“It was common in this country for thugs to kidnap in exchange for ransom. Acts of cold-blooded murder by violent cartels were routine occurrences. Who knew what my fate would be?”
Translated by Michoel Leib Dobry
“The Lubavitcher Rebbe saved my life, plain and simple.” With these words, Rabbi Eitan Elmakis, rav of the Sephardic chareidi community in Yerucham began his tale. While this amazing story of personal salvation took place about eighteen years ago, the clear emotion in his voice showed that the experience still ‘lives’ within him.
It wasn’t easy to get hold of Rabbi Elmakis. He’s a well-known rabbinical authority throughout the southern region of Eretz Yisroel, working on kashrus supervision. He devotes most of his time to spreading Yiddishkait among the residents of his city, alongside the members of his own community in need of his daily assistance.
Several times during the year, Rabbi Elmakis makes his way overseas to strengthen Jews living in communities throughout the Diaspora. Recently, after returning to Eretz Yisroel from overseas, he shared with us the following story. “This miracle of salvation closed several circles for me,” he noted with much enthusiasm. “I realized later that the Rebbe had foreseen all this several years earlier when I stood before him as a young man at dollars distribution.”
THE NOT SO INNOCENT CAB DRIVER
“Before assuming my rabbinical position in Yerucham, I made my living as a schochet. Over the years, I worked as a shochet for several prominent kashrus certifications, and as part of a team of shochtim and mashgichim, I would travel to countries throughout Latin America to slaughter livestock. The following story took place during my last visit to a slaughterhouse in a remote village in Mexico.
“When we arrived in Mexico City, we already had an apartment waiting for us in the area where the Jewish community was located, and every week or two, we would board a domestic flight to a slaughterhouse at a village in one of the less inhabited areas. After a full day of working to prepare kosher meat, we would take a return flight back to our apartment in Mexico City, arriving that night. During the interim, we got acquainted with the local community, and I made a weekly Torah class for its members.
“On one occasion, I finished my sh’chita work early and I wanted to catch a flight back to Mexico City in time to give my class in the community synagogue. There was usually an organized ride for the kashrus staff from the slaughterhouse to a makeshift airstrip for the flight, however, since my job was done and the rest of the group had to prepare for the next stage, I asked if I could leave that day and not wait until tomorrow.
“I went to the manager and asked him if he could get me a taxi that would take me to the airport. At first, he tried to dissuade me. ‘Stay here and travel back with everyone else early in the morning,’ he suggested. However, I was very stubborn, and when I agreed to pay for the taxi out of my own pocket, he gave his consent. A rickety old car serving as a taxi came to the slaughterhouse. I got into the front seat and asked the driver to take me to the airport.
“The ride to the airport should have lasted no more than twenty-five minutes. I had previously taken this journey on countless occasions. As a result, it was surprising when I realized that we had been traveling for half an hour, but the airport was nowhere in sight. There had been no traffic jams or potholes along the way, the roads were clear and the ride was fast and smooth. Yet, for some reason, I didn’t recognize the scenery I had been used to seeing on past trips to the airfield. The familiar rows of houses and green fields had been replaced by forest trees on each side of the highway.
“I turned to the driver and asked him in Spanish how much longer it would take before we reached the airport. The Indian driver looked at me angrily, and instead of answering my question, he told me firmly to close the car windows. I thought I was dreaming, yet I understood Spanish well enough to realize that he was trying to avoid giving me an answer. As I pondered over what this all meant, the driver muttered under his thick mustache, ‘Fasten your seatbelt.’ I realized that there was something terribly wrong.
“Precious time was slipping away, and I noticed that the car was detouring off the main thoroughfare, climbing along narrow and winding roads in thickly forested areas. Mobile phones were a rare commodity back then. I tried to think positively, but the developing situation cut deep into my belief system. My heart began to pound and I felt my pulse racing. When I asked him where we were going, his response was: Shut up!
“At a certain point, I glanced at the compartment in the driver’s door and noticed a gun there. I now understood that I was realizing the greatest fear of anyone traveling through Mexico – a kidnapping. I regretted my stubborn decision to travel before everyone else: ‘What was so urgent that I couldn’t leave with the rest of the group?’ I was angry with myself, and I started to say T’hillim. The driver remained deafeningly quiet throughout, never looking once in my direction. He focused his attention entirely upon the winding roads before him. I was terrified.
“Finally, after another few minutes, I decided that I had to do something. I figured that the man wanted my money. A monthly salary for these people was one hundred dollars, and I had seven times that in my wallet. I thought that I could make a deal with him, offering to give him all my money if he would just take me to the airfield. It seemed that my generous proposal merely amused the driver. ‘I’ll take that from you as well,’ he replied. If I still had doubts about his cruel intentions, everything now was quite clear.
“Words could not describe my feeling of dread. I could envision my family and all the events I had gone through in my life passing before my eyes. During those critical minutes, the holy words of T’hillim passed my lips ceaselessly. I realized that the man wanted to do great harm to me. It was common in this country for thugs to kidnap in exchange for ransom. Acts of cold-blooded murder by violent cartels were routine occurrences. Who knew what my fate would be?
“Then, I made a daring move. Only G-d Himself knows where I drew the strength and courage to do it. ‘I won’t go like a lamb to the slaughter,’ I thought to myself.
“Surreptitiously, I stuck my hand inside my case where I kept my sh’chita knives, recently sharpened and used to slaughter cattle. By Divine Providence, the compartment for one of the knives was open. This was already a revealed miracle, as I never left them open. With a quick motion unnoticed by the unsuspecting driver, I pulled out the knife and placed it against his throat.
“‘This knife is very sharp,’ I said. ‘You picked me up from a slaughterhouse where this knife had been used to kill cows. If you don’t want to meet a similar fate, stop the car – here and now!’
“I didn’t know how he would react, and I warned him not to touch his gun. I saw that he was frightened, and I knew that I had to act fast without wasting any valuable time. All I needed was for another vehicle to pass by and that would be the end of me. Divine Providence struck again, and I found a rope in the car. Laying the man on his stomach, I tightly bound his hands. After I finished tying him up, I moved him to the side of the road.
“Moving quickly, I got into the car and sped away from the area. I drove and drove without knowing for certain where I was heading. While I was completely unfamiliar with the roads, I did know that I had to get to the airfield as fast as possible to catch my flight to Mexico City. I knew that there was no rule of law in these parts and I feared for my life.
“Every minute seemed like an eternity, and the drive kept getting longer as if it would never end. At this point, I realized that I had to pull over along the side of the road. I stopped the car, put my head down on the steering wheel, and began to sob. The fear and tension of those past few hours had given me all the signs. I made several vows that I would fulfill if I got out of this alive. I asked the Creator to help me; a Jew on his way to giving a Torah class should not have his life in jeopardy.
“I remember how my heart was filled with despair. I was beside myself.
“At that very moment, the unbelievable happened. I envisioned something before my eyes that made my heart tremble. To this day, when I remember that sight, my entire body shakes with emotion, even though I’ve already told this story dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of times. I saw the Lubavitcher Rebbe in all his glory standing before me with a broad smile on his lips, just as he regularly appears in various well-known pictures. The Rebbe gestured for me to make a right turn, and then he suddenly disappeared.
“I shook my head and snapped my fingers in stunned disbelief.
“‘Did I just imagine this or was it real?’ I asked myself. However, I had no time to think about it. I started the car up again and turned right. From that moment on, I started driving smoothly and calmly; I felt that there was someone watching over me at every step. I traveled along unfamiliar highways with complete confidence as if I had driven along them for many years. As the journey continued, I soon began to see recognizable landscapes. Not long afterwards, I suddenly found myself approaching the entrance to the airport terminal. I parked the car, and to my great relief, I was able to board the plane without delay. The plane took off shortly thereafter en route to Mexico City.
“Of course, I never returned to that slaughterhouse, and I have no idea what happened to that driver. When I finally arrived back at the sh’chita staff’s apartment in Mexico City, I had time to collect my thoughts, as I recalled my marvelous visit with the Lubavitcher Rebbe ten and a-half years earlier.
“During my childhood, I went to school in southern Eretz Yisroel and was educated according to the principle of emunas tzaddikim. While I received a fervently devout Litvishe education, I also became a partner with my neighborhood friends in ‘Chabad Mobile Centers’ activities that took place in our community. As a boy, I loved the Chabadnikim very much and was happy whenever they came. They always radiated such great joy and faith to me.
“One year, the mitzvah tank activists who came each week on outreach activities announced that they would be making a raffle for an airline ticket to the Rebbe among those youngsters who participated in their programs. Needless to say, I was most happy to take part in the raffle. After all, back in those days, who had the money to travel to New York? Seeing the Rebbe during such a trip would merely be an added bonus. Imagine how happy I felt when they informed me that I had won the raffle. I was overjoyed. After receiving my parents’ consent, all the flight arrangements were made for me, and the organizers made certain that a member of the Chabad Chassidic community would be at the airport to greet me.
“I spent two weeks in Crown Heights, while my host family took care of all my needs. I went to 770 several times, and before my return trip to Eretz Yisroel, I was privileged to pass by the Rebbe for dollars distribution. My escort introduced me to the Rebbe as the winner of a raffle among children participating in ‘Chabad Mobile Centers’ activities. The Rebbe blessed me in Yiddish: ‘You should merit to provide for the Jewish People and to spread Yiddishkait.’ The visit to see the Rebbe left a powerful impression upon me. Yet, as I noted, my parents sent me to Litvishe learning institutions, where I often heard those who opposed the Chabad approach. However, I never got involved in the arguments that arose periodically, as there was always a warm place in my heart for Lubavitch.”
WHO PUT UP THE REBBE’S PICTURE?
“Many years passed, and I totally forgot about this meeting. However, when I really needed help – the Lubavitcher Rebbe came to my aid.”
“It brought back at once memories of that visit, when I saw him with my own eyes,” said Rabbi Elmakis, as he concluded his fascinating story.
“Another interesting point: When I arrived back at the apartment, I saw that someone had placed a picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe there. I was flabbergasted. When I asked my friends who had brought the picture, they mistakenly thought that I was upset about it and said that it must have come from a Lubavitcher shochet who had stayed there the night before. They thought that this was some coincidence, but I know well that this was no isolated incident. For the Rebbe, there are no coincidences – everything comes from G-d.”