For a good year may you be inscribed and sealed (Shanah Tovah Greetings)
When Zev Zilber and his wife were invited to a wedding in Los Angeles, they were thrilled. It was going to be their very first time in California, and they couldn’t wait. They arrived the night before the wedding, picked up their rental car, and set off for the hotel. Everything was going smoothly.
Until it wasn’t.
As they drove through the Pico-Robertson area, the car suddenly began to shake. Zev pulled over and quickly realized they had a flat tire. He sighed. “Really? This is how I’m starting off in California? A flat tire?”
Trying not to panic, he told his wife to stay in the car while he went to find help. A block or two away, he spotted a shul which had just finished Maariv. Zev approached the first man walking out and asked if he might be able to help with the flat.
Without hesitation, the man said yes. He rolled up his sleeves, walked over to the car, got down on his knees, and within fifteen minutes had the spare tire in place. Zev was stunned and deeply grateful. Reaching for his wallet, he said, “Please, let me pay you.” But the man just shook his head. “I didn’t do it for the money.”
Undeterred, Zev handed him his business card, saying, “If you’re ever in New York and you need anything, please, call me. But seriously, what can I do for you right now?” Something in Zev’s sincerity must have touched the man, because for a moment he paused, and then said quietly, “Actually... there is something. I’ve been married many years... and we don’t have children. All I want is a beracha.”
Zev was taken aback. He wasn’t a Rosh Yeshiva or a Gadol. He wasn’t even someone particularly known for giving blessings. But he felt the weight of the moment, and he couldn’t turn away from it.
So he took the man’s hand, closed his eyes, and standing there on Pico Boulevard at 11:15 p.m., he gave him the most heartfelt blessing he could muster: Hashem should bless him and his wife and they should merit to have a child.
That was it.
Ten months later, Zev’s phone rang.
“Hi... you remember me? I helped you with the flat tire.” “Of course,” Zev said. The man’s voice trembled. “My wife just gave birth.”
Zev couldn’t believe it. “I’m not a Lamed-Vav Tzaddik,” he later recounted. “I’m not a Rabbi. I’m not anything special. I’m just a regular Yid. But I wanted to give him something real, something sincere. And so, I gave him a beracha from the bottom of my heart.”
You never know what a sincere blessing can do for another Jew. Never take the giving of a beracha or the receiving of a beracha lightly.
The night of Rosh Hashanah is one when we wish one another: “L’Shanah Tovah Tikasev V’seichasem—You should be written and sealed for a good year.” It might seem like simple words, offered as a token of friendly goodwill. But it goes far beyond that. Do not view the blessing of a simple person as light in your eyes (Berachos 7a). Any Jew, every Jew, holds tremendous power in the words which escape their mouth. Let us appreciate this ability, value this opportunity and turn it into some memorable. Perhaps, even, life-changing.
May Hashem bless you and your family this year with bountiful goodness. And may you bless others, just the same.
