Shalom Aleichem!
My name is Rabbi Benny Zippel, and I'm a Chabad Shliach in Salt Lake City, Utah. New York is on the east coast of America, and Utah is all the way on the other side of the country, close to the west coast. It's a beautiful place, full of snowy mountains that people come to visit from all over the country, but b'ruchniyus, Salt Lake City wasn't always so beautiful.
That's why, in 5752 (1992), my wife and I came here to serve the Jewish community, and we've been doing that ever since!
When we just started out in Salt Lake City, we noticed Jewish parents weren't giving their baby boys proper brissim. There was a pediatrician - a children's doctor - on a nearby air force base who would perform brissim for the community, but the doctor knew these "brissim" weren't being done according to halacha.
For the mitzva of Bris Milah, a regular circumcision by a doctor isn't good enough, it has to be done by a Yid, and in the right way. We wanted all the Jewish babies in Utah to have a kosher bris.
We realized this was something we needed to work on. So right away, we invited a frum Mohel from Los Angeles to visit Salt Lake City whenever we needed one. We'd organize his flights, and offer our home for the Simcha. Sometimes people wanted to have the bris in their own home. It didn't matter to us, just as long as they were giving their child a kosher bris!
By doing this, we were, B"H, also able to solve another problem.
You see, when someone has a bris that's not done according to halacha, then it can actually be fixed! This is called a hatofas dam bris, and can be done by a proper Mohel as well.
Anyway, this often happens when a person's parents had a bris done for them as a baby incorrectly, and then they found out more about Yiddishkeit later on in life. By having a hatofas dam bris, their past bris is corrected and fixed.
Whenever we arranged for the Mohel to come eight days after a Jewish baby boy was born, we also invited community members to bring their older boys to the Mohel for hatofas dam bris, to fix the bris that the pediatrician did years ago. This is something many people in the area, B"H, agreed to do. We really were helping Jews and filling an important need.
***
"Mazal tov, *Cheryl!" My wife smiled into the phone, wishing her good friend well after the birth of her second baby boy.
We knew Cheryl well. She and my wife were very close. Sadly, she didn't marry a Jewish man - but her baby was still Jewish, and we were looking forward to helping her arrange a proper bris.
There was just one thing about Cheryl. She was a VERY organized woman. She always needed to know exactly what was going on, and what her schedule was going to look like.
It was the summer, Tammuz to be exact, and we planned the bris for a Monday morning. She agreed to give her three-year-old boy a hatofas dam bris in our home first, at exactly 11:30 am, followed by the bris of the new baby at 12 noon in her home. Everything was arranged.
"Great!" Cheryl said to my wife. "So the Mohel has your address, and knows where to drive from the airport... That's good. We'll be there at 11 am, just to make sure everything is in order. I've already got the caterer confirmed for noon at my house, but my in-laws may come slightly earlier to help out... Oh! I almost forgot... the balloons! You can't have a party without balloons. Those will be at my place, too. Everything should be set to go."
"Perfect!" answered my wife, trying to keep up with Cheryl's planning and all her excitement. The pressure was definitely on. This would be a grand celebration, but it was well worth it. We were doing this for the mitzva!
***
But the Motzoei Shabbos before the Monday morning bris, I got a call from New York. It was probably the most difficult call I'd ever gotten in my life, sharing news I never thought I'd hear.
The date was Gimmel Tammuz, 5754.
Everything was blurry. I couldn't understand or process what was going on. The Rebbe was our leader, our teacher - he was the reason my family was here, spreading Yiddishkeit to this lovely little community, on his instructions! And now, we can't see him... What a hard nisayon, what a hard test!
While Chabad Chassidim and many other Yidden all over the world were struck with shock and grief, I couldn't feel anything. I didn't have time to think.
All I could think about was the bris. Two Jewish boys needed a bris, no matter what. I am a Shliach. My job was and always will be to help other Jews, as the Rebbe directed us.
Knowing the Mohel was a Chabad Chassid as well, I immediately hung up the phone and dialed his number, only thinking about how we could pull off this bris, given the horrifying news. His wife picked up the phone.
"I'm so sorry, he's on his way to the airport now. He's going to New York, and will be there all week. You'll have to find someone else. I really apologize..."
Now, Chassidim and Shluchim from all over the world were traveling to New York... Everyone wanted to be in 770, united through this very hard time, but this news was too much for me to handle.
What about the bris? What about Cheryl and her VERY organized plans? WHAT WOULD WE DO??? No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get rid of these thoughts.
Meanwhile, I also wanted to be in New York, so I called the airline to book myself a ticket, too. It was past midnight. I wasn't sure if I'd have any luck at that hour, but I figured I'd give it a shot.
"Sorry, sir," said the woman from the airline, "our last flight to the east coast left an hour ago. Our next flight won't leave until 5:00 AM tomorrow morning, and it makes a stop in Dallas, Texas." I remember feeling so broken.
I had no Mohel, and I'd have to wait until 5:00 in the morning to start my trip, stopping in Texas, of all places, but I had no other choice. I booked the ticket and got my things together.
My mind was foggy. I felt completely lost. All I could do at that point was cry and say Tehillim until it came time to leave my home, travel to the airport, and board the plane. After landing in Dallas, I had to move past my misery and keep figuring out this bris!
Now, this story took place in the 90's, before cell phones became popular. So during my stopover, I went to find a payphone. I had to find another Mohel!
I called one Mohel I knew of and I explained the whole situation.
"Rabbi, I'm really sorry, but I can't help you on such short notice," was his response.
I didn't have time to despair. I had to continue my search. So I called the number of a Mohel from Denver, Rabbi Feder, and to my relief, he agreed!
"Don't worry about the expenses. Just put everything on your credit card, and I'll pay you back," I assured him. At this point, I could finally, finally breathe a sigh of relief!
B"H, I found a Mohel. Hopefully, now everything else will fall into place, I told myself. Now I can go to New York and join the Chassidim at 770.
The next thing to do was let Cheryl know. Still standing at the payphone, I dialed my home number, asking my wife to tell Cheryl about the emergency change of plans.
"Just let her know something came up, and I won't be able to make it Monday morning, but you'll be there, and a different Mohel will also be there. That's all she needs to know," I explained to my wife.
"You know what, Cheryl's actually on the other line right now," she said. "Let me give her your message. Don't hang up. I'll let you know what she says in just a minute."
I anxiously waited for what felt like forever. It was such a relief to hear my wife's voice again.
"Alright, so... this is what she said." My stomach began to twist. I knew my wife very well - I knew the voice she was using. This was not going to be good news.
"Either you and the regular Mohel will be there Monday morning for our toddler at 11:30 and the baby at noon, or there won't be a bris at all. And if the bris doesn't happen tomorrow, she says you should never speak to her about a bris again. There won't be one at all, and she doesn't want to discuss it further."
If I felt broken before my flight to Dallas, well, now I felt a thousand times worse. How could I let two Jewish boys miss out on the opportunity to have a bris, all because of Gimmel Tammuz? How was I supposed to get back to the other side of the country that quickly?! And if I couldn't get the original Mohel to come with me, none of it would matter! Those little boys would never have their bris!
Chas V'Shalom! I wouldn't let that happen! But how?
***
My flight to New York landed at LaGuardia airport at 2 pm in the afternoon. I hadn't put a thing in my mouth since Shabbos afternoon, but I had no time to eat. There was too much on my mind, and too much to do.
I took a taxi straight to 770, where I tried to get as much information as I could. Things were very chaotic at that point. No one really knew what was going on.
Shluchim were upstairs in the Zal, saying tehillim together, which went on for some time. I personally had one eye on my tehillim, and one eye looking out for our Mohel from L.A. At the same time, my mind went back to those nervous thoughts. The Satan did this horrible thing - he hid our Rebbe from us! And now, because of that, two Jewish boys might not have a bris! It can't be! Something's got to give!
I got out of my seat and started asking people around me if they'd seen my Mohel. People thought I was crazy! Everyone was so sad, unable to even process what was going on, and here I was, looking frantically for a friend like it was a normal day! But that was just too bad. I had something important to do. I am a shliach of the Rebbe, and if these brissim didn't happen, I'd have let him down. Nothing else mattered.
***
I came back to Crown Heights at 11:30 that night to find Chassidim sitting in 770, crying and saying Tehillim. By now, I hadn't eaten for 36 hours, and my mind was moving a million miles a minute. The bris was supposed to happen 12 hours later, and I had no clue where the Mohel was, or how I would convince him to come back to Utah with me.
Without thinking, I did the only thing I could think of.
I marched right out of 770 onto Eastern Parkway and started knocking on doors. I knocked on every Jewish door on the street, and then made my way to Union St., knocking on every single door. From there to President St., searching all of Crown Heights for this one Mohel from California.
By now, it was already after midnight, and people must have thought I was a meshuganeh - knocking on random people's doors asking for a Mohel at midnight - but I kept going! Some people even thought I was sick and offered to call Hatzalah. But I wasn't sick. I was just determined.
At every door, I asked people if they knew where my Mohel might be staying. It was disappointing to get so many nos, but I knew I had to continue.
After some time, someone finally gave me some information I could use.
"Yea, actually, I think he's staying in a basement on Montgomery St., between Brooklyn Ave. and New York Ave.," the man at the door told me.
These words were music to my ears! I was so grateful to Hashem! I raced in that direction with a newfound koach!
When I made it to the block, I began knocking on every basement door, until finally, he opened the door. It was him. It was finally, really him!
"What are you doing here?! It's after midnight!" he asked in total shock.
"Listen, my good friend. We have two brissim to do in under 12 hours, and we need you there."
He looked at me seriously. "But... didn't my wife... she told me that she told you that I can't do it? That you should find someone else?"
"Yes, she did!" I answered, going on to explain the new situation. "...That's why, if you don't come, THERE WILL BE NO BRISSIM! NOT TOMORROW, NOT AT ALL!!! We cannot let that happen!"
I held my breath and waited for an answer.
"I'm going to think about it," he finally told me after a few moments. But by that time, I wasn't myself. I couldn't think. I could only act, and what I did, I had NEVER done before, and NEVER did again.
I marched into the basement, took his bag, took him by the collar of his shirt and shlepped him outside. As this was going on, he started to yell at me. "Benny, I think you're sick. I think we need to take you to a doctor - something seems really wrong with you. You're going crazy."
He was right! I was going crazy. But it didn't matter. I had to do this. I called a car service to come pick us up, and within minutes, we were on our way to LaGuardia airport.
The Mohel seemed like he might only be going along with me because he was concerned about my mental health. We'd spent lots of time together in the past, and he'd never seen me like this before. Don't forget - I still hadn't eaten since Shabbos day, and it was already Monday morning, sometime after midnight. I really was acting like I'd totally lost it!
Now, flights from LaGuardia to Salt Lake City always left at 6:30 am, so we needed to get to the airport as quickly as possible to book our tickets in time!
This is what I told the Mohel: "I don't want you to miss out on being in 770 with the Chassidim. After the bris, I'll pay to fly us both back to New York. We'll be with everyone else in Crown Heights, and then I'll fly you back to Los Angeles, and I'll fly to Salt Lake City."
***
Our Delta Airlines flight landed in Salt Lake City at 10:00 am. I immediately called my wife to have her let Cheryl know we were back on schedule.
B"H, we made it to my house on time for the hatofas dam bris at 11:30, and for the bris at Cheryl's at 12 noon. It was a very special simcha, where I was even given the honor of being Sandak!
Mission accomplished. Knocking on doors at midnight like a crazy person was the only thing that allowed these two Jewish boys to have a bris.
After things wrapped up, I turned to the Mohel and said, "A deal is a deal. Let's get our things together and fly back to 770, as planned."
The Mohel looked at me as if I was crazy. "Are you kidding me? You're going to spend all that money flying us both from coast to coast? Absolutely not. I won't have it!"
So, instead, we sat together in my basement floor for hours, crying and saying Tehillim. Later that night, the Mohel flew back to Los Angeles, putting an end to this story.
***
That was my Gimmel Tammuz 5754.
There is one important lesson that I learned from this story. Gimmel Tammuz is a difficult day. We want to see our Rebbe's hisgalus! We want the farbrengens, dollars, brachos and hora'os! We want things to be just like they used to be! Yes - it's a hard day, and it's been thirty years, but sadness will not strengthen our hiskashrus to the Rebbe. Only doing what we've been asked to do. That's what's required. Let Gimmel Tammuz be a day that pushes you to do one more mitzva, one more thing for the Rebbe, for your hiskashrus and connection to a tzaddik. Our Rebbe taught that ha'maaseh hu ha'ikar. The most important thing is all the actions we do. So just do something!
That will surely bring you closer to the Rebbe, and surely bring Moshiach Now!