A Second Chance in Germany

By Yossi Goldstein

I received a phone call a few months ago from the Jewish Chaplain stationed at Grafenwohr, Germany to aid him with services for the upcoming Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

Having aided rabbis in the past, both military and civilian alike, I decided to take up the Chaplain’s offer and spend part of Tishrei in Germany.

Since it’s customary for Jews prior to Rosh Hashana to daaven at Kivrei Tzaddikim, I decided prior to booking my ticket that I would fly into Frankfurt, and spend a few days in the Hessen state where I would be in close proximity to the old Jewish cities along the Rheine River.

One such city, Worms, is steeped in Jewish history dating back to the times of Rashi. Therein this town you can find Rashi’s Shul, the mikvah he purportedly used when he could (its filled through rain water only, via a hole in the ceiling of the underground mikvah; very cold water), and the ancient Jewish cemetery on the outskirts of the city where the likes of the MaHaRam of Rothenberg, the MaHaRi, and R. Eliyahu Baal Shem, among others, are buried.

Not wanting to squeeze too much into my day-pack, I decided I would daven shachris where I was staying in Heidelberg and travel to Worms thereafter.

As I arrived at Rashi’s shul, I noticed there was a group of Israeli tourists that had just arrived at the same location. To my dismay I had no tefillin with me. I ran to the caretaker of the shul, “We don’t have any spare pairs of Tefillin lying around,” he explained to me. “Only the local Jews have their personal pairs, and they take them home after services conclude.”

I had one last resort.

I ran to the museum that is housed in Rashi’s house, and asked the director for the key to one of the display cases. She looked at me incredulously, and inquired why it was needed. I told her I needed to open the display case so I could procure the pair of tefillin and use it on the Israelis.

She told me that was absolutely not possible, as she couldn’t allow me to just take a display item and walk off with it.

I explained to her in the best German I could muster, that I would simply be going to the shul for a few minutes with the pair, and would immediately return with it after I was done using it.

Adamant in in her refusal, I was hopeless.

I realized this was G-d’s method of telling me, “Always carry a pair of tefillin with you, because you never know who I may send your way.”

The next day I found myself weighing my cross-country travel options; possible bus with other US Army soldiers, or using the German transit system to arrive at Grafenwohr in time for Shabbos.

The safer bet — and more expensive — was the train. I needed to get to Graf before the onset of Shabbos and I wasn’t about to take any chances. Train it was.

The cheapest route was going to take me through Nuremberg, the former seat of the Third Reich, and a place that always gives me the goose-bumps, knowing the recent history of the city. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t have too long of a layover, so I decided to take the train.

As I was settling into my seat for the Nuremberg-Grafenwohr leg, a gentleman approached me and exclaimed, “Shalom” in a heavily accented Hebrew. Clause W and I exchange a few sentences in the Holy Land tongue, before switching over to English.

He tells me, “I don’t see many Jews on the trains wearing their Tzitzit out, and I felt compelled to say hello.”

I smiled, and we proceeded to make some small talk before he began picking my brain about Rosh Hashana, and the significance of the New Year to Jews.

Upon realizing that I only had a few minutes before my train stop, I asked Clause the inevitable question, “Did you put tefillin on today?”

He said, “No. I have 20 minutes until my stop, so I have plenty of time to put them on.”

I told him, “I only have about six minutes until my destination, but we can do it in half that time.”

He told me not to worry if it’s too much of a hassle.

I told him he would have this mitzvah done before my stop, “and if not, I’ll keep going with you until we finish.”

So I helped him with the tefillin, brochos, and bits of daavening, all amongst the stares and glares from young and old Germans alike.

Upon concluding this mitzvah, Clause turned to me and explained that, “I haven’t done this is such a long time. I don’t even have my own pair. Thank you.”

We wished each other blessings for the upcoming New Year, and exchanged contact information.

Upon exiting the train, I realized that this meeting on the Duetsche Bahn was no coincidence. It was G-d giving me my own personal “second chance” to do a good deed; that there never is anyone who is lost.

May we all merit to be proud of who we are, and to do one more good deed each day!