Two shluchim and their families working in the city of Medellín, Colombia. A small community, much assimilation, and numerous tourists from all over the world. Rabbi Levi Vanunu and Rabbi Mordechai Bigio continually fight to maintain their shlichus, while experiencing awe-inspiring miracles virtually on a daily basis. If you want to see clear examples of Divine Providence, perhaps you should take a trip to Medellín, Colombia .
Translated by Michoel Leib Dobry
Medellín is one of the most toured cities in Colombia. It is the country’s second largest city after the capital of Bogotá, with a population of about three million people. The city is situated in a beautiful green valley surrounded by high mountains. Due to the pleasant weather conditions prevailing all year round, it has earned the sobriquet ‘the City of Eternal Spring.’ The city was founded about six hundred years ago, and historians claim that its first residents were Jews who had fled the scourge of the Spanish Inquisition.
“Jews who had escaped from Spain settled in many cities on the South American continent, and a very large concentration of them came to Medellín,” says Rabbi Levi Vanunu, one of the Rebbe’s shluchim in the city. “It wasn’t for naught that they built their houses in a valley surrounded by high mountains. What was the reason? If they would be attacked, they would have time to prepare themselves and escape. Among the local residents, there is a great appreciation and honor for the Jews in the city. Some of them even bow down to us and kiss our hands…”
The city of Medellín draws numerous tourists from all over the globe, among them thousands of Jews from Eretz Yisroel and the world at-large, seeking to enjoy its magical landscapes along with its calm and tranquil atmosphere. “To our great regret, no Yiddishkait remains from that vast community of Spanish Jewry. After the Second World War, a group of Holocaust survivors came to Medellín and established their homes here. They had a bond with Jewish tradition and they founded a community, a synagogue, a school, and a mikveh we had known about for some time, because the Rebbe had paid for it,” says another local shliach, Rabbi Mordechai Bigio.
Over the years, the community elders passed away, and today, the city has a small Jewish community, mostly assimilated. Only a few survivors remain. What hastened the community’s demise was the fact that it was led by a Reform rabbi. The one who sought to restore its “former glory” was an Orthodox rabbi who came to head the community a few years ago.
“We happened to meet him during the first days after our arrival in the city, and he was very excited to see us when he realized that we had come on the Rebbe’s shlichus. He invited us to his house and said that before he had agreed to accept his rabbinical position, he wrote to the Rebbe via a Chabad friend from Argentina. In his reply, the Rebbe told him to accept the position, and then he thanked him for the help he gives to the shluchim. He didn’t understand the Rebbe’s answer for many years, as there were no shluchim in the city at the time. Now, he realized what the Rebbe was telling him. Since then, he has helped us in our activities and made certain that we would be a part of the community.”
A HARD TIME DEALING WITH THE EARLY PROBLEMS
Three years ago, the shluchim Rabbi Levi Vanunu and Rabbi Mordechai Bigio came to Medellín on the ‘Merkaz Shlichus’ program during the summer months. They did their first internship, helping the shluchim in Cozumel, Mexico. “We worked on shlichus there for six months, and during that entire time we heard from tourists about the essential need for a Chabad House in Medellín. People were amazed that there was no Chabad House in such a large city, and we decided to accept the challenge,” recalled Rabbi Bigio.
When they finished their shlichus in Mexico, they continued on to Colombia. They went around to several cities and eventually decided that Medellín had the greatest need for Chabad shluchim and activities. They received the approval of the country’s head shliach, Rabbi Yehoshua Binyomin HaKohen Rosenfeld, based in Bogotá, and they immediately got to work. First, they wandered from one apartment to another until they came to their current spacious location. After settling in Medellín, the two young chassidim each got married and established their own Jewish homes, while it was clear that the respective shidduchim would be made on the condition of going out on shlichus.
“There is no lack of difficulties here,” says Rabbi Vanunu, and he brought one example to illustrate this point: “One day during the Pesach holiday, I thought to myself about how everything for Yom Tov came to us from somewhere else. The spices came from Eretz Yisroel, the matzos from Crown Heights, the wine from Miami, the meat slaughtered by us in Colombia, and raw produce came from Panama – all requiring exact and proper work to prepare.”
Rabbi Vanunu tells about two Torah scrolls now in the Chabad House and a third soon to be dedicated. However, this was not the way things were at the start. “Can you imagine dancing on Simchas Torah with Chumashim? Nevertheless, people who came to the Chabad House on Simchas Torah cried with true emotion. In an incredible case of Divine Providence, several months after our arrival, the shliach from Ma’alot called us and said that their aron kodesh is filled with sifrei Torah, and he donated one Torah scroll to our Chabad House. We made certain that it would reach 770, and from there to us in Medellín.”
It turns out that behind everything the shluchim do in Medellín, there is an amazing story, as Rabbi Vanunu tells us. “When we arrived in the city, we rented a temporary apartment. For the next several months, we looked around in search of an appropriate building, but to no avail. It was important to us to establish our permanent location where the tourists gather, however, we couldn’t seem to find the right spot. We moved from place to place and there were times when we made the Shabbos meals in shifts because there was not enough room for everyone. The situation was by no means ideal.”
A few weeks before their first Pesach, hundreds of Jews registered for the Seder nights. The shluchim realized that their apartment could not hold everyone, not even in shifts. “We needed a miracle. We also knew that in the apartment’s small kitchen, it would not be possible to prepare such large quantities of food. There were numerous disappointments that month. On one occasion, we reached a contractual agreement on a new facility, but when the owners learned that the place would be used by Israelis, they backed out.”
Why?
“To our great regret, the Israeli backpackers who come here haven’t given us a stellar reputation.
“When Yud-Alef Nissan came, we still didn’t have a place for the Seders, and the registration continued. We were in a precarious position, and we didn’t see any possible solution on the horizon. Telling people not to come was out of the question.
“We sat together that morning and learned the Rebbe’s sicha from Chof-Ches Nissan 5751, when the Rebbe discussed the concept of ‘L’chat’chilla Aribber.’ We decided to act in the same manner.
“Even before finding an appropriate place, we ordered big ovens, stainless steel tables, huge pots, frying pans, and other kitchen tools designed for large kitchens. That evening, we sat to write a letter to the Rebbe in request of a bracha. A few hours later, we received a call from a local Israeli. He knew that we were looking for a place, and he told us that he saw an advertisement in the papers about a hotel available for rent. In a matter of minutes, we were standing at the entrance of the hotel, meeting with the owner. As the place was filled with backpackers from all over the world, it was clear that we couldn’t have the hotel right away.
“We saw that he was anxious to rent out the place due to his heavy debts, and after we finished bargaining over the price, we decided to proceed in a manner of ‘L’chat’chilla Aribber.’ ‘We’ll sign the contract on the condition that we receive the building today completely vacant,’ we said. He protested, but we stood firm. Finally, he asked if we could give him ten hours. The next day, the building was empty. We started a race around the clock to transform the place into a Chabad House.”
Rabbis Bigio and Vanunu define the makeover of the hotel into a Chabad House as nothing less than a miracle. Within a few hours, workers brought all the chairs and tables from the Chabad House into the new sanctuary. Walls were broken, new ones were built, and all the utensils were brought into the new kitchen. “To this day, when we think about this, we are certain that something above and beyond nature took place during those days. On the first night of Pesach, hundreds of tourists and local Jews were sitting at the Seder table. While we had gone several nights without any sleep, the joy and excitement were all-encompassing.”
THE STORY OF THE TABLES AND THE CHAIRS
It seems that the cases of Divine Providence in Medellín are almost too numerous to mention and can easily fill an entire magazine.
“I’ll tell you a very moving story from our first Rosh Hashanah on shlichus,” recalled Rabbi Vanunu. “We were still very new here; we had opened the Chabad House only two months earlier. We started making arrangements for Yom Tov, and a few days before the holiday, eighty people had registered to participate in our program. Then, just two days before Rosh Hashanah, a flood of people contacted us, and within just a few hours, the registration list had doubled. We realized very quickly that the Chabad House could not hold so many guests, not to mention the fact that we didn’t have enough tables and chairs for everyone. We didn’t know what to do, and we simply couldn’t turn these people away.
“After we surveyed the situation, we saw how the kitchen could somehow manage with the required quantities, and the people could sit outside – but from where would we get the necessary chairs and tables? We made inquiries about renting chairs, but nothing came up. On Erev Rosh Hashanah, we had at least one hundred and fifty registered guests. While we knew that we had enough food, we had nowhere to seat them. There was a great deal of pressure, and we decided to write a letter to the Rebbe for a bracha.
“I opened a volume of ‘Igros Kodesh’, and even before I managed to see the answer, a local couple came into the Chabad House asking to speak with me urgently. They said that they were Jews who had been living in the city for many years, and apart from the fact that they were Jewish, they knew absolutely nothing about what it meant to be a Jew. They had been searching for information but couldn’t seem to find it. Now, they heard about a Chabad House opening in town and they wanted to be a part of the community.
“They were very moved, and at a certain point, they even burst into tears. You could easily see their thirst for knowledge and the longing of their souls. As a result of this clear case of Divine Providence, despite the pressure we were under with our hectic pre-holiday preparations, I gave this couple my full attention and spoke with them. When I asked them what they do for a living, the man said they run a hostel for tourists. ‘Do you have any extra tables and chairs you can lend us?’ I asked excitedly. The man said yes and happily agreed to give them all to us for Rosh Hashanah. I was speechless.
“At the end of our talk, I went out into the street, stopped a truck, and sent the driver to the hostel to bring us the tables and chairs. Within a few hours, he had unloaded twice as many tables and chairs than we needed.”
According to Rabbi Vanunu, such instances of Divine Providence are a daily ritual in Medellín. “I’ll give you another example: On the night of our first Pesach seder in town, we had about five hundred Jews sitting around the table. This year, the number of participants had already doubled to more than one thousand people. Anyone who has organized a Seder night for so many guests knows that you’re talking about a lot of Jewish strength and fortitude. However, for such a project to succeed, you have to prepare and think about every detail well in advance.
“About two weeks before Yom Tov, when we realized that the number of registered guests would be far more than our place could hold, we began to search for an appropriate location to host the event. Since the biggest halls in the city could only hold about six hundred people, we looked for hangars or soccer fields. During our search, we also came to a car lot belonging to the Mercedes-Benz Company. Once we determined that the location had the proper dimensions and satisfied all our requirements, we went to speak with the manager. He asked if he could first speak with the owner, and then he returned with a positive reply to our request to rent the lot. After negotiating over the price (around fifteen thousand dollars), we sat down to sign a rental contract.
“As we got ready to sign, the secretary happened to mention to us that the owner is Jewish and his outward appearance is similar to ours… Astonished, we immediately asked for his phone number in order to speak with him personally. The secretary called the owner and then handed us the phone. After exchanging a few pleasantries, we discovered that he was an ultra-Orthodox Jew who had previously lived in the city. When we told him what the purpose of our renting the site would be, he suggested that we meet in another two days when he came back into town. As it turned out, in addition to the lot, he also covered a sizable portion of the expenses connected with our holiday programs…”
THE ALTER REBBE’S DESCENDANT COMES TO MEDELLIN
In a remote place such as Medellín, lost souls in search of meaning to their lives are discovered every week, among them Jews who know that they’re Jewish, yet fail to understand the significance behind their Jewishness. There are even those who don’t know they’re Jews. “Last Rosh Hashanah, we experienced a most amazing story,” recalls Rabbi Vanunu. “I was the baal tokeia, and I went to the mikveh before the shofar blowing as an appropriate preparation for the highlight of the Yom Tov service. Many local Jews had come to shul that day, and I ran in order to immerse myself and return for davening on time.
“On my way back, I noticed a tall man dressed in a T-shirt, with his body covered in tattoos. Our eyes made contact and to my great surprise, he greeted me with a ‘Shana Tova.’ When I returned the greeting, I asked who he was. ‘I’m a Jew,’ he replied, and I immediately invited him to join me in synagogue to hear the shofar blowing. ‘One hundred Jews are waiting for us,’ as I urged him to hurry. As we were walking back to shul, he surprised me by saying that his name was Shneur Zalman Addison. ‘Do you know that our first Rebbe was called by that name?’ I said.
“It turned out that he did know, and this man was a descendant of the Alter Rebbe. He said that his grandparents had escaped to Colombia after the Holocaust, and they settled in Medellín, where he was born. Apart from the fact that he was Jewish and a descendant of the Alter Rebbe, he knew nothing about the path of his forefathers.
“Since that tefilla, he has become a regular guest in the Chabad House, and we meet together once a week to learn his ancestor’s magnum opus, the Tanya…”
“I FOUND ANOTHER JEW”
There’s no lack of such stories in the routine work of the shluchim in Medellín, and Rabbi Vanunu shares another fascinating anecdote with us:
“Once when some T’mimim helping us on shlichus were staying with us, we went out together into the streets with t’fillin in search of Jews. After several hours on T’fillin Campaign activities, we went into one of the stores to buy something cold to drink. When I came out of the store, I noticed a man staring at me. At first, I was worried that maybe he might have some improper intentions, but I finally decided to go over to him, say hello, and ask who he was.
“‘Are you Jews?’ he asked. When I said that we were, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. It seemed that he was overcome by a flood of emotions. When he had calmed down a little, he told us that he had come from Venezuela, where he had been born and raised. Since he didn’t get along well with his mother, he was given over to his grandmother, who raised him with great love and devotion. When she was on her deathbed, she revealed to him a secret that she had kept for many years. ‘We’re Jews,’ she said, as she stunned him with this new information that he didn’t know how to deal with. The grandmother told him that she was a Holocaust survivor who had escaped to Venezuela, where she had decided to hide the fact that she was a Jew. Now, before she passed away, she instructed her grandson to learn about his true heritage.
“He said that as a result of his grandmother’s last request, he looked for information on the Internet. He naively thought that Judaism was obviously some ancient culture, totally non-existent in modern reality. Now, when he noticed us, he was in complete shock.
“I decided to strike while the iron was hot. I suggested that he put on t’fillin, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what I was talking about. After I briefly explained to him about the mitzvah, we went together to the street corner, where we made him a bar-mitzvah…”
The shluchim Rabbis Bigio and Vanunu maintained contact with the man, and he became a part of the Chabad House community. The connection continued until he returned to his homeland of Venezuela, where he became affiliated with the Chabad community in the capital of Caracas.
Rabbi Bigio then gave us another story, one that sounded as if it came straight out of the history books:
“When we were looking for a location for the Chabad House, we came to a spacious building that met our requirements. We went to speak with the manager and asked if we could rent the facility. The man’s name was Don Peretz, and he proudly told us about an organization he headed to help save young people from dangerous addictions.
“When we realized that the building was not available for rent, we turned to leave, but not before we happened to ask him the meaning of his name, an uncommon one among the Gentiles of Colombia. The man gave a sly smile, and then revealed that his parents had come from Spain and that his father was Jewish. He even took a picture of his father out of his pocket and showed it to us. He added that his father was still alive and he lived in a house on a lonely mountain slope outside of Medellín. Later that day, we traveled to his home to meet with him. He was a weak and elderly Jew and we helped him put on t’fillin. Not long afterwards, we received word that he had passed away.”
AND THERE ARE ALSO FINANCIAL MIRACLES
Activities on a large scale such as yours must cost a great deal of money. From where do you raise it?
“The truth is that we’re talking about very large sums of money. When we look back and try to understand how things managed to work out, we simply can’t,” says Rabbi Bigio. “It’s not that we don’t have any debts; we have an overdraft. However, we amazingly manage to keep things moving and don’t allow our activities to slow down. We literally see the miracles.”
For example, Rabbi Bigio brings the following story about the matzos he ordered this past Pesach. The shluchim had estimated in advance that about seven hundred participants would register for the Seder nights, and they ordered an appropriate quantity of matzos well before the holiday.
“When eight hundred people were registered two weeks before Yom Tov, we realized that the matzos we had ordered would not be enough, and I ordered another large number of matzos from the Crown Heights bakery. Now, we had to make certain that the shipping company would deliver the matzos to Miami, and from there a Colombian company would bring them to Colombia. The problem was that during the week before Pesach, Colombians celebrate their week-long holiday. Since nobody works on these days, we were in a quandary. ‘If you don’t bring the packages to us by Tuesday, a week and a half before the holiday, we can’t guarantee that they will reach Colombia in time,’ the Colombian company’s secretary told me unequivocally.
“This put a lot of pressure on me, as I was also trying to get the money together just to pay for the matzos. Then, at the very last minute, I decided to send the matzos via an American-based transporter. I called one of the bachurim in 770 who had been helping us, and he took the matzos to the local Federal Express branch, where they told him that the shipping cost would be far greater than I had thought. The company demanded a fee of two thousand dollars just for the delivery from New York to Miami. With no alternative, I made the decision to break all limitations.
“I gave the number of my credit card to the bachur and he paid the full amount. Immediately after I put down the receiver, I got a call from one of our supporters, a businessman who had already made a sizable contribution to cover the growing Pesach expenses. I decided to share with him about this new large matzah expense and the step that I had taken. I was shocked when he asked regarding the overall cost, and he informed me that he would take it upon himself. He immediately arranged for the full amount to be deposited into our account.”
Rabbi Bigio has many such stories. “It is forbidden to allow financial matters to cloud or limit our activities,” he declared with determination, and I was greatly impressed by the broad shoulders of this young avreich standing before me. “There are moments when the debts weigh heavily upon us like a millstone, and then we have to go out fundraising, mainly in Miami.”
These fundraising trips are not easy for the shluchim. The first time they went out fundraising, they had no hands-on experience. They spent about two weeks visiting the homes of wealthy patrons, moving along lonely roads and sleeping in their car.
“During this particular trip, we experienced an amazing case of Divine Providence.
“While in Colombia, we met a Jew who told us that his son lives in Aventura, Florida and worked in one of the local business offices. As we didn’t know if he was a man of means, we decided to pay him a non-fundraising visit, i.e., sending him regards from his father and doing a little ‘mivtzaim.’ We made an early morning appointment to meet with him. When we arrived at his office, we realized that he was quite affluent. We learned Chassidus together and told him about our work in his native city. He was so thrilled that he took out his checkbook and wrote out a check for a very large amount that left us speechless.”
One story follows another, and Rabbi Vanunu recalls another amazing example of Divine Providence that they had with a wealthy patron from Crown Heights:
“When we came to him for our first meeting, he pushed us off with weak excuses. A day later, we moved on to Miami, and we went into a restaurant to get something to eat. As we came out, we suddenly met him coming towards us. Later, we met him a third time when we were in the mikvah. Only then did he come to us and say that he feels that this is a case of Divine Providence. He gave us a very nice donation and he’s been assisting us regularly ever since.”
A MITZVAH AT THE LAST POSSIBLE MOMENT
The children are an integral part of the Chabad activities in Medellín. Every Sunday, the shluchim hold a Jewish school program, where local Jewish children participate alongside the children of Israeli businessmen living in the city. “This program began during our first days after arriving here. People come to the Chabad House accompanied by their children, and we realized that there was a need for activities with the parents as well. It’s most distressing to see the new generation of Israelis totally devoid of any Jewish symbols or knowledge of their Jewish heritage. We started with three children, and now there are fifteen coming to us each week.”
Rabbi Vanunu recalls an extraordinary story that he experienced in his activities with children. “Once we took the kids out to the local park. During our activities, we noticed a middle-aged man with a guide dog who was looking at us for a long time. After a few minutes, he came over and said that he was very moved to see us. He said that he was a Jew and then added that he had come from the United States to try some medical treatments to cure a serious eye ailment he had been suffering from. We asked him if he had ever put on tefillin, and he said that he hadn’t, although he knew what it was.
“We were quite surprised to see a Jew of his age who had never put on tefillin before. This is not the kind of thing we see often. We noticed that the man was very taken by the children, and we suggested that we all come together to his house to put on tefillin, thereby showing the children what tefillin look like and how one puts them on. After thinking about it for a while, he gave his consent. We saw that this wasn’t easy for him, as he considered himself a Reform Jew. We walked together to his house, put on tefillin, and made a bar-mitzvah for him.
“Three days later, we learned that the man had suddenly passed away…”
I see that you are quite busy in your Chabad House, proudly spreading the announcement of the Redemption. How do you do this and how is it accepted by those who come to Chabad programs?
“To tell you the truth – it’s only accepted when the person conveying the message truly lives with the message and believes in it,” replies Rabbi Vanunu with conviction. “Moshiach is the engine that provides our power and in whose name we operate. Otherwise, what is the reason for our being here?
“We quickly noticed the fact that what truly brings Jews closer to Yiddishkait and causes them to make a really meaningful change in their lives are the messages conveyed in the sichos of ‘D’var Malchus.’ On the front of the Chabad House, there hangs the ‘p’sak din’ declaring that the Rebbe is Melech HaMoshiach. All tourists who come in hear quite clearly about the Rebbe’s prophecy on Moshiach’s imminent arrival.”
To strengthen and sharpen this message, Rabbi Bigio brings the following story that he personally experienced:
“Once, a large group of tourists came in to the Chabad House, and we decided to hold a Torah class. This took place around Chof-Ches Nissan, and I pulled out the Rebbe’s well-known sicha of ‘Do Everything in Your Ability’ and we started learning it together. Those familiar with the sicha know that the first part deals with the connection between the dates and the segulos associated with them. When I finished the class, I thought to myself with regret that I didn’t choose a clearer sicha to teach.
“A few months later, I flew to Eretz Yisroel for a visit. A couple of tourists came to my house, accompanied by another man. We began a conversation, during which they recalled memories from the Chabad House. At a certain point, this man asked me if I remembered him. When I said that I didn’t, he mentioned the night when we learned the Chof-Ches Nissan sicha. He shared with me how much this sicha had captivated him, to the point that he decided to leave an impressive position as a chef in a prestigious Tel Aviv restaurant because it sold non-kosher meat. He had now been stringently putting on tefillin each weekday for several months…”
THE SKY’S THE LIMIT
When I asked the shluchim about their future plans, they smiled broadly and replied that from their viewpoint, ‘The sky’s the limit.’ “The more the financial resources we have, the more our activities will grow and intensify. Our great dream is to purchase a large parcel of land and build a large facility there to house all of our programs,” says Rabbi Vanunu, while Rabbi Bigio speaks about his plans to work more with the city’s small Jewish community.
THE REBBE WROTE: “ILLUSIONS”
Rabbi Bigio: “One evening, a tourist came into the Chabad House with a terrified expression on his face. Looking broken in spirit, he wanted to tell us about something that happened to him that morning. According to this tourist, a local criminal infected with a serious illness had violently attacked him, and the doctors had just told him that the physical contact had infected him with the illness as well. He was so upset by this information that it was very difficult to calm him down. Finally, we suggested that he write a letter to the Rebbe. ‘How can the Rebbe possibly help me?’ he muttered, adding that he had been to see medical experts in the field and they had determined that he had indeed contracted the illness.
“We eventually succeeded in convincing him to write to the Rebbe. However, before he wrote the letter, he resolved that he would say ‘Modeh Ani’ with proper intention every morning. The Rebbe’s answer even moved us, even though we regularly write and receive brachos. The Rebbe wrote that all of his concerns about the ‘illness’ from which he apparently was suffering were a baseless illusion. However, if he still wanted to check the matter out, he should consult with a medical expert and listen to his opinion. The Rebbe also suggested in his letter that he should refrain from looking into medical books about the illness he thinks he has.
“The fact that the man stands before us hale and hearty proves the accuracy of the Rebbe’s answer. While he had been very skeptical, we were filled with tremendous faith as we accompanied him to the central hospital, where he underwent a comprehensive series of tests. It quickly turned out that the Rebbe, as always, was right. It was all an illusion.”