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1 Sivan 5761 - May 23, 2001 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
The Mezuza
a story by H. Regev

"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..."

 

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