estrangement start in the first place?” Reb Nochum asked.

“My father did not approve of my giving tzedakah while I still owed money to people from whom I had borrowed. He got so upset with me about this that he suddenly severed all ties with me and my family.”

“What have you done since then to reconcile with your father?” Reb Nochum probed.

“What have I done?” Mendel almost took umbrage at the question. “What haven’t I done? First of all, I did teshuvah right away. I paid off all of my debts and did not give any tzedakah until all of my creditors had been paid in full. And I have sent countless emissaries to speak to my father on my behalf. Nevertheless, my father has not budged one inch. He is as adamant about not speaking to me now as he was when all of this started. At this point, I don’t really see how this can possibly change… It would be l’maalah min hateva for me to ever be reunited with my father.”

Reb Nochum offered words of comfort to Mendel, and encouraged him to never underestimate the capabilities of HaKadosh Baruch Hu. “He is a kol yachol,” Reb Nochum said. “For Him, literally anything is possible.”

A couple of years later, in an unbelievable twist of Hashgachah pratis, a divorced woman came to Reb Nochum seeking his advice. A shidduch had been proposed between her and Mendel’s father, who had lost his wife some time earlier. On the one hand, Mendel’s father was a prominent, well-respected person and the woman was looking to remarry. On the other hand, however, the long-term estrangement between Mendel and his father was well known. The woman did not know what to do.

Reb Nochum approved of the shidduch, encouraging the woman to seriously consider it. Then he added the following advice. “If you do end up marrying him, you will have a unique opportunity to perform a great act of chesed. You will be in a position to reunite this father with his son. It will be your sacred mission to do so.”

The woman took Reb Nochum’s advice and eventually married Mendel’s father. After they were married for a short time, the woman said to her new husband, “I would like to invite your son Mendel to our home.”

“If it will make you happy,” Mendel’s father said. “Then do it.” And as simply as that, 18 years of frozen, solid estrangement just melted away!

After Mendel reconciled with his father, he met again with Reb Nochum. The first thing he said to Reb Nochum was, “L’maalah min hateva! L’maalah min hateva!” Then he buried his face in his hands as he burst into uncontrollable sobs of joy.

Yes, Hashem is truly a kol yachol. And, as Reb Nochum often advises, we would all do well to keep that in mind not only during the darkest moments our lives, but also during these days of rachamim v’ratzon when, “The King (of kings) is in the field,” and most readily accessible to our tefillos and we are seeking our own reconciliation with Him. —

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 725.   Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice with offices in Brooklyn, New York, and Lakewood, New Jersey. His next book, Behind Closed Doors: Over 45 Years of Helping People Overcome Their Challenges, is scheduled to be released by Menucha Publishers in Elul.