I visited a quaint little village just outside of Cluj called Cojocna. There was an old mikvah there, in the basement of an abandoned building. Although the mikvah was no longer usable, the steps leading down into the bor were clearly visible. The man that had brought me there was thinking of making it into a tourist attraction for Jewish visitors, but I could see there was no real promise in the venture.
The Baal Shem Tov taught that Hashem ordains every step a person takes. Anywhere you find yourself, Hashem sent you there to accomplish something specific. So although the mikvah hadn’t panned out, I knew I had to use the opportunity for shlichus. I asked my friend if there were any Jews in the area.
“Not since the war,” he told me, shaking his head.
We continued driving through the village.
“Wait,” he said, suddenly. “Turn here!”
He led me through a bewildering number of turns, until we parked in front of an old farmhouse, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Chickens and pigs grazed freely in the yard, supervised by an old man.
“He might be Jewish,” my friend said.
I approached the farmer and introduced myself. Emil, the elderly farmer, was 92 years old! He was born in Austria, pre-World War II, to a Jewish mother. His father was from Cojocna, and they relocated there when Emil was just a boy.
Meeting a rabbi so randomly was a shock for him. Surrounded by picturesque scenery and snorting pigs, Emil wrapped tefillin around his arm for the first time in his life.
