MY MIKVEH MIRACLE STORIES

BS"D Written by Yehudis Wilks

The first time I went to the mikveh (spiritual bath) was in Toronto, Ontario before my first marriage in 1981. My future mother-in-law had passed away many years before. Having grown up "Conservative" in Hamilton, Ontario, it didn't even occur to me to ask my own mother to accompany me. I had gone to three group classes on mikveh at a Modern Orthodox shul in Toronto, Ontario where I was living and getting married. My first experience at the mikveh was, to say the least, not great. Although it was over 25 years ago, I still remember the mikveh lady saying to me "you brides - you always keep your nails too long - well, next time, they will need to be shorter", and I just remember answering silently to myself "Lady, there isn't going to be a next time", and there wasn't for the next three years.

After our first son was born, we were now living in Petach Tikvah, in Eretz Yisroel (the land of Israel). Although I was keeping more mitzvahs, I still wasn't covering my hair, dressing modestly or practicing any of the halachas (laws) of Family Purity. However, I decided that I wanted to start going to the mikveh. (As was my entire focus up to that point – everything was my decision, not HaShem’s). I went to a lovely mikveh in Savion someone had told me about. The mikveh lady was very nice, and it was a much nicer experience, so I continued to go. I ended up getting pregnant a short time after our first son was born, so I didn’t end up going to that mikveh very much.

Over the next five years, I started to take on more mitzvos. I covered my hair and dressed more modestly, said the appropriate blessings over food, and washed negel vasser in the morning. I did this mostly to teach our two sons who were born 19 months apart. Although I was also going to the mikveh in Petach Tikvah, or elsewhere in Israel, I still was not observing all of the other laws of family purity at the time, just those that I thought were important.

After almost six years of living in Petach Tikvah, we moved to Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, where for the first year at least, I was still covering my hair, dressing modestly and following some mitzvos. I still went to the Mikveh in Ottawa on a regular basis until one night when I went and the walls of the mikveh were covered with red bugs. By that point I was observing less mitzvahs and I was very unhappy in my marriage. I felt as if HaShem had pushed me to the brink with the bugs, as I don’t like bugs. I didn't go to the mikveh again until my second marriage seven years later. My first marriage lasted 15 years and ended, just after Yom Kippor in 1996.

My second marriage has been a gift from Hashem, sharing a life of Torah and mitzvahs including observing all of the laws of mikveh and Family Purity. Less than a year after my first marriage ended, Hashem was our shadchan (matchmaker), as we met over the internet, and within three months we had married and I had moved to Cleveland, Ohio, beginning a life of observing Torah and mitzvos that I didn’t know even existed.

From the very beginning of meeting my dear husband, he insisted that we be "shomer negiah" - no touching until the wedding night. He encouraged me to learn the laws of Family Purity with a Rebbetzin. We were married on my English birthday which turned out to be the night of the 18th of MarChesvan in the Hebrew calendar. Hashem gave us a true miracle right from the start, and my wedding night was as if I was a first time kallah (bride). My husband and I were able to be together for eleven hours and then I became "Niddah"(back to a state where we were not permitted to touch each other). For the first time in my life, I experienced true anguish in having to learn not to touch my husband in any way, as I began to follow the laws of Family Purity (Tahara HaMishpacha) correctly at 39 years of age.

Four months later I found myself expecting our dear son, my fourth child who was born on Chai Kislev, the 18th of Kislev just after my 40th birthday. A year later, I miscarried at 18 weeks and the day after Tu B’Shvat 2001, our dear daughter was born. I had just turned 43. I didn't like all of the rules and regulations that went with the laws of Family Purity, but I followed them anyway. I remember learning never to put off going to the mikveh and that has been something I have always followed, meaning that I have gone several times on Friday night, once on Pesach during the Seder, and on several Yom Tovs, which have hardly been convenient. I have walked in the rain and the snow by myself and have sung songs to HaShem asking for His protection from the skunks, as I have never been able to work it out that my husband doesn't have to stay home and watch our children when I have had to walk by myself.

Over the past eleven plus years I have personally experienced two miracles by following the laws of Family Purity (Tahara HaMishpacha). The second has helped me keep my faith in HaShem even in my darkest moments, the first, possibly, saved my life.

In Shevat 5761/February 2001, when our daughter was born, my OBGYN and the hospital told me to wait six weeks to have relations with my husband. Well, that made perfect sense to me, as after our son was born two years earlier, it was almost exactly six weeks to the day that I was able to go to the mikveh, following all of the laws of Family Purity. This time however, things did not go as smoothly. I simply couldn’t get seven cleans days (checking with my bedikah cloth) in a row which I needed in order to go to the mikveh.

After seven weeks I called my OBGYN and asked her what she thought. She said to wait one more week and call back. In the meantime, I was occasionally experiencing what I can only term as small punches in my stomach when I was lying down and I needed to get up. Although these were slightly annoying, I didn’t really think anything of them. I figured after five births (three from my first marriage and two now from my second) it was to be expected. After eight weeks when I was still not able to go to the mikveh, I called my OBGYN. She told me to come in immediately to be seen and have an ultrasound.

Thanks to HaShem, I was able to come in that day, and after looking at the ultrasound, the doctors ordered an immediate D and C. I found out later that part of the placenta had been left inside me after the birth eight weeks earlier. That explained the punches in my stomach, and I don’t even want to imagine what might have happened if I was not following the laws of Family Purity. If I had just listened to the hospital policy of waiting six weeks to be with my husband, I could possibly have become pregnant again and would not have had any knowledge that part of the placenta had been left inside of me. Who knows how long it would have taken for me to realize that the punches in my stomach were a serious medical complication? There are too many what if’s to even think about. All I know is - Baruch Hashem (Blessed is Hashem) for all of the laws of Family Purity/Taharas HaMispacha!

The second incident happened in Iyar, 5763/May, 2003. I was checking my afternoon bedikah on the fourth day of my seven clean days. I was in our small bathroom on the first floor of our home in Cleveland Hts, Ohio. I had taken out the bedikah cloth and taken a very quick glance at it and had seen that it was perfectly white and clean. I had my hand opened and the bedikah was lying flat on my hand. In an instant I heard what I can only describe as a “swoooooooosh” pass on my left side, and when I looked down at the bedikah cloth, there were two small red dots (they were fresh, perfectly formed and bright red) about an inch apart from each other. Well, I knew right then and there that I had just experienced an open miracle because it was impossible that they could have looked liked that if they had come from inside of me. I also thought that it was interesting that Hashem’s Malach (Angel) had made two dots, not just one, so that there was absolutely no mistaking whether or not it was a shailah (a question to ask the Rav).

As had been my pattern in the past, on the fourth day of my seven clean days if I had a situation where I had to start counting over again, I always became pregnant (even if I had miscarried). Sure enough, the pregnancy test came out positive. But then after another week I miscarried. Truly, the shortest pregnancy in history – ten days total. I was totally devastated and I just couldn’t get over it. I spoke to a mikveh counselor and she suggested that I write a letter to the Lubavticher Rebbe and put it in one of the volumes of the Igris HaKodesh (over 20 volumes full of letters that the Rebbe answered people while his physical presence was in this world). My husband wrote the letter in hebrew for me and here is what the Rebbe answered:

I had put the letter in the Igris HaKodesh “Chai”(Life). The letter said that my sister should follow the laws of Family Purity as “what once brought her closeness, would eventually bring her distance”. Well, I did in fact have a sister (my only sister) who was in a serious relationship and who was not observing mitzvahs and not following any of the laws of family purity. At the end of the letter the Rebbe wrote that “I” should give tzedakah (charity) everyday. Although, I did in fact try to give a lot of tzedakah, I had never consciously made sure that I put a few coins in the pushka (charity box) on a regular daily basis. I felt that this was a very easy mitzvah to take on, and one that I have tried my best to follow to this day.

My husband closed the Igris HaKodesh and we started to talk about this and that and I happened to mention that my due date would have been January 12th. He said “January 12th? Hold on a minute” and my husband went back to look at the Rebbe’s letter. The letter was dated 1/12. Now as mentioned above, the Igris HaKodesh has over 20 volumes with several hundred letters in each volume. Many of the letters are not dated, but of those that are, almost all have Hebrew dates (the hebrew month spelled out in hebrew plus the day). Almost none have English Dates (numbers only). I was immediately comforted and understood that everything that happens in Hashem’s world is Beschert (Divinely Inspired) and everything is Good, even when we don’t understand why things happen and cannot see the revealed good, we need to trust it is good.

Another amazing mikveh story that involved incredible hasgacha pratis (divine intervention)happened when we were in New York in MarChesvan 5768, November 2007. My husband and I were celebrating our 10th anniversary. We had not been to New York in six years, and we were going to celebrate a double simcha with two of our friend’s families - a bar mitzvah over shabbos and a wedding Sunday evening.

When my husband and I had married ten years earlier, we had a beautiful small wedding at Zemach Zedek in Cleveland, Ohio - a lovely Chabad shul with Rabbi Zalman and Rebbetzin Shulamis Kazen (Hashem should bless them to 120 years with good health and long years) . I didn't feel a part of Chabad at the time and I had no idea what type of life HaShem was bringing me to. I always tell my husband “it is a good thing that I didn’t know how many mitzvahs you kept when you met me as I would have run the other way”. I remember Rebbetzin Kazen discussing having a mechitzah (separation for men and women) for the meal just as they were about to start the wedding ceremony. I remember asking “what – what do we need that for?” and then getting pushed along to be married.

I had never been to a wedding at 770 Eastern Parkway (home of central Chabad) and certainly never had the experience of going to the mikvah in Crown Heights. Well, Hashem made an absolute miracle. The wedding we were attending was going to be at "770" Sunday night, and I had to go to the mikveh Mo’etzei Shabbos (after shabbos was over). It was very exciting for me to go to the Chabad Mikveh in Crown Heights for the first time, and even more exciting as it was the night before our tenth anniversary. At the wedding, Sunday night , I stood with the other women right next to Rebbetzin Kazen. It was the same hebrew day ten years earlier that I had married my husband – Chai MarChesvan, the 18th of Hebrew month of MarChesvan. Rebbetzin Kazen had walked me to the chuppah with my mother as my husband’s parents are divorced. Here I was ten years later, standing right next to Rebbetzin Kazen, at a wedding at 770. I finally felt like a real Chabad Kallah.

And just one final note: The last year before Hashem helped me leave my first marriage, a book came in the mail entitled “To Know and To Care”. I never once opened it or read it, but the Rebbe’s picture was on the front cover, and sat on our living room table day after day. After I left my marriage, the very first letter my husband-to-be wrote to me contained a quote from the Lubavitcher Rebbe. I answered him with “If you are looking for a Lubavitcher, you’re not going to find her in me”. Baruch Hashem, over eleven years later, I am very proud to be a Chassid of the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

ASHER YATZER - BEAUTIFUL BLESSING - BEAUTIFUL STORY

BS"D The following article, first printed in the Journal of the American Medical Association, addresses many of the issues related to Asher Yatzar. Please note that he is attributing the tefillah to Abaye which is possible, but not necessary reading of the Gemara, he also edits the text.

For Everything A Blessing by Kenneth M. Prager, M.D.
Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center, New York

When I was an elementary school student in yeshiva – a Jewish parochial school with both religious and secular studies – my classmates and I used to find amusing a sign that was posted just outside the bathroom. It was an ancient Jewish blessing, commonly referred to as the asher yatzar benediction, that was supposed to be recited after one relieved oneself.

For grade school children, there could be nothing more strange or ridiculous than to link to acts of micturition and defecation with holy words that mentioned God’s name. Blessings were reserved for prayers, for holy days, or for thanking God for food or for some act of deliverance, but surely not for a bodily function that evoked smirks and giggles. It took me several decades to realize the wisdom that lay behind this blessing that was composed by Abayei, a fourth-century Babylonian rabbi.

Abayei’s blessing is contained in the Talmud, an encyclopedic work of Jewish law and lore that was written over the first five centuries of the common era. The Jewish religion is chock-full of these blessings, or brachot, as they are called in Hebrew. In fact, an entire tractate of Talmud, 128 pages in length, is devoted to brachot.

On page 120 (Brachot 60b) of the ancient text it is written:

Abayei said; “When one comes out of a privy he should say: Blessed is He who has formed man in wisdom and created in him many orifices and many cavities. It is obvious and known before your Throne of glory that if one of them were to be ruptured or one of them blocked, it would be impossible to survive and stand before You. Blessed are You that heals all flesh and does wonders.”

An observant Jew is supposed to recite this blessing in Hebrew after each visit to the bathroom. We young yeshiva students were reminded of our obligation to recite this prayer by the signs that contained its text that were posted just outside the restroom doors.

It is one thing, however, to post these signs and it is quite another to realistically expect preadolescents to have the maturity to realize the wisdom of and need for reciting a 1600-year-old blessing related to bodily functions. It was not until my second year of medical school that I first began to understand the appropriateness of this short prayer.

Pathophysiology brought home to me the terrible consequences of even minor aberrations in the structure and function of the human body. At the very least, I began to no longer take for granted the normalcy of my trips to the bathroom. Instead, I started to realize how many things had to operate just right for these minor interruptions of my daily routine to run smoothly.

I thought of Abayei and his blessing. I recalled my days at yeshiva and remembered how silly that sign outside the bathroom had seemed. But after seeing patients whose lives revolved around their dialysis machines, and others with colostomies and urinary catheters, I realized how wise the rabbi had been.

And then it happened: I began to recite Abayei’s bracha. At first I had to go back to my siddur, the Jewish prayer book, to get the text right. With repetition – and there many opportunities for a novice to get to know this blessing well – I could recite it fluently and with sincerity and understanding.

Over the years, reciting the asher yatzer has become for me an opportunity to offer thanks not just for the proper functioning of my excretory organs, but for my overall good health. The text, after all, refers to catastrophic consequences of the rupture or obstruction of any bodily structure, not only those of the urinary or gastrointestinal tract.

Could Abayei, for example, have foreseen that “blockage” of the “cavity,” or lumen, of the coronary artery, would lead to the commonest cause of death in industrialized countries some 16 centuries later?

I have often wondered if other people also yearn for some way to express gratitude for their good health. Physicians especially, who are exposed daily to the ravages that illness can wreak, must sometimes feel the need to express thanks for being well and thus wellbeing. Perhaps a generic, non-denominational asher yatzer could be composed for those who want to verbalize their gratitude for being blessed with good health.

There was one unforgettable patient whose story reinforced the truth and beauty of the asher yatzer for me forever. Josh was a 20-year-old student who sustained an unstable fracture of his third and fourth cervical vertebrae in a motor vehicle crash. He nearly died from his injury and required emergency intubation and ventilatory support. He was initially totally quadriplegic but for weak flexion of his right biceps.

A long and difficult period of stabilization and rehabilitation followed. There were promising signs of neurological recovery over the first few months that came suddenly and unexpectedly: movement of a finger here, flexion of a toe there, return of sensation here, adduction of a muscle group there. With incredible courage, hard work, and an excellent physical therapist, Josh improved day by day.

In time, and after what seemed like a miracle, he was able to walk slowly with a leg brace and a cane. But Josh continued to require intermittent catheterization. I know only too well the problems and perils this young man would face for the rest of his life because of a neurogenic bladder. The urologists were very pessimistic about his chances for not requiring catheterization. They had not seen this occur after a spinal cord injury of this severity.

Then the impossible happened. I was there the day Josh no longer required a urinary catheter. I thought of Abayei’s asher yatzer prayer. Pointing out that I could not imagine a more meaningful scenario for its recitation, I suggested to Josh, who was also a yeshiva graduate, that he say the prayer. He agreed. As he recited the ancient bracha, tears welled in my eyes.

Josh is my son.

From the Congregation AABJD website: http://www.aabjd.org/files/learning/Shabbat%20Talk%20NO-3.pdf

WHICH SHOE COMES FIRST?

BS"D Here is a great story taken from the book “Visions of Greatness” – Volume 2, by Rabbi Yosef Weiss, page 193. (Reprinted with permission)

The following story is related by Rabbi Reuven Tillim: At the turn of the twentieth century, the yeshiva did not yet exist on American soil. The only source of Jewish education available was the Hebrew day school, where dedicated rabbanim (rabbi’s) often labored to inject a little enthusiasm for the Jewish religion into boys who were more interested in daydreaming, playing baseball and enjoying all the diversions of the “free world”.

Rabbi Yochanan Berman (names are fictitious) was among the many selfless men who left the comfortable sphere of Jewish life in New York to settle in cities with tiny Jewish populations in an effort to spread Torah and yiras shamayim (fear of Heaven). Reb Yochanan was determined to seize the opportunity to teach his students as much as possible. When the school year started, he soon established a healthy rapport with the boys in his class. They listened respectfully as he outlined the code of Jewish law and explained all the halachos (laws) that they needed to know.

One day, Reb Yochanan began to teach the section of halachos that deals with the proper way to put on one’s clothing in the morning. “The right shoe is put on first, then the left,” her old the boys. “There are many instances in the Torah which show that the right is more important than the left”.The students nodded dubiously.“However,” Rebi Yochanan continued, “we tie the left shoe first. Even though the right side is more important, tying begins on the left. Tefillin (the straps and boxes that men and boys put on from the age of bar mitzvah) is our proof of this, as it is tied on the left arm.”

Reb Yochanan paused and looked around the classroom. The glazed looks on the boys’ faces were a clear indication of their lack of comprehension.

“It seems trivial to you, doesn’t it” Reb Yochanan asked gently. He shook his head “I can’t emphasize enough that there is no such thing as a trivial halachah (Torah law). All the laws that HaShem gave us are important, even if our human minds can’t understand it.”

That night, the principal of the day school received an exited phone call from an angry parent.“What kind of school is this anyway?” the father sputtered. “I send my son Philip to your school to learn a little about Judaism and his teacher has to waste time telling him to put his right shoe on before his left one! And then he’s supposed to tie the left shoe first?! Why do you have teachers telling the kids such nonsense?”

The principal, who didn’t know what the man was talking about, tried to calm him down. “Rabbi Berman is a very wise man and an excellent teacher. Your Philip enjoys his class, doesn’t he?” “That’s not the point!” Philip’s father snapped. “I don’t care how much Philip likes the teacher if the teacher is going to go around telling him ridiculous things. If that’s the kind of teachers you hire, I’m pulling my son out of the school and sending him somewhere else where he can get a real education!”

“Let’s not be hasty,” the principal said in a conciliatory tone. “I assure you that I’ll investigate the matter thoroughly and review Rabbi Berman’s qualifications”. He spent several minutes longer mollifying Philip’s father, then hung up and called Reb Yochanan immediately. “Look, here, Rabbi Berman. Are you really teaching the kids that they should put their right shoe on first and then tie the left one before the right?”

Reb Yochanan was taken aback by the question. “Well, yes, I am. Why, what’s wrong?”The principal scowled at his telephone receiver. “What’s wrong is that parents don’t like it. Can’t you teach the boys something that makes a little more sense?”

“I’m sorry,” Reb Yochanan said firmly, “but I can’t allow you to say that the halachos don’t make sense. I didn’t make that up; it’s halachah. Go look it up, if you don’t believe me.”Unfortunately, the principal was not particularly committed to Torah values and knew little about the intricacies of halachah. “Look, Rabbi Berman. I can’t have you upsetting the students’ parents like this. If you can’t teach something a little more normal, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the school.”

This was a heavy blow for Reb Yochanan, who had pinned great hopes on his ability to teach the young boys of the community about Yiddishkeit. Still, he felt he had no choice; he could not commit himself to avoiding any halachos that might “offend” the students’ parents. Sadly, he resigned from his position and left the city to find another job.

Philip’s father allowed him to complete the year in the Jewish day school, but without any truly religious teachers on the staff, Philip gained little respect for Yiddishkeit. He attended a public high school and went on to complete his education in college. By that point, even the most basic concepts of Yiddishkeit were long forgotten. His upcoming marriage to a non-Jewish woman was ample testimony of his cut ties with the Jewish religion.

A few weeks before his scheduled marriage, Philip awoke one morning and began to get dressed. Sitting on his bed, he put on his right shoe, then his left. As he began to tie his left shoe, he suddenly realized what he was doing. Shocked, he remained frozen in plan, his mind racing wildly.Why had he put on his shoes in that manner? He pictured himself as a gangly eleven-year-old boy, sitting in Rabbi Berman’s class and listening to his teacher explain why the right shoe is put on first and the left shoe is tied first. All those years, he’d been putting on his shoes in just that way!“And why am I doing it?” he said aloud. “Because I’m a Jew.”Philip remained sitting on his bed for a long, long time, lost in thought. Then he reached for the phone and called his wife-to-be. When she answered the phone, Philip quietly explained that he would not be able to marry her.“I’m sorry, but I’m a Jew,” he said apologetically but firmly, “I can’t marry outside my religion.”

Philip did not stop there. He started a long chain of phone calls, contacting his old day school principal, other teachers, and several others before he finally managed to obtain the phone number of Reb Yochanan Berman. With shaking fingers, he dialed the number and waited for someone to pick up the phone.“Rabbi Berman? This is Philip. Philip Rosner, your old student. I-I just wanted to tell you….I was about to get married to a non-Jewish lady. Today, for some reason I found myself remembering the laws you taught us, about which shoe to put on first. It reminded that I’m a Jew, and I’ve called off the wedding. I’m going to make it my business to learn more about being a Jew and come back to G-d.” Philip took a deep breath. “I owe it all to you, Rabbi. Thank you. I’ll never forget you.”

He waited for some kind of response, but Reb Yochanan was speechless, his eyes swimming with unshed tears of emotion. Who would have imagined that a lesson taught so many years before could have such a powerful impact?

“Rabbi?” Philip said hesitantly after several moments. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Reb Yochanan finally managed to say. “And Philip, I must thank you as well. You have helped me realize something that I don’t think I ever really understood before: the power and holiness of every single word of our precious Torah.”

LECHA DODI

BS"D This true story, submitted by Nechama Goodman, is documented in "Monsey, Kiryat Sefer and Beyond" by Zev Roth.

On his way out from shul in Jerusalem , Dan approached a young man in Dungarees, backpack, dark skin, curly black hair -- looked Sephardi, maybe Moroccan."Good Shabbos. My name is Dan Eisenblatt. Would you like to eat at my house tonight?"

The young man's face broke in an instant from a worried look to a smile. "Yeah, thanks. My name is Machi." Together they walked out of the shul. A few minutes later they were all standing around Dan's Shabbos table. Dan noticed his guest fidgeting and leafing through his songbook, apparently looking for something. He asked with a smile, "Is there a song you want to sing? I can help if you're not sure about the tune."The guest's face lit up. "There is a song I'd like to sing, but I can't find it here. I really liked what we sang in the synagogue tonight. What was it called? Something 'dodi.'

"Dan paused for a moment, on the verge of saying, "It's not usually sung at the table," but then he caught himself. "If that's what the kid wants," he thought, "what's the harm?" Aloud he said, "You mean Lecha Dodi. Wait, let me get you a siddur."Once they had sung Lecha Dodi, the young man resumed his silence until after the soup, when Dan asked him, "Which song now?"

The guest looked embarrassed, but after a bit of encouragement said firmly, "I'd really like to sing Lecha Dodi again."Dan was not really all that surprised when, after the chicken, he asked his guest what song now, and the young man said, "Lecha Dodi, please." Dan almost blurted out, "Let's sing it a little softer this time, the neighbors are going to think I'm nuts."He finally said, "Don't you want to sing something else?"His guest blushed and looked down. "I just really like that one," he mumbled. "Just something about it - I really like it."

In all, they must have sung "The Song" eight or nine times. Dan wasn't sure -- he lost count.Later Dan asked, "Where are you from?" The boy looked pained, then stared down at the floor and said softly, "Ramallah."Dan's was sure he'd heard the boy say "Ramallah," a large Arab city on the West Bank . Quickly he caught himself, and then realized that he must have said Ramleh, an Israeli city. Dan said, "Oh, I have a cousin there. Do you know Ephraim Warner? He lives on Herzl Street ."The young man shook his head sadly. "There are no Jews in Ramallah."

Dan gasped. He really had said "Ramallah"! His thoughts were racing. Did he just spend Shabbos with an Arab? He told the boy, "I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused. And now that I think of it, I haven't even asked your full name. What is it, please?"The boy looked nervous for a moment, then squared his shoulders and said quietly, "Machmud Ibn-esh-Sharif."

Dan stood there speechless. What could he say? Machmud broke the silence hesitantly: "I was born and grew up in Ramallah. I was taught to hate my Jewish oppressors, and to think that killing them was heroism. But I always had my doubts. I mean, we were taught that the Sunna, the tradition, says, 'No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother that which he desires for himself.' I used to sit and wonder, Weren't the Yahud (Jews) people, too? Didn't they have the right to live the same as us? If we're supposed to be good to everyone, how come nobody includes Jews in that?"

I put these questions to my father, and he threw me out of the house. By now my mind was made up: I was going to run away and live with the Yahud, until I could find out what they were really like. I snuck back into the house that night, to get my things and my backpack. My mother caught me in the middle of packing. I told her that I wanted to go live with the Jews for a while and find out what they're really like and maybe I would even want to convert. She was turning more and more pale while I said all this, and I thought she was angry, but that wasn't it. Something else was hurting her and she whispered gently, 'You don't have to convert. You already are a Jew.' "I was shocked. My head started spinning, and for a moment I couldn't speak. Then I stammered, 'What do you mean?''

In Judaism,' she told me, 'the religion goes according to the mother. I'm Jewish, so that means you're Jewish.' "I never had any idea my mother was Jewish. I guess she didn't want anyone to know. She whispered suddenly, 'I made a mistake by marrying an Arab man. In you, my mistake will be redeemed.'

"My mother always talked that way, poetic-like. She went and dug out some old documents, and handed them to me: things like my birth certificate and her old Israeli ID card, so I could prove I was a Jew. I've got them here, but I don't know what to do with them."

My mother hesitated about one piece of paper. Then she said, 'You may as well take this. It is an old photograph of my grandparents, which was taken when they went visiting the grave of some great ancestor of ours.' "Now I have traveled here to Israel. I'm just trying to find out where I belong." Dan gently put his hand on Machmud's shoulder. Machmud looked up, scared and hopeful at the same time. Dan asked, "Do you have the photo here?" The boy's face lit up. “Sure! I always carry it with me." He reached in his backpack and pulled out an old, tattered envelope.When Dan read the gravestone inscription, he nearly dropped the photo. He rubbed his eyes to make sure. There was no doubt.

This was a grave in the old cemetery in Tzfat, and the inscription identified it as the grave of the great Kabbalist and tzaddik Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz. Dan's voice quivered with excitement as he explained to Machmud who his ancestor was. "He was a friend of the Arizal, a great Torah scholar, a tzaddik, a mystic. And, Machmud, your ancestor wrote that song we were singing all Shabbos: Lecha Dodi"

This time it was Machmud's turn to be struck speechless. Dan extended his trembling hand and said, "Welcome home, Machmud."