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“Mitzvah goreret mitzvah” is a principle I learned as a child, and have personally experienced numerous times since. Last week’s events being the latest in a long series of such occurrences, wherein one mizvah follows another in perfect succession, like railroad cars linked to a locomotive.
When people choose to leave the Holyland and return to their country of origin or try their luck elsewhere, it never fails to make me sad, even if they are anonymous, faceless people I have never met. When the ‘yordim’ are friends and/or neighbors with whom I have cultivated a relationship, the pain is infinitely more acute and difficult to bear.
So it was with a very heavy heart indeed that we bid farewell to a lovely couple, who were both friends and neighbors of ours, when they decided to move to a distant corner of the U.S. to explore better financial opportunities.
We had a long-ago connection with the husband, who had been a student of my husband’s during our first year as newlyweds in Israel, some four decades earlier. And we were pleasantly surprised and grateful to be able to renew our acquaintance several years ago, when they moved from the U.S to our block in the Promised Land! What are the chances?!
Better yet, we took to his wife and kids immediately, with our youngest daughter soon becoming best friends with one of theirs. Our former teacher/student relationship evolved into one of genuine friendship as well, until Covid destroyed virtually all social interaction beyond our own four walls.
So we felt pretty devastated (and admittedly somewhat guilty as well) when they unexpectedly announced their plans to leave, and later posted heart-wrenching ‘for sale’ ads and notices on the local chats and email groups.
After months of packing and many weeks of divesting themselves of furniture and other belongings, they were experiencing decidedly mixed emotions as their departure date approached. We were definitely feeling likewise, and dreading having to say goodbye. Nevertheless, when they messaged me the day of their flight to request a favor, I was more than happy to comply.
Their two married children were then vacationing in the U.S. with their families, so our friends asked if we could store a carton full of odds-and-ends for them until their return. Long story short, they deposited the overloaded carton in our downstairs garage/storage room, and we exchanged tearful goodbyes and best wishes. The silver lining being that they encouraged us to see their move as temporary be”H, just until they’d accumulate a nest egg for their future retirement, aka a hopeful l’hitraot, rather than a depressing farewell.
Fast forward several weeks. Our son and daughter-in-law were in the process of packing and moving as well, but thankfully to a brand new larger and far nicer apartment in the Holyland.
Like many of our kids in Israel, where apartments tend to be small and storage space is extremely limited, these kids had stored some of their belongings in our spacious storage room. In anticipation of their imminent move, my son and husband had dug up some of these items, chief among them a pair of bulky wooden bed frames with under-the-bed storage, and schlepped them to the front of the machsan for the movers to transport to the new apartment.
Ultimately, however, the movers wanted an additional 500 NIS to make an extra stop on moving day, so the beds remained in our storage room, ostensibly blocking access to virtually everything else.
We had gone on an overnight trip up north to visit our children and grandchildren and enjoy a change of scenery, when our former neighbors’ kids called to say that they had just returned from the U.S. and were ready to pick up their package. I was so sorry to tell them that we were not at home and would not be returning until later that night. Although they live an hour away and no longer had a reason to come to our neighborhood too often, they brushed off the timing glitch, responding, “Have a good time! We’ll catch you on our next visit!”
I felt much better after that, and better still when my husband informed me about our son’s beds, explaining that it would have been virtually impossible to retrieve their carton under the circumstances. It was obviously meant to be: gam zu l’tova. This too is for the best.
We had a lovely visit, and shortly after our return, our son received the key to his new apartment! Very exciting news indeed, baruch Hashem. However, there remained quite a bit to be done before they could actually move into their new place, so after they vacated their rental apartment, they ended up moving in with us. For two weeks!
When the workmen finally left and the cleaning crew came and went, our kids moved out of our house and into their own.
However, in an ironic twist, my daughter-in-law’s sister and brother-in-law had just vacated their own rental and found themselves in limbo before being able to move into their new apartment, conveniently situated in the building next door to our kids’ new address. So, my kids invited the young couple to move in with them for the next (you guessed it!) two weeks. (Notice a pattern forming?)
Although our kids were more than happy to accommodate them, they suddenly were in dire need of extra beds for their houseguests’ use. So, my husband and son spent several hours transporting and later assembling the bed frames that had been taking up so much valuable real estate in our downstairs storage room for the past few years.
Almost immediately after the beds were removed from our machsan, I received another message from our former neighbors’ children, “We have an appointment in your neighborhood today. Would we be able to stop by to pick up the carton our parents left for us?”
And, breathing a tremendous sigh of relief along with a silent albeit heartfelt Thank You to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, I was thrilled to respond, “Sure! Come and get it!”
Postscript:
After witnessing that undeniable Divine Providence, I deemed it as auspicious a time as any to offer up a fervent prayer that our wonderful former neighbors make their millions post-haste and be”H, return back home to the Holyland. Because we honestly can’t wait “l’hitraot!”