My name is Avraham, and I live in Bnei Brak. I have an old friend, Yanky, from my cheder days, with whom I keep in touch. Though I have few points of contact today, we make sure to speak several times a year to catch up on simchahs and events in our lives. This is the sweet "candy" I have as a reminder of the innocent days of youth amid the pressure and busyness of my life today. It really is true that old friends are the best of friends, and I look forward to every conversation we have together.
Of course, one of the key times when Yanky and I always talk is before Rosh Hashanah, when we wish each other a shanah tovah. This custom has been going on for years, but last year, our yearly erev Rosh Hashanah call had unique repercussions that could only be described as a case of openly manifest hashgachah pratis.
"Yanky, how've you been?" I greeted my old friend warmly when his number showed up on my screen. "It's so good to hear from you..."
We caught up on each other's lives the children, the simchahs, the news from kollel. Yanky shared a dvar Torah he'd recently heard, and then, for some reason, I asked, "Where are you planning on davening this Rosh Hashanah?"
"Well," he responded, "it's interesting that you're asking me that question, because I actually decided to make a change after so many years, and I will be davening at...," and here he named a shul that was so familiar to me because it was literally around the corner from my home.
"Oh!" I said. "You'll be right here in my neighborhood."
The conversation slowly wound down. We wished each other well and all the wishes for a good year.
On Erev Rosh Hashanah in the afternoon, on my way back from the mikveh, I passed by the shul where Yanky had said he would be davening. On a sudden whim, I entered the shul and looked around. The gabbai was puttering around, obviously putting the finishing touches on preparing the beis midrash for Yom Tov. He straightened shtenders and set Shabbos clocks and then just looked around, seemingly satisfied. Again, in a gesture that was totally out of character for me - I am not the curious sort - I walked over to the wall where there was a seating chart for all the mispallelim, and I began to read through the names, looking for Yanky's seat. A cursory glance did not show me his name, and I started going up and down the list carefully, searching for Yanky's seat. It was nowhere to be found; Yanky was not listed on the chart.
Hurriedly, I dialed his number.
"Listen," I said, "I just passed by the shul and wanted to see where you'll be sitting, but your name is not on the seating chart. Call the gabbai quickly, and I hope you'll catch him in time to fix the error."
Yanky thanked me, hung up the phone, and called the gabbai in the nick of time. He was about to leave the shul, and when Yanky called, he turned around and went to check the list. Seeing that he'd indeed forgotten to put in Yanky's name, he arranged a place for him and listed him on the chart immediately.
Being in a packed shul for two days, especially for the first time, without a seat, is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. If I hadn't heard that Yanky was planning on davening there, and if I hadn't, for some odd reason, decided to check where he was sitting, Yanky would have had a lot of ogmas nefesh from the error. Min haShamayim, Yanky told me where he was planning to daven, and I was sent as Hashem's messenger to ensure that he had a place to sit.