Mysterious Mission in Tyler, Texas

The following story has been excerpted from the new book Amazing Miracles Stories for Kids, available in stores Lag Baomer.

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As heard by Rabbi Moshe Orenstein from Benjamin Feld

I dropped my head into my hands. I was tired. It had been days since I had a full night’s sleep. My son, my first child and only a few days old, was in the hospital. I couldn’t help but worry.

The moments after my son was born were some of the scariest in my life. The doctors and nurses looked at each other and started to speak quickly. They said only short sentences to me and my wife. As new parents, we were confused and afraid, and we were given almost no time to hold our child before he was taken away for tests.

“Nothing to worry about,” the nurse said. “This is normal!” But I didn’t believe her. And as the days went by, she said that less and less. Pretty quickly, we understood that our son was sick, and it was serious.

After a few days with no change, I began to ask questions. “How long will my son have to be here?” I asked. “When can we take him home?”

But the doctors couldn’t help me. They didn’t know what was wrong with my son, and they didn’t know when he would get better. Scared and lost, I decided to ask the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

Since starting work as a teacher of Jewish Studies in Phoenix, Arizona, and being one of the only frum people in the area, I had grown close to the Rebbe. Kiruv wasn’t a common thing back then, and Chabad didn’t have a shul near me, so I turned to the Rebbe for guidance.

Knowing I could trust him, I wrote him a letter explaining the pain my wife and I were going through and begged for a bracha. He was my last hope. Days later, the Rebbe’s secretary, Rabbi Groner, called me with a response.

I listened by the phone with a pen and paper and wrote down every word of the Rebbe’s answer.

“You said you are worried,” Rabbi Groner said. “The Rebbe said there is no room for worry. You asked for your son to be sent home from the hospital and the Rebbe said ‘Soon!’ He also promised to daven for you at the kever of his father-in-law, the great tzaddik, the Rebbe Rayitz!”

I cried on the phone, thanking Rabbi Groner, thanking the Rebbe, and thanking Hashem. I felt hopeful. The Rebbe’s words gave me and my wife comfort. We believed in the truth behind the great tzaddik’s words, and two days later, we saw them come true.

“It seems you have nothing to worry about,” the doctor said. “Your son is perfectly healthy! It’s almost like a miracle. Take him home; your baby is fine!”

Filled with joy and excited to start our new journey as parents, my wife and I packed up our child and took him home. We spent the first few days tired and sleepless and thankful. We knew that our son was truly a blessing from shamayim.

But pretty soon I knew I needed to go see the Rebbe and thank him in person. My wife and I decided that I would travel to New York and spend Shabbos Hagadol, the Shabbos before Pesach, at our cousins’. And then on Sunday, the 10th of Nissan, I would try and get a private meeting with the Rebbe.

When that Sunday came, I didn’t know what a special day it was. I showed up to see the Rebbe, ready to thank him, and found myself in the middle of his 70th birthday celebration. I sat with the crowd and listened to every word the Rebbe spoke. I sang along to the happy songs the chassidim sang and felt taken over by the kedusha in the room. It was very special.

When the farbrengen died down, I asked Rabbi Groner for a meeting with the Rebbe and promised not to take too long.

“I won’t ask any questions or tell any stories,” I promised. “I just want to thank the Rebbe, please!”

Eventually, the Rebbe’s secretary agreed to schedule a meeting for me for the next night.

I came back the next day with my speech ready in my head. I knew exactly what I wanted to say. But when I was sitting before the Rebbe, words didn’t feel like enough. How do you thank the great man who saved the life of your only child?

“I want to ask something of you,” the Rebbe said. “An important mission. Could you do that for me?”

Now, I knew this was my way to thank the Rebbe. I felt important.

“Of course,” I answered. “Anything you need.”

“When are you returning to Arizona?” he asked. “For Pesach?”

“I am flying back tomorrow,” I responded.

The Rebbe nodded. “Go to the office of Rabbi Chodakov – he’ll tell you what to do.”

“Of course!”

The Rebbe thanked me and wished me a “Chag kosher visameach.” And as I started towards Rabbi Chodakov’s office, I was already replaying the inspiring chat the Rebbe and I had just shared. Even though I felt like I should do more, the Rebbe had been kind and asked me about Jewish life in Arizona.

I was so focused on remembering every second I almost didn’t see the rabbi stop before me.

“Benny?” he asked. “ I am Rabbi Chodakov.”

The man looked very serious. His mood was sharp.

“Take this to Tyler, Texas,” he said and handed me a box of matza.

“Texas?” I asked. “But I’m going to Arizona, and it’s days from Pesach. I need to go home and help my wife. Plus, I’ve never even heard of Tyler. Dallas sure, Houston of course, but Tyler? Where even is that? How do you get there?”

Rabbi Chodakov didn’t react. He simply lowered the package.

“So should I tell the Rebbe that you can’t help with this mission?” he asked.

I wanted the rabbi to help me, but I could tell he wasn’t going to. And I didn’t want to cancel on the Rebbe. Most men never get to do a favor for such a tzaddik, and most don’t owe him such a huge thank you.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “Who do I give the matza to?”

Rabbi Chodakov stared at me, looking like I’d asked a question with an obvious answer. “As I said, bring it to Tyler.”

I went back to my cousins, called my wife, and tried to find a flight to Tyler. I called travel agents and airport officials and anyone who could possibly help me, but it was like the city didn’t even exist. (This was before the days of Google. Finding a random city meant you needed a real map and a good eye.) There wasn’t even a way to get to Arizona through Texas. I didn’t know what to do. There weren’t many direct flights to Texas, none to Tyler, and Yom Tov was coming quickly. How could I leave my wife and young son alone over Pesach?

Eventually, I was left with no other choice but to board the plane to Arizona. I was heading home. My heart hurt, and I was saddened to have not fulfilled the mission, but I felt out of options. I settled into my seat, leaned back, and was asleep in minutes. It wasn’t until hours later that I was woken by the pilot’s voice over the cabin speakers.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” he said. “But we need to make an emergency landing. We will have a maintenance check to make sure the plane is ok. We will land in Tyler, Texas, and will be delayed a few hours. Thank you for your understanding!”

I thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Where are we landing?” I asked a flight attendant. My heart was beating out of control.

“Tyler,” she said and then spelled it out. “T-Y-L-E-R.”

I looked down at the package beside me. I felt like I was living through another miracle. The power of the Rebbe had once again gone beyond my understanding. The plane started to land and pretty soon we were all taken from our seats to a small waiting room in an airport in Tyler, Texas. There, I began to look around, hoping to find the people the matza was meant for. I knew that they must be there. I prayed that they would recognize me right away as the only man wearing a kippah in the middle of this “Nowhere, Texas” airport.

I tried to look for a local “Tylerney” who could tell me if there were any Jews nearby, but at this small airport that had just come to life, there were only airport staff, none of whom could give me a clear answer to my question.

Shortly after this silent prayer of mine, a couple approached. “Excuse me,” the woman asked. “Do you have a package for us from the Lubavitcher Rebbe?”

The woman didn’t look frum. Her husband wore no kippah, and her hair was uncovered. But she knew the Rebbe, and I knew she must feel connected to him, like I did. I happily handed over the package and watched them turn to leave.

However, the million dollar questions remained: Who was this couple, where did they come from, and how did they know how to get to this little airport at just the right time? I have no answers to these interesting questions.

When I went back to the waiting area, a young man told me he’d never heard of Tyler. “It’s a tiny place,” he said. “So small that the airport isn’t active on weekdays. Planes only fly on the weekends.”

I let his words sink in and the true miracle became clear. The Rebbe considers every Jew an only child, and if that child needs matza for Pesach, he will make sure they get what they need. Even if that means opening a closed airport and giving a flight to Phoenix an emergency landing. But I think I learned one more lesson too – a lesson of trust. If a tzadik sends you on a mission, trust that he will be sure you complete it! ■