Parshas Chukas-Balak 5786
- Torah Tavlin
- Jun 25
- 3 min read
ונצעק אל ה' וישמע קלנו וישלח מלאך ויצאנו ממצרים ... (כ-טז)
The following true story occurred in recent times. As a young adult, Nachman was looking for the yeshivah just right for him. Ultimately, he traveled to Eretz Yisroel and found “the place” - a yeshivah that was “his type.” He quickly settled in the yeshivah, made some “awesome friends” and formed a close connection with its devoted Rosh Yeshivah. Despite his positive spirit, Nachman carried a deep and quiet loss: his beloved father had passed away years earlier.
When the Yom Tov of Shavuos arrived, Nachman faced a dilemma. Unsure of the proper protocol for a student from the Diaspora studying in Israel, he asked his Rosh Yeshivah when he should recite Yizkor, the unique memorial prayer for a deceased relative. Should he say it on the first day of the holiday or the second?
The Rosh Yeshivah advised him, “Say it on the first day, as everyone does. Then, if the opportunity arises, you can recite it again on the second day.”
Following the tradition, Nachman and his friends stayed up the entire first night studying Torah. After a good day’s sleep, they decided to push through and stay awake the entire second night as well. By the time dawn approached on the second day, the boys were utterly exhausted. They decided to do a “quick” Vasikin minyan (the morning service precisely at sunrise) before finally going to sleep.
When the moment for Yizkor arrived, Nachman told his exhausted friends, “Don’t worry guys, it usually only takes about minute.” The guys would wait outside. However, they were in for a surprise. An older guest had joined the minyan and his Yizkor was deeply immersed in prayer - taking far longer than “a minute.”
Nachman’s friends, struggling to keep their eyes open, peeked through the window and gestured to him, making Nachman a bit uncomfortable. He had promised his friends it would be short, not this long. Being alone in the quiet Beis Medrash, it suddenly dawned on Nachman that he had a moment to reflect on his life. He thought about his journey since he was a little boy and the years he had spent growing up without his father. Overwhelmed by the stillness of the morning and the weight of his thoughts, he looked upward and spoke from his heart.
“Daddy,” he whispered, “I’ve been doing this for so many years already. If you are really listening to me, show me a sign.”
Barely seconds after those words left his lips, the older man, who had apparently just finished his prayers, walked up to Nachman and gently tapped him on the shoulders.
“Hey boy, what’s your name?” he asked. A bit startled by the unexpected tap, Nachman mumbled his name.
The man’s eyes lit up with sudden recognition. “Oh,” he said, “so you’re Moshe’s son!”
The moment the older man uttered these words, all the blood drained from Nachman’s face; goosebumps covered his body. He felt his father loud and clear. In the span of a single breath, his father had answered him!
When Nachman’s friends saw his ghost white face, they inquired worryingly if everything was ok. Still in shock, Nachman shared the incredible moment with them, moving them deeply. Later, when he recounted the entire story to his mother, she made the connection. This older fellow was the head of the Chevra Kadisha (Jewish burial society) and had been reciting the names of many deceased who didn’t merit leaving behind anyone to recite Yizkor for them.
Nachman’s mother eventually reached out to the man’s wife to share the profound impact of that Shavuos morning. Because of the solemn and difficult nature of the man’s life’s work, he practically never showed emotion. Yet, when his wife relayed the story to him, revealing to him that he had unknowingly acted as a direct messenger from a father in Heaven to his son on Earth, the man’s emotions swelled, bringing him to tears. Now every time he sees Nachman, the man recounts the entire story in his stolid way, “You boy ...” is all he needs to say and they both tear up. (Heard from the Baal Maaseh himself)