THE REBBE’S BLESSING

In the northern city of Yokneam, there is hardly anyone who does not know Mr. Chanan Kaspi, a longtime resident and the president of the Aviv PCB Company which specializes in electronic engineering. What many do not know is what a strong connection he has to the Rebbe and about the miracle he experienced.

Chanan prefers being on the sidelines. It wasn’t easy persuading him to tell his story and publicize it in a magazine, but when he heard that the Rebbe himself encouraged publicizing miracles so as to give chizuk to people and hasten the Geula, he was convinced.

On the Chag Ha’Geula, 19 Kislev, he was willing for the first time to stand before hundreds of Chassidim in the Beis Levi Yitzchok shul in Tzfas and to tell his story. When we met this week he still hesitated, but with the encouragement of his wife he shared the story that began 43 years ago.

THE MEETING BETWEEN SHAZAR AND THE REBBE

My father, Mr. Tzvi Kaspi a”h, was the Israeli consul for Jewish Issues in New York for four years, between 1967 and 1971. In his job he worked hard to strengthen the Torah connection of Jews in the Diaspora, with a great measure of success. Among his tasks one year was to prepare for the visit of President Zalman Shazar on Purim, 5731/1971.

Arranging the President’s meeting with the Rebbe made my father aware, for the first time, of the Rebbe’s greatness. This started the tradition of Israeli diplomats in New York visiting the Rebbe every year at the hakafos of Simchas Torah. I have many memories of those events. I would go with my father and the diplomats who came every year and although I was young, the extraordinary electric atmosphere in 770 is burned into my brain.

I remember the first time I walked towards the Rebbe’s bima. I was short and in the intense crowding, I got bounced around like a ball. Finally, after many exhausting minutes, we got to the bima, where I saw the endless sea of black hats of the excited Chassidim. Suddenly there was a hush and at once, the large hall was silent. The sea of hats parted and the Rebbe walked in.

In stark contrast to the mighty efforts necessary for us to get through, the Rebbe just entered and a path opened for him in the crowd and closed immediately behind him. To see him stride in was an impressive sight. When the Rebbe stood on the bima, my father stood next to him and within a few minutes the hakafos began. It was 5729, the first year that the tradition began of people from the Israeli consulate in New York visiting the Rebbe. The Rebbe warmly greeted each member of the delegation and he spoke a lot to my father and the other consul workers.

Before we left, the Rebbe gave us a piece of lekach from a small tray on the side which was apparently intended for us. That first encounter left a tremendous impression on my father and all the members of the delegation. From that point on, my father would visit the Rebbe in his room on various occasions and would consult with him. Before our mission in New York ended and we traveled back to Israel, my father had yechidus. I joined him with my older sister who was about to get married.

First my father went in with my sister and then she came out and I went in. The Rebbe spoke in Ivrit mixed with Yiddish, although my knowledge of Yiddish was minimal. I was twelve and a half. The Rebbe asked where I learned and what I studied and asked about my bar mitzvah. When I said that the parsha when I would get an aliya was Shmos, he said that although this parsha is one of galus and descent, you can already see the ascent and Geula in it.

Towards the end I shook the Rebbe’s hand and he blessed me that I be a talmid chacham and see success in my learning and then he added a line in Yiddish, “gezunt und shtark.”

I knew what “gezunt” meant but what did the rest of the bracha mean? I asked my father whether the Rebbe wished me health and the Rebbe, who heard me, said in Ivrit, “I wish you strong health.” The yechidus ended. We wondered for some time why the Rebbe had blessed me with this bracha and not my father or sister, but after a while the matter was forgotten.

When we returned to Israel, my father kept in touch with the Rebbe and met with him on every visit he made to New York. A few months later, the Rebbe sent me a letter for my bar mitzvah. The Rebbe would also send us matzos every Erev Pesach.

Many years passed, and the meeting with the Rebbe was pushed to the recesses of my memory as I moved on in life and started a family. Ten years ago the doctors discovered that I had a serious disease in my spine. From that point on, my health deteriorated until I reached the point where I could no longer walk and had to use a wheelchair attached to a morphine pump. The pain was unbearable and it was hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel. Along with my physical decline, my state of mind deteriorated. Those were bleak days indeed.

The doctors who diagnosed the illness were not hopeful. In this sorry state we met with the director of Ezra L’Marpeh, Rabbi Elimelech Firer (a Belzer Chassid who is a self-taught medical whiz) who connected us with a hospital that specializes in problems like mine, in Cleveland. That was five years ago. I was hospitalized there and in a long, tiring process the doctors diagnosed my problem and prescribed the proper treatment. Along with the treatment they put me into a rehab program for the purpose of restoring my health. That’s when I realized how the misdiagnosis on the part of the Israeli doctors had caused me to undergo treatment that had done great damage.

I had to cleanse myself of all the medications and poisons that had entered my body, rehabilitate it from the previous deterioration, get my limbs moving again and restore my immune system. The hardest part of it all was reclaiming my emotional health, which had worsened along with my physical state.

Then, one day, after a difficult period of massive physical therapy, the miracle happened. My condition improved; the doctors in Cleveland had done a superior job. A few days earlier I had parted from my wheelchair and begun walking, something that a few months earlier I would not have believed would ever happen. The medical team that treated me in Israel had deemed such a step impossible. I was led by a trainer to the basketball court. We stood side by side as I waited for instructions. He brought a basketball and gave it to me. I took it and he told me to bounce it a few times.

After a few minutes he told me stop and to move towards the basket. Straining my physical and emotional abilities to the utmost, I moved towards the basket, step after step, not believing that I was really doing this. When I reached the basket I stopped and waited for instructions. I was fairly certain I knew what he would tell me to do but I waited to hear it from him. Yes, he told me to aim for the basket.

With great difficulty and effort, I threw the ball towards the basket. The trainer wasn’t satisfied with that; he tossed the ball back to me for another try. Those moments are etched in my mind. That is when I began to believe in myself.

Overcome with emotion and with the trainer’s encouragement ringing in my ears, I suddenly recalled the yechidus from my childhood. In my mind’s eye, I could see the Rebbe clearly, as the yechidus and what the Rebbe had said came back to me. His blue, penetrating eyes gazed upon me as though I was standing before him right then. They contained much compassion and consolation. It was a vision of but a moment but it was very powerful. I was rendered mute.

I felt that I suddenly understood the meaning of the Rebbe’s unique bracha to me. Minutes went by before I could utter a word. I abandoned the ball, not because I had given up but because I needed to calm down from the intensity of my emotions. I realized that every word the Rebbe uttered had a purpose, though sometimes 35 years need to go by before we understand them. At the time, when the Rebbe had blessed me in Yiddish and then again in Ivrit that I have strong health, I did not understand what he meant. But in Cleveland, a few years after my father had passed away, I understood how far-reaching the Rebbe’s vision was.

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When Chanan was asked to explain this experience, he found it difficult.

“Maybe since the yechidus and my rehabilitation both took place in America?” he tried to say, but then he conceded, “Nah, that’s a weak point.”

Over the years, his connection with Chabad and the Rebbe was strong and deep, but since his recovery this connection has become much stronger. “What I learned from this story is that you can never give up hope. The ‘yeish’ is always greater than the ‘ayin’ and in the end, whatever happens is all for the good.”