"And You did not give [the Torah] to the nations of the
earth..."
The three figures ran lightly from the lobby of the hotel to
the parking lot outside, protected by black umbrellas which
collapsed backwards as soon as the gusts of wind hit them.
Their hats, beards and coats were suddenly exposed to the
pouring rain.
"Whew!" breathed R' Chaim in relief as he quickly furled his
umbrella and jumped into the car.
"We can freeze in this cold even through our coats and
gloves!" said R' Boruch, snuggling into his seat, hoping it
would help him warm up. R' Chaim nodded and put on the
heater. Slowly, the film vapor on the windshield disappeared
as the wipers started moving back and forth. "We can still
make it to Briosco tonight, b'ezras Hashem," Itamar
encouraged them from his seat in the back.
"Not much hotter there," murmured Chaim as he revved up the
engine. He turned northward to the highway leading out of
Milano. He didn't want to think of the weather awaiting them
in the northern chareidi town located about 70 kilometers
from the Swiss border.
They drove in silence for almost two hours. Only the voice
of R' Pinchos filled the car with their regular shiur
and they listened with concentration. They soon forgot about
the storm outside, except for Chaim, who was driving
carefully in order not to slip on the wet road.
R' Boruch was about to switch the tape to the Daf Yomi
shiur. In the meantime, they made small talk and he
smiled to himself. He remembered the first time he had to go
abroad on his own and all the worries and doubts he had had
then. How would he manage in a strange land, in a city
without a large Jewish population, where the few Jews who
did live there didn't care about their Jewish identity?
Later on, it turned out that he was always able to find an
observant Jew for intercity traveling company, as well as to
make up a minyon in any community.
When he was sent to Italy for his Kashrus division to
supervise production from raw materials, he did some
preliminary homework. It seemed that recently there was a
resurgence of interest in religion in the Jewish community
of Milano which was about 150 km. from the villages where he
was being sent to work. In the famous commercial city which
held weekly trade fairs attended by people from all over the
world, the synagogues had started opening their doors even
during the week, for prayers with a minyon as well as
regular gemora classes. Israeli students studying
veterinary medicine found themselves studying other subjects
as well, unlike anything they had learned in their native
country. They started wearing kipot and interested
themselves in buying tzitziyot. On the flight to
Milano, he met several new rabbis who were going to do
kiruv work among those who were suddenly so
interested in learning more about their heritage.
It was in Milano that he first met Chaim and Itamar, new
partners who were importing furs for shreimlach and
occasionally, textiles. Now at this point, their mutual
destination was a small town near his own place of work.
The green Fiat sped up the winding road. The wipers moved
ceaselessly, sweeping away the streams of water pouring down
on the small car's windshield. Itamar tried to picture the
sunny street in Bnei Brak where he lived. It was pleasant to
think of the humid weather of the plains, the scorching sun
and the perspiration, while sitting inside a car making its
way between green trees washed by the rain.
They had left Bergamo quite a while back and the pouring
rain had turned to fine snow crystals which were thickening
as they froze. Without warning, his field of vision was
suddenly blocked by thick cottony snowflakes which danced in
front of the windshield. The trees on the side were now
enveloped in white and the black asphalt road also lost its
original color and was now covered in thick snow. The wheels
of the Fiat stopped turning and they had no choice but to
brake.
The three looked at each other questioningly. "Let's call
Nachi," Chaim said, pulling a cellphone out of his pocket.
"He always knows where to turn to ask for help." Nachi, the
all-around man, was based in Milano and among his many
business dealings, was known as a walking gemach for
any information a person could possibly need. The line was
unclear, with strange sounds coming through, until finally,
the connection went dead. "Do you know anyone we can call to
tow us out, someone who could rescue us from this white
desert?" he asked. As expected, they didn't. And why should
they know more than he?
He took up the cellphone and tried to dial again. The time
he didn't even get static. Disappointed, he put it back into
his pocket. At this stage, it wasn't worth more than a
plastic toy. "We're stuck," he said, lifting his hands in
surrender. R' Boruch didn't even have the strength to react.
He laid his head on the back of the seat and closed his
eyes. What should they do? The motor went quiet. The wipers
stopped and the heater also went off. Slowly, the cold
invaded the inside of the car.
They closed their coats tightly and wound their scarves
around their necks. Nothing could be seen from the window
except for total whiteness. "We're not far from a small
town," Itamar said, "a place called Troano, or something
like that. Let's get out and start walking towards it. It's
better than sitting in a frozen car. That could really be
dangerous."
The lights of the town glinted in the distance. The
signposts were covered with a thick layer of white which
made it impossible to read them. They moved along, their
feet sinking deep into the snow, one step after another,
leaving behind them deep imprints which were quickly filled
by the swirling flakes. Suddenly, a bulky form appeared from
afar, moving along in their direction. It was impossible to
tell if the figure was young or old. Totally covered in
white, the person was making his way towards them
steadily.
A pair of green eyes gleamed at them, the rest of the face
was wrapped up in a plaid scarf. The figure removed the
scarf from his mouth and the voice came out in fluent
Italian. "You got stuck in the snow?" He immediately
switched to English, hoping to be better understood. Before
they could distinguish any accent, he asked suddenly, "Are
you people Jewish, perhaps?"
They were thoroughly amazed. R' Boruch was so frozen that he
couldn't even nod his head. "Come with me!" the man urged
with a broad wave of his hand. "I live at the entrance of
the town, not far from here."
"Not far from here" was a rather relative concept, thought
Chaim as he trudged along in the deep snow. For instance,
walking to the man's house on a fine spring day wouldn't
pose a problem at all and he could probably cover the
distance in several minutes. But now they trekked after
their guide laboriously, their steps making deep imprints in
the snow. At this point, even Itamar's most vivid fantasies
of humid Bnei Brak weather could not warm him up. Only the
thought that they would soon be sheltered from the freezing
weather gave him the strength to plod on.
"I made a mistake by not taking the jeep," the man shouted
in order to make himself heard, his voice drowned in the
gales of wind. R' Boruch had trouble believing the fact that
he was one of the characters in this strange episode. In his
wildest dreams, he would never have believed that he'd be
trekking blindly in the night in the footsteps of a strange
goy who had ventured out to offer his hospitality in
the midst of a raging snowstorm.
"We're here!" he exclaimed. "Here's my house!" The man
pointed at a beautiful mansion which suddenly loomed in
front of them, dominating the whole area. A pack of dogs
greeted them, poking their heads out of their kennels while
barking furiously. The black Doberman wasn't put off by the
snow, for he kept his head out while the snowflakes settled
on his muzzle. With a wave of his hand and a shout, the man
silenced the dogs. They hadn't recognized his bundled form
but the gesture and his familiar voice reassured them and
they quieted down. Amazed, Itamar counted three full kennels
in all; little did he know that there were an additional
three on the spacious grounds behind the huge mansion.
They went down a path where on nicer days, lovely cone
shaped hedges could be seen spaced alternately with thick
beds of lovely fragrant flowers. They quickly mounted the
marble steps which were clean of snow and wiped their feet
on the door mat at the entrance. Inside, it was warm and
pleasant. Their host peeled off the layers of clothing to
reveal a man of about 45 years old. He invited them to sit
down in the leather armchairs facing a blazing fireplace.
They took off their heavy, wet coats and felt strange. Where
could they lay them down in this luxurious room furnished in
heavy expensive Italian pieces, attesting to the wealth of
its owner.
Quietly, their hostess made her appearance, holding several
coat hangers. She took their coats to a hall closet. Before
they even had a chance to settle back in the armchairs, she
reappeared with a large bottle of mineral water. "You'll
probably only want water," she said. "But perhaps I can warm
it up for you?" R' Boruch whispered to his friend, "I have a
feeling the owner is Jewish. Not only because of his
hospitality." Chaim and Itamar smiled in agreement.
Their host felt uncomfortable sipping his tea alone and
struck up a conversation with his guests. "I am the manager
of a large factory of washing machine motors in particular
and electrical appliances in general. You've probably heard
of it..."
They stared at him in amazement when he mentioned a well
known brand. "My wife is a doctor by profession and we have
two children who are now sleeping on the third floor." He
sighed gently as the guests cleared their throats, trying to
think of a way to ask the question about his origins that
picqued their curiosity.
He didn't wait for them but proceeded. "I like to work with
Jews and I am always happy to help them. Jews are so
straight and honest!" he declared. "In our area, there
weren't many Jews but as far back as I can remember, my
father has always enjoyed working with Jews from nearby
Switzerland. My wife," he lowered his voice, "comes from a
strictly Catholic home. It was hard for her at first to
accept the fact that my father had business dealings with
Jews and admired them so much, but she also got used to it,
thanks, especially, to the me-zu-za," he pronounced
each syllable carefully.
"Even before I was born, my father was in Lugano,
Switzerland, and he noticed a small wooden case affixed on
the doorposts of Jewish homes. He inquired around and a
Jewish friend explained what it was and described its
protective powers. My father yearned to acquire one for
himself and asked if it were possible. His friend asked the
rabbi of the community," he mentioned the name of a known
rabbi of the previous generation, "and he agreed. The Jews
of the community gave him a me-zu-za and Father
rushed home to nail it to his doorpost.
"Less than a year later, I was born to my father, after many
childless years of marriage. My father died when I myself
was father of an infant. I took down his me-zu-za and
brought it to my workroom here. Since then, I have noticed a
blessing in my work and my business has expanded noticeably.
A year ago, I learned that the Jews have a custom of
checking their me-zu-zas. I have no idea how to go
about it and what to look for. Besides, I remember the clear
instructions which the Jews of Lugano had told my father --
and he repeated to me -- that only a Jew may open it. I see
that you are religious Jews, so you probably know how to go
about it. I'll take you to my workroom so you can examine it
there."
"So that's why you went out in the storm? To find some Jews
to check your mezuza?" R' Boruch asked dubiously. It
sounded so improbable.
"I knew the chances of finding Jews in the snow were slim,
but my wife has been asking me for a long time now to bring
home some Jew to check it. It's important to us, you
understand. Tonight we were looking out at the snow with a
good pair of binoculars. We saw your car stuck without our
knowing who was inside. Then my wife had a hunch. `Jews are
a wandering race,' she said. `They travel everywhere, in all
conditions. Maybe that car belongs to Jews.' "
The three exchanged shocked glances. How amazing were the
ways of Hashem -- to reach out to Jews in need and provide
the necessary protection. It was too complicated to explain
to the gentile before them, for he was totally convinced
that Heaven had sent the Jews to him, instead of vice
versa.
"I rarely have the opportunity to invite Jews to my home. In
general, my business deals are made at the office in Milano.
You have no idea how pleased I am that you can examine my
me-zu-za now, here in my very home."
R' Boruch turned to his companions in Hebrew. "I think we
have a halachic problem here with a mezuza in a
gentile house. We are not allowed to give kisvei
kodesh to non-Jews and I can't imagine how the Rav he
mentioned actually agreed to let him have one."
Itamar nodded in agreement. "A mezuza in a goyish
home? We must call Eretz Yisroel and get a psak on
this."
"Instead of checking it, we should really remove it from
here, that is, redeem it from its fate. But let's first have
a look at it. We can call a posek in Eretz Yisroel
afterwards," said Chaim.
Their host led them up the carpeted staircase to a room on
the second floor. There on the wooden doorpost was the
mezuza. He gave Itamar a small screwdriver and then
led them to a table in the beautifully furnished room. "Sit,
sit. I'll go over to the side and let you examine it. Take
your time. I don't want to disturb you..."
With holy trepidation, R' Boruch unwound the scroll and laid
it down flat on the table top. They all looked at it
curiously. The scroll was blank! Slowly, understanding
replaced the look of astonishment on his face. The clever
Jews of Lugano had not known what to do with a goy
who insisted on owning a mezuza and so, they had
given this blank one, on bona fide parchment, instead.
R' Boruch quickly rolled it back up and fitted it into its
case. As he screwed it back onto the doorpost, the host
strode to his side and asked anxiously, "Was it alright?"
"Oh, yes!" replied R' Chaim. "It is better than you can
imagine..."
