After waiting six months for our visa, we finally got the green light to move to our Shlichus in 2023, just three weeks before Pesach.
We ran like the wind, packed up our matzah, and suddenly found ourselves in our new home.
One week after arriving, without dishes or any real food in the house, Dr. Fred* showed up for a Shabbat meal.
A leading Jewish doctor from Boston Children’s Hospital, he had come on a humanitarian mission to teach Zambian doctors new surgeries and skills.
We welcomed him to our sparse but joyous dinner with twenty other guests, and then didn’t hear from him again.
Two years later, we got a call.
It was Dr. Fred.
He was coming back to Lusaka with his friend, Dr. Mitchell*, and remembering the incredible Shabbos experience in our home, he hoped to stop by and say hello.
On Wednesday afternoon the two doctors showed up.
Very quickly it became clear that Dr. Mitchell was also Jewish — and clearly just as accomplished.
Dr. Fred looked around our beautiful Chabad House rental that didn’t exist on his last visit. He was visibly moved seeing Jewish life growing in this G-d-forsaken corner of Africa.
After a long visit, we asked if they would do us the honor of putting on Tefillin. Dr. Fred agreed immediately, mentioning that he sometimes does it with the Chabadniks in Boston.
Dr. Mitchell reluctantly followed suit and rolled up his sleeve.
While my husband wrapped Tefillin on Dr. Fred, I turned to Dr. Mitchell. “When’s the last time you put on Tefillin?”
He paused.
“Oh… I don’t know. Maybe over fifty years ago.”
There was emotion on every face in the room as he wrapped the Tefillin and repeated the Shema.
This Jew lives in Boston. Surrounded by shuls, rabbis, Chabad Houses, and kosher stores.
Yet G-d had to get him on a plane to Zambia – on a humanitarian mission – just to knock on the door of his soul.
Vos veiter, is men neenter – to be near, go far.
Aviv* arrived in Zambia last year to start a small business.
Nudged by the other Israelis in town, he grudgingly made his way to our home for a Shabbos dinner, while adamantly declining to join us at Shul.
He sat at the farthest corner of the table, keeping his distance, and at the end of the meal offered what he thought was the expected wad of cash.
We closed the door behind him, certain we wouldn’t be seeing Aviv again.
The next Friday night, Aviv was back.
This time, he walked into Shul.
He flipped through the pages, glanced around nervously, bounced on his heels, and waited for Maariv to end.
By the time week three rolled around, Aviv was a beloved and dedicated member of our Friday night minyan. He knew exactly what to do, learned the tunes, and loved every second of it.
Half a year later, Aviv’s business took a turn for the worse, and he had no choice but to head back to Israel.
We wished him well, knowing we might never hear from him again.
The following Motzaei Shabbos, we received a frantic call.
It was Aviv.
“Rabbi Mendy, I need a Beit Knesset. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I can’t let another Shabbat go by empty. Please find me the closest Chabad to my home.”
All his life Aviv had been surrounded by Jewish family, friends, community, and shuls.
But the sleeping spark in his soul could only be shaken by a far-off journey to the heart of Africa.
Vos veiter, is men neenter – to be near, go far.
Growing up on Shlichus in Alaska, I was raised on this line:
Vos veiter, is men neenter. (Shabbos Parshas Kedoshim 5746)
Sometimes the farther we go geographically, the closer we become spiritually.
We carried the Rebbe’s words with us when we boarded the plane with our six-month-old baby for a 40-hour journey from Alaska to Zambia.
We were going so far.
Yet we knew the Rebbe held us close.
What we didn’t realize then is how true this sentence would be for so many Yidden around the world.
Sometimes it takes a journey to a far-off country to awaken a sleeping neshama.
Sometimes it takes landing at the edge of the map for a soul to remember where it belongs.
And the more we saw how our going far could bring so many neshamos close — the closer our own neshamos became.
This is Chabad of Zambia.
Our mission here isn’t only for the very remote and small Zambian community that we’re privileged to grow with.
We are here also for the Yid we may never see again.
For the doctor from Boston.
For Aviv who never walked into a shul.
For the Jew whose soul slept until he landed at the farthest corner of the globe.
For him, we’re here waiting.
And for this, we need your help.
Please join our campaign to raise $100,000 to keep our doors open.
Join us in the zchus of welcoming these precious neshamos into our home, reigniting their spark, and sending them back out into the world aflame.
Go to www.Charidy.com/zambia right now!
Where the GPS Says “Far,” We Say “Family”!
ואתם תלוקטו לאחד אחד
P.S. Commit to $100 a month and receive a Chabad Zambia yarmulke or beanie in the mail!
For more on Chabad Zambia:
Shluchim Present Menorah to President of Zambia
The Miracle Lulav: A Zambian Tale
“Mendy Old Chap, I Will Fight for Israel!”
Have You Heard of the City ‘Ndola’?
Wow what a Shluchus!
Kol Hakvod!