We finally got the call to start heading towards Rabbi Tamarin's office. We had just finished our job as counselors in Camp Gan Israel in Zarichany, Ukraine (which serves Jewish children from all over Belarus and Ukraine), and we were about to set out to find Jewish people in little Ukrainian villages, most of whom have little or no Jewish affiliation. Based in Zhitomir, Rabbi Tamarin directs Chabad's activities in the small, scattered Ukrainian villages.
I was starting to have second thoughts about the whole Roving Rabbis thing. Going to some far-flung Ukrainian village to try and find random people whom I had never met before, talking to them about a heritage that they hardly know, in a language that I can hardly speak, wasn't really as appealing as it had first seemed. But I kept on telling myself not to worry; there were thousands of guys who have done this over the years and that G‑d will be guiding me every second of the way. Those thoughts helped a little. But the doubts were still there.
The taxis came to bring our group to the rabbi's office. I got into the last taxi, but there wasn't enough room for all of us. No one was interested in getting out and waiting for another cab. We had been waiting around for a few hours, and we all just wanted to hit the road. So I got out and offered to wait for another cab to come. Mendel, my co-Rover, joined me and we found another taxi.
I sat next to the driver. It was a typical Ukrainian taxi: Decorated with Christian pictures and icons, the engine was making its fair share of noise, and there obviously was no air conditioning.
Bored, I struck up a conversation with our Ukrainian driver. I asked him a bunch of random questions. He was really nice. He even showed me how to spell "steering wheel" in my little Russian learning pad.
Then he told me that he has a cousin who lives in Israel.
His car didn't look like it belonged to your typical Jewish boy, and there are also many non-Jewish Russians and Ukrainians who move to Israel. I asked him if he was Jewish. I honestly didn't think that he was, but I figured that it could not hurt to ask.
He told me that his maternal grandmother was Jewish, but he considers himself Christian. My heart jumped a beat. This was truly hashgachah pratit (Divine providence). In my broken Russian, I told him that because his mother was Jewish he is Jewish, and regardless of what type of necklace he wears or what sort of pictures he pastes on his dashboard, he is a Jew with a Jewish soul.
I asked him if he wanted to put on tefillin. He was game but didn't know what it was. When we arrived at our destination, I wrapped him up in tefillin and we said Shema together. It was his first time doing the wrap and he really appreciated it. I pointed out the synagogue across the street and told him to drop by soon to find out more about his heritage. He said that he would definitely check it out.
While I was wrapping tefillin on this awesome Jew, I was thinking about how incredible it truly was that we met and how he was putting on tefillin for the first time in his life. At first glance, we had bumped into him because there was no room in a taxi. But really, it was because the G‑d was with us, guiding our every step.
When it was my turn to meet Rabbi Tamarin to discuss the details of our upcoming travels, all the original doubts had disappeared. I was focused and ready to ker a velt (Yiddish for "turn over a world," an expression the Rebbe used in his call to Chassidim to do all in their power to prepare the world for Moshiach)!
Thank G‑d, we have been on the road for a while now and we are seeing much success.
