Both my parents left this world suddenly, R”l. They were both heart patients, and when their illness took their lives, it was with no prior warning. The heart stopped beating, each at the time determined for them in Shamayim, and they passed away. Zichronam livrachah.
I took this very hard. For many days I was walking around in a fog of pain. I felt fear as well. I had gotten a simple message: Heart disease is no joke. It is something that must be dealt with seriously, and if Hakadosh Baruch Hu sends good messengers in the form of doctors, then there is a need for the services they provide, even if it is unpleasant. I don’t know what brought on the next stage. Was it the fact that I took my parents’ passing to heart in a very personally painful way, or did genetics play a role here as well? Whatever it was, these were only the reasons sent by the One Who navigates all reasons and circumstances, Who in His great kindness gave me as well the nisayon of heart disease.
After experiencing certain feelings and symptoms, I went to the doctor, who determined that something was wrong with my heart. My story was somewhat different from most others. It seemed that a rare defect had formed in the heart muscle itself, and in order to fix it I would have to undergo complex surgery by a world-renowned specialist, the only expert in this type of problem. All the askanim I spoke with directed me to him and said, “If you value your life, make sure he does the surgery!”
This world-renowned doctor is in the United States, working in a hospital in Minnesota. From my perspective, that is at the end of the earth. The U.S. is a huge country full of non-Jews. I asked if there was a Jewish community Minnesota, and I was told that it was highly probable that while there I would not see even one Jewish face, unless there would be someone else in need of this hospital – something I do not wish on anyone.
Those in the know explained what would be: You get to the hospital and you are admitted. Of course you aren’t there all the time. You need to rent an apartment nearby. Check in for the surgery, go back to the apartment, return for a check-up, leave again and return again, and the whole time you need to deal with the weakness and the pain of recovery. This difficult process would easily stretch into about half a year of galus.
What would be with the children at home? My wife would have to come along to be at my side and help with everything I would need. What about davening with a minyan? Since my bar mitzvah I had not missed davening with a minyan! What about shiurim in Torah? How would I get through a half a year in a place teeming with goyim and no shul? And how would the family in Eretz Yisrael cope? I have business in Eretz Yisrael. I manage a chain of stores and a successful factory, and with all this I have never left Eretz Yisrael. I have always managed my connections abroad through deliveries. I have importers who do the work for me, but I myself have never left Eretz Yisrael. I saw it as a zechus and an obligation to live in Eretz Yisrael, and now that this decree had landed on me – to leave and go to chutz la’Aretz?! It seemed impossible. What did I have to do with chutz la’Aretz? What did a Yid from the Holy Land have to do with the impurities of the lands of other nations? I felt sharp pain just from thinking about parting from the Holy Land, the Palace of the King. All this even before we started talking about money. Where would I get hold of the astronomical sums needed for the surgery and everything that came along with it?
These thoughts threatened to make me lose my mind. I felt unable to deal with the whole issue. I asked anyone and everyone who had some medical connection, and it was recommended that I consult with a senior advisor who knows many things; perhaps he could find an alternate solution.
I set up a meeting with this advisor on the night after Zos Chanukah. He sat and listened to me seriously, but he had nothing new to say. “There is nothing to do,” he said. “The professor works only in Minnesota, and you must get there as quickly as possible! You must do this, and Minnesota is Minnesota. You’ll have to cope. Don’t waste time. Your life is on the line!”
I left the advisor, shell-shocked. My last hope had blown up in my face. If that advisor too was telling me there was no other option, then this was it; there simply was none. What would be here? It was impossible for me to travel and be among goyim for half a year. It was simple...no, it was not simple...wasn’t it enough that I would have to undergo heart surgery? Did I also have to suffer such a bitter galus?
I was so confused, so afraid, and in such a state of panic. I entered a shul to daven Maariv, and the chazzan began, “Hashem Tzevakos is with us, a support for us!” At that moment I grabbed hold of “the skills of my forefathers” – to daven. To daven to Hashem, the Healer of
