Reading the letter clarified everything for me, and I was thrilled when Yerachmiel gifted it to me. The Rebbe had thought about Zambia, cared about Zambia, more than 60 years ago, concerning himself with every aspect of shlichus there. Of course we were supposed to go there. All my doubts had vanished.
Charlie* left his hometown in Australia for Zambia, looking for new business ventures. His Judaism, or lack thereof, had never really bothered him before. Suddenly, very aware of his isolation, he felt a burning desire to connect with G-d.
“Where can I find a prayerbook or other Jewish book in this G-d forsaken country?” he asked a friend.
“Check if there’s a Chabad house nearby,” his friend suggested.
“Chabad? In Zambia?” Charlie replied, incredulous. “No way!”
But a simple Google search revealed there was, indeed, a shliach nearby.
Charlie immediately contacted me. I helped him wrap tefillin for the second time in his life, and gifted him a siddur and Chumash to continue his Jewish education.
Zambia is full of lonely lost souls like Charlie, and it is our privilege to find them and help them connect to Hashem.
I met Eyal* on the street, and he was happy to see a fellow Jew so unexpectedly in such a random part of the world. He asked if he could join us for the Pesach seder, and, of course, I agreed, but I saw that he was apprehensive about taking on any more, so I didn’t pressure him to put on tefillin.
A couple of months later, on Yom Hazikaron, I called him and asked if he’d want to put on tefillin in honor of the special day.
“Sure, come to my house,” he replied.
We chatted for a while, commiserating about the awful war and sharing Eyal’s personal experiences in the Israeli army. Then I brought out my tefillin and offered them to him.
I helped Eyal wrap the straps around his forehead and arm, as he remained uncommonly quiet and still.
“You know,” he said, removing the tefillin with suspicious moisture in his eyes, “this is only the second time I’ve put on tefillin. My first was only because my Savta told me she wouldn’t let me in her house unless I put them on. I did it only to oblige her, so I don’t know what happened today. For some reason, it was incredibly moving and meaningful. Thank you.”
As the Shlucha I have a unique insight and role to play. Everyone who comes to Zambia feels some level of isolation. While they may be apathetic, or even annoyed, to meet a rabbi back at home, they’re usually overjoyed to see a fellow Jew out here in the middle of nowhere. They’re much more receptive to Yiddishkeit here than they are at home.
It’s not like a Chabad house in America. Here, we’re all foreigners together. And every foreigner is aching for friendship and connection.
Like Meirav, a dear friend, fifteen years my senior but in the same stage of small kids at home. She showed me around the town my first year here, giving me the best recommendations, taught me how to make pitot for my Israeli events, while I offer her the opportunity to give a Shabbos experience to her kids where, for personal reasons, she cannot do it at home.
There’s Jasmine, an American Jewish mom who grew up going to a Conservative Synagogue. She told me with a laugh, “We didn’t manage a Jewish preschool back in Chicago, and here in Zambia I landed in Chabad!” She confided a few minutes later, “I never would have gone to Chabad... my parents cannot believe it.” Now her sweet little Josh and Yali are part of our brand new Mommy and Me.
Originally, Noa* and her family weren’t interested in connecting with us, even though they’d been to Chabad in other places they’d lived. But with her son’s bar mitzvah coming up, and her grandmother pressuring them to celebrate it properly, she reluctantly called my husband to schedule bar mitzvah lessons.
While my husband taught her son to lein, Noa hung out with me in the kitchen or on the couch, chatting about anything and everything. Her younger son played with my toddler, and we enjoyed many cups of coffee over those few months.
Although originally indifferent, Noa is now our greatest ambassador. Whenever she meets another Jewish parent, she asks, “Have you been to Chabad? You must meet them!”
*Names changed to protect privacy
