Mrs. Chani Lifshitz, her husband, and children, are Shluchim of the Rebbe in Kathmandu, Nepal. The following was published on Chabad.org and translated by Esther Rabi:
For several days, Limor sits, silent and thoughtful, in the Chabad House. Once in awhile, she asks about this or that, but most of the time she sits, mute, observing the joyous youths around her with a bleak countenance.
Her husband Amir sits at her side, frowning and serious. We never hear him speak.
Everything was so good at first, the whole world awash in the colors of their hopes and dreams. And then their troubles began. They looked with yearning at the families around them. Why did everyone else have a baby, but not them?
“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” she explains. “There wasn’t a specialist that we didn’t consult. There wasn’t a treatment that we didn’t try. Everyone said the same thing: It’s not going to happen.”
Before abandoning their sinking marriage, they decided to make one last effort. They stopped the injections and the treatments and dismally loaded their backpacks “to clear our heads and to get as far away as possible,” she says.
“First, to Nepal, and then afterwards, to India and maybe also China. If travel wouldn’t help us recover what had been destroyed, then there was no hope.”
The tears fall as she cries out that even this didn’t help! She buries her head in my shoulder, sobbing.
“Limor. I want you to come with me to immerse,” I tell her, putting my hand on her hand. My stomach is churning. To immerse? Where did I get such an idea just now? She leaps back, away from my touch.
“To immerse? Like, in a mikvah? Why should I all of a sudden want to immerse in a mikvah?” She rises from the couch. “I already immersed in a mikvah before our wedding. That was enough for me. No, thank you!”
“But you don’t understand! Come with me to immerse. Perhaps this will help you have a child!”
She looks at me, angry and disappointed. “How can you say such a thing? For 10 years, I’ve been going from doctor to doctor, and not one of them could help me have a child. You know me for a minute-and-a-half, and you think you can help me?” The pain in her hazel eyes pierces my soul. She strides hastily to the door.
A moment before she can grab the doorknob, I catch her hand. I look deep into her eyes and ask her to listen to me for just one more moment.
“We don’t have a mikvah here, Limor,” I explain. “We immerse in the river. It’s an hour-and-a-half ride, and then it takes another hour to climb the mountain to get to a freezing river! We break the ice! Literally!”
Tears roll down my cheeks. “I want you to come with me to immerse,” I plead. “I want you to help me break the ice, and in this merit, may G‑d bless you with a child!”
Her cold hands slowly warm in mine. The look in her eyes softens. “Where have you come from, Chani?” she murmurs. “How have you gotten to me? Enough. We’ve already given up. And … and … what about Amir? He’s not at all religious. We don’t believe in those things. What am I going to tell him?”
I calm her, tell her not to worry. My husband Chezki will talk to Amir.
Her inner turmoil slowly subsides. The sun shining through the window streaks her face. “Come, Chani,” she tells me. “Let’s go to the river.”
I tell her now is not the time. First, I want to be sure that she understands the magnitude and sanctity of the mikvah, as well as the requisite laws.
She comes to my home for the next couple of weeks. We sit and talk about what purity means. We talk about the power of the Jewish woman, and her own power. Limor’s eyes are still. She barely touches the coffee or the cinnamon buns I set out for her.
Her husband, Amir, was opposed at first, but when the day comes for her to immerse, he comes to our house to wait for her return. Limor follows him in, wearing a white dress, with such a light in her eyes! A light that I’m sure Amir himself hasn’t seen for a very long time.
A sputtering motorcycle rickshaw takes us to the bus station. We’re on our way to the village where “our” river is. The windows of our old bus have no panes, and a stubborn wind whips our faces. The road twists and turns.
Several times we find ourselves hanging over deep gorges, with only a step between us and oblivion. Each time that happens, I sneak a fearful glance at Limor, but she’s beaming. None of this disturbs her.
I’ve accompanied tens of women who were initially wary of immersion up the steep grade I’m climbing now with Limor. Their hearts melt when they hear stories of righteous women breaking the ice to immerse in the river. This natural feminine experience is enchanting. It’s just them and their Creator, while the mountains surrounding them whisper their prayers.
It’s pitch-dark when we get there, but I know every rock and could walk here with my eyes shut. Limor’s face shines like the moon. We hardly need the miner’s flashlight that I wear on my head.
“Come, Limor,” I say before we reach the river. “Come, sit with me for just a moment. There’s a song I love to sing before immersing. Listen to the words.”
The babbling waters of the river sing with us. The birds are silent. “May this hour be a time of mercy, a time in which Your heavenly will accompanies us.” Limor sings after me, word for word. Her head rests on my shoulder. We hold hands. “A time of mercy, a time in which Your heavenly will accompanies us … ”
I take an axe from my pack and go to break the ice on the river. Limor shivers, not just from cold. A soft cry escapes her as she enters the water. “It’s freeeeeezing!” Her cries rise straight to G‑d’s throne. When she steps out of the river, the stars descend to meet her.
I honor the pure, silent moment, and neither of us sully it with speech. I just hug her and pray. We sit on the steep path. Two women in the center of creation.
Praying.
Pleading.
The next day, she sets off with Amir to India, and from there to China. We lose touch. I try every which way to find out what has become of her, but can’t. She is just … gone.
Until, 10 months later, the phone rings. Limor is on the line. At first, all I can hear is crying.
Then she tells me they experienced a miracle yesterday. They had a baby girl. They are calling her Nesyah (“miracle of G‑d”).
Why they had to take a 90 min bus ride?
Nothing closer?
wow is all i can say to this story, but please someone with the means please sponsor a Mikvah for these amazing shluchim and their visitors, were in 2016! not in Russia 100 years ago to need to break the ice! please
Someone please start a go fund me to build these holy shluchim a Mikva!!!
I hope something starts of this, to help build a mikva there.
Miracle baby – Mazel Tov , incredible story , a lot of brohos to the shlucha
See how Yidden are ready to donate for a new mikvah!
Something should definitely be done
G-D BLESS THEM ALL!!
Such a Beautiful story & awesome outcome B”h!
May Chani too be blessed that all her children give tremendous nachas as Chani gives to her parents
I think people have to think about infertilty sensitivity here it is very noce for them but does not happen for all abd these messages perpetuate these concepts that will not happen for many so i think people need to take a minute and think about that
I don’t understand why they have to travel by bus for 90 minutes and then hike for an hour when Kathmandu has rivers and lakes right there.
I mean, why make it so difficult for a woman who has done mikvah once in her life? Why not show her how easy it can be, yet still be fulfilling and meaningful in the chance that you might convince her to observe mikvah on a regular basis?
Two souls shared, two hearts shared. Such love and mesiras nefesh in two different ways. The simple, profound and total ahava of two people brought about a revealed miracle, and I’m sure many more unrevealed miracles too. PG this pure act with ahava and bitochon should tip the scales to bring Moshiach now.
No words are sufficient to describe how this story makes me feel. May the One Above continue to bless your shlichus and your family, without limits.
I can’t stop crying. What a true miracle.
What an inspiration and motivation for my wife and I to continue our shlichus in our small town.
you deserve a state of the art mikveh NOW WIYH MOSHIACH NOW NOW NOW NOW
Eloquent & moving….
Why is there no Mikvah? No need to break ice & catch pneumonia. Surely Merkaz would help you get a Mikvah started?! Can be simple no fanfare just feminine and simple.
Many would donate…. Just wondering….
wow what a bracha!!!
a profound admiration and yeyasher kochech for the shlucha and shluchos who go strong with such bitochon, mesirus nefesh and true pure ahavas yisroel, in todays comfortable world! after reading this amazing article, i feel i must do more!
these stories belong to our bobbies times!!
Why no Mikva ? If it’s about funds I’m sure after this beautiful story the money can be raised. I’ll be the first to donate
I heard stories of my zaidy breaking the ice to go to the Mikvah in Russia .Didn’t know in our day and age this mesirus nefesh still exists. Unbeleiveable
One of the best pieces of writing! Kol hakavod for sharing your talent and mesirus nefesh.
How heartwarming!
Thank u for sharing this beautiful and well written story with all of us!
You are truly a ” Shlucha par excellance’!
I want to make the first donation towards the building of your mikvah! Right now i dont have much to give but I want to help start the process.
Please start the campaign
How can you be reached?
While many will marvel at the nes, I marvel at a shlucha who has the courage to break the ice not just once as she passes by nepal but month after month, year after year….
What a beautiful and touching story.
Wow a true miracle.
What a wonderful story to wake up to!!!!
Amazing beyond words. Lubavitchers are so amazing . They are all pver the world and the mesiras nefesh is beyond S words. In this zechus HaShem should bring MOSHIACH NOW!!!!
beautifull
She is indeed a beautiful miracle.
I love to hear the good. Crying from inspiration . Thank you for sharing. Beautifully written
Whatever the reason is that they don’t have a mikva yet
they deserve a state of the art mikva in the Bais Chabad.
Incredible. Mazel tov!!!!!!!!
There is a time and place for everything. You have to believe, to speak to Hashem in your own words and know that He is listening. Every person we meet, there is a reason and a connection to the puzzle of life. You never know why, and then it hits you. BELIEVE.
What a beautiful story. The Lifshitz family are incredible people, don’t know them but it’s obvious with everything they do. Much hatzlacha!
A beautiful ending, which is a real beginning.
Everyone should read this hear about it tell it to others and this eill surely bring moshiach most speedily
that has really left an impact on me
As beautiful as the story is, the writing style is even more magnificent and captivating! Kol Hakavod to the holy Shlucha, Chani, for both the story and its writing!
I have tears in my eyes. So eloquently written and moving. Thank you for sharing. And Mazal Tov to Limor and Amir and little Nesya. Beautiful name!
why dont they have a mikvah?
beautiful story
moshiach now
may Hashem answer the tefilos of all Yidden-btov hanireh vhanigleh
What amazes me more than the miracle is the great mesiras nefesh the Rebbes Shluchim have to go out to such far and crazy countries to live and dedicate their lives to helping other yidden spiritually, physically, emotionally… Hashem just look at them and youll see we deserve Moshiach already!!
truly a spectacular story. I am in awe.
beautiful what a beautiful ending
my you have more children
I am crying BH what a nes