"And when you approach opposite the children of Ammon, neither distress them nor provoke them…” (Devarim 2:19)

 It’s interesting to compare the ways Bnei Yisrael were commanded to treat Ammon and Moav. Bnei Yisrael were commanded not to distress or provoke Ammon at all, but with Moav they were forbidden only to wage war. Ammon had additional merits because his mother was modest in naming him, not drawing attention to the way he was conceived. Yet Moav’s mother publicized the matter with his name [which means “from my father.”]

One might wonder at the long-lasting ramifications of these two names. After all, the incident with Lot and his daughters happened thousands of years before. Why does it matter now? (Rav Shach, Mei’rosh Amanah)

His name was Alex Lurie and he was a long way from his hometown of Duluth, Minnesota.

The year was 1918. Despite being part of the victorious US Allied forces, Alex felt lost as a Jew in this enemy German territory. He approached his commanding officer to receive orders.

“You’ll be billeted at the home of Herr Leopold and Frau Frieda Rosenau in Selters.”

The Rosenaus opened their home to this fellow Yid, despite the fact that he’d fought on the enemy side. During his stay, a friendship was forged, one that would span generations.

Alex did not forget his hosts after he’d returned to his hometown. He penned a heartfelt letter of thanks to them, grateful for the hospitality they had extended despite the circumstances.

Similarly, Moshe feared fighting Og, king of Bashan, because he worried that Og still had merits protecting him, as he had informed Avraham Avinu that Lot had been taken captive. Despite the many years that had passed, Hashem had to reassure Moshe not to worry: Og’s merit would not protect him after years of wicked deeds.

The year was 1935.

Tension was in the air. The noose was tightening and many German Jews feared the ominous future. Yet what could they do? They had generations of history in their homeland, and most did not have any ties to countries that would give them asylum.

Eugen Weinberg traveled to England to try to secure his family visas to emigrate. But he returned home unsuccessful, with rising doubts about his family’s future. His business had already been boycotted, and his young son Bert had been beaten up by Nazi youth.

The year was 1937.

Young Bert traveled to visit his grandparents, the Rosenaus, for the summer. One afternoon, Bert amused himself by flipping through old family photos and papers in his grandfather’s desk drawers.

“What’s this letter?” he asked, fascinated by the foreign stamps blazoned on an old envelope.

“Put that back, Bertchen,” Opa said distractedly.

Raised as a dutiful Yekke child, Bert generally followed directions. But for some strange reason, this time he didn’t obey, but stuck the envelope into his pocket. When he returned home, he showed it to his parents. Eugen made the connection that their uncertain future could lie in the hands of the faraway guest of decades ago.

Alex Lurie was thrilled to repay the chesed of hachnassas orchim. Together with the Duluth community, he took responsibility for obtaining visas for Eugen’s family to immigrate to Duluth, Minnesota. Then he used his influence to widen the circle of chesed, enabling Eugen’s brother Emil, his wife, Rosa, and their young son, Yaakov, to join them in the United States.

The year was 1939.

My father fled Germany as war was exploding. His family escaped through Japan, sailing over the Pacific Ocean, as the Atlantic was already burning from German U-boat fire. Saved in the nick of time.

A person’s every action is connected to the entire creation. The impression each action makes, whether good or bad, is never erased. It exists and is as influential as the day it was done. One single act has power to affect generations.

The year is 2018.

I hurry to put the children to bed, as I have a chasunah that night. As I enter the hall, I’m swamped by greetings — my father’s first cousins, their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, kein ayin hara. The family has expanded to hundreds of descendants who make their homes over several continents. It’s so good to see everyone. We’re far from war-torn Germany — yet we each credit our presence to the same source.

A single act. Echoing for eternity.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 601)