The year was 1935. I can remember how we all sat on plump cushions, listening with rapt attention to our grandmother's stories. Oh, how we loved our Bubbe Rivka-Faya's stories! All of us were there: my brother, Betzalel Boruch, and my two younger sisters, Rochel and Penina, and myself.
We lived in the city of Arad, in Transylvania. Every summer Bubbe, who lived 80 kilometers away, would come and stay with us. In those days this wasn't a trip you could manage more than once a year.
Bubbe always wore a dark-colored dress and head kerchief, and was never far from her battered copy of Tzeina U'reina [a book about the weekly Torah portion written specially for women]. Our grandmother was a G-d-fearing woman who utilized her every spare minute for learning and praying.
We children were always begging her to tell us stories. For us it was a great treat to hear about how she had attended cheder as a little girl or her reaction to meeting her red-headed bridegroom, our Zeide Zev, for the first time. Another thing Bubbe often mentioned was her fervent wish to receive word from her youngest son, who had emigrated to America during World War I and hadn't been heard from since. (Thank G-d, her wish would be fulfilled in 1938.)
One morning she told us the following tale:
When Zeide Zev became Bar Mitzva in 1875, his father, our great-grandfather Menachem, had taken him from their native Galitzia to the famous tzadik of Sanz, Rabbi Chaim. Accommodations were no problem, as there were always extended family members willing to open their doors.
In a private audience with the Sanzer Rebbe, our great-grandfather had requested a blessing for himself and his son, which the Rebbe granted. Afterward, as they were about to leave, the tzadik had looked at the Bar Mitzva boy for a long time before adding a blessing for long life. "And you will merit to go up to the Land of Israel, where you will be gathered unto your fathers," he concluded.
Remember, we were hearing this story in 1935. At that time our Zeide Zev was already 74 years old, and had never even considered emigrating to the Holy Land. We didn't really know what to make of the story.
But unforeseen changes were about to take place. The Second World War broke out, and the Romanian regime was replaced by the Iron Guard. Jews from all over the country began to congregate in the big cities. In time, Zeide Zev, Bubbe Rivka-Faya, and several aunts and uncles and their children came to live in our city.
I was one of the first members of my family to leave Europe. In 1944, even before the War ended, I made aliya with my cousin Betzalel. Back in Transylvania, the city of Arad passed from hand to hand. One day it was captured by the Hungarians, the next it was under Russian control, and the next it was considered to be Romanian territory. Finally, the War was over. Bubbe Rivka-Faya, may her saintly memory protect us, passed away in Europe in 1946.
In 1950, my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins boarded the ship "Transylvania" bound for Israel. (This ship would actually transport most of Romania's Jews to Israel after the War.) Our family was almost completely reunited. Only Zeide Zev and my Uncle Binyomin remained behind.
In 1951, the "Transylvania" made its final voyage, with our 91-year-old grandfather, Zeide Zev, and Uncle Binyomin and Aunt Sarah as passengers. It was a Sunday when my grandfather set foot on the holy soil of Eretz Yisrael, in Petach Tikva.
Unfortunately, by the time Zeide Zev arrived he was suffering from pneumonia. Exhausted and in a weakened state, he was nonetheless overjoyed at having merited to arrive in the Holy Land. But it was obvious that he was fading fast. Over the next few days he did not stop thanking G-d for bringing him to Israel and allowing him to be reunited with his family.
For five days Zeide clung to life, but on Friday morning his soul returned to its Maker. My wife and I, who were then living in Haifa, had planned on coming to Petach Tikva for Shabbat to see him, but Divine Providence would not allow it.
Zeide Zev was buried in the ancient cemetery in Petach Tikva. His tombstone bears the following inscription: "The tzadik's blessings were fulfilled in him. He merited to go up to the Holy Land, but much to our sorrow, was taken from our midst just a few days later. He passed away on 10 Adar I, 5711, aged 91."
Our eldest son was born two months later, and naturally, was named after his great-grandfather, Dov Zev. The story of the tzadik's blessing, and how it took 81 years for it to come about in all its details, is a favorite in our family. For it teaches that we must always have faith in the words of a tzadik, whose holy utterances G-d fulfills.
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