The Power of Tzedakah: Chapter 7
| December 13, 2022He was no longer conscious when he finally slid off the ship and splashed headfirst into the ocean. “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad…”
Moshe did eventually make the decision, with the blessing of his parents, to visit his family across the vast ocean. It was both nerve-wracking and exciting for the young city boy. Never before had he seen such vast waves, endless miles of glistening, pure ocean waters all around him.
But then a storm set in, and his trip turned from enjoyable to perilous and terrifying. Sailors ran to and fro trying to secure the ship while the captain barked orders. The passengers huddled in place, each praying to powers that could neither hear nor help them, except for one Jew, Moshe, who prayed to the only Source Who could calm the ferocious storm.
Moshe realized that this was an appropriate time to say Shema. This might be the last time he would ever utter those holy words ever again in his life… “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!”
The waves intensified and the ship began to lurch onto its side, sending many people plunging into the dark, freezing cold waves. Moshe literally felt people sliding past him, bumping him as they went down, down, down into the sea, disappearing beneath the dark waters.
Moshe thought about the Chazal his father had taught him years before — that when a person is about to leave this world, he turns for help to anything he thinks can help him. A person turns to his family members, and begs them to assist him. But they reply that they cannot help him, as he goes to stand in judgment before the King of Kings, with all the person’s decisions, sins and good deeds revealed for all to see. Then the person looks toward his home, the wealth he acquired, everything he owns. Can these assist him? No, he goes alone. They will stay behind. Finally, the person reflects on the mitzvos which he performed, the Torah he learned, the character traits he worked on. He begs his good actions to please, please, come with him and assist him. And the mitzvos and good deeds reply, “Go, and when you get there, we will already be waiting there for you…”
Moshe realized that nothing else really mattered. Only the spiritual merchandise he had acquired would be coming with him. He could no longer hold onto the railing of the ship, and like the bodies falling around him, he finally let go and slid across the tilted deck. He could no longer differentiate between the screams, splintering wood and booms of thunder. It was all the same. Only Hashem existed. He was no longer conscious when he finally slid off the ship and splashed headfirst into the ocean.
“Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad…”
Fischel and his family were very much anticipating the arrival of their beloved relative Moshe. They had heard about his intentions to meet them via the many letters that Leibel had sent them. Fischel made sure that he was waiting at the dock when the ship was due to arrive so that he could greet his nephew personally when he arrived on European soil.
He stood there for many hours, squinting into the distance, but no ship ever arrived. Finally, someone passing by broke the news to him. The ship had sunk, and no one had survived. Fischel was devastated and heartbroken. He trudged back to his home and related the tragic news to his family.
“What do we do now, Father? Are you going to send a letter to Uncle Leibel?”
“No, I think we should wait a bit. My heart tells me that Moshe may have survived. Why should we despair before we get confirmation? Let us hope and pray, and trust that all will end happily.”
A few days passed, but no news was forthcoming. It seemed that Fischel had to accept that his nephew was never going to come after all. He sat down at his desk late one night and began to pen a letter to his brother in America. Tears mingled with the ink on the paper, and he could only imagine the pain his brother would be going through when he read these horrific words. He wished he could spare him the pain…
At that moment there was a knock on the front door. Fischel was not entirely surprised that someone was knocking on their door late at night. Sometimes people forgot that Fischel also needed his privacy and rest and could not always be on duty to service others. But Fischel knew he could handle it, as he now had a new helper who was always jumping to help him out.
“Father, don’t worry! I’ll get the door!”
Zissy walked — no, ran — to the door, eager to perform the mitzvah of hachnassas orchim. She was a changed person, entirely different from the Zissy who had existed before the great upheaval and tragedies in her life.
She opened the door and saw a young man standing there. He looked miserably cold, hungry, and thirsty. His clothing was in tatters, and all he carried with him was a satchel slung over his shoulder.
Before the man could say a word, Zissy invited him into the house and began to prepare a meal for him. The man sat down in front of the fireplace as Fischel emerged from his study and began helping his daughter. Within minutes the man was cozy and warmed up by the fire and being served a three-course meal.
“I—”
“There’s no need to thank us,” Fischel said hurriedly, seating himself across the man. “Just eat something and drink some hot tea. You need to bring some life into your weary bones.”
The man ate and drank until he finally stopped shaking. Finally, when Fischel would allow him to speak, he did.
“Uncle Fischel…? I-It’s me… Moshe.”
To be continued…
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 940)
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