The Salt Lake City Bris

From the New Amazing Miracle Stories for Kids Vol 4:

Shalom Aleichem!

My name is Rabbi Benny Zippel, and I’m a Chabad Shliach in Salt Lake City, Utah. New York is on the east coast of America, and Utah is all the way on the other side of the country, close to the west coast. It’s a beautiful place, full of snowy mountains that people come to visit from all over the country, but b’ruchniyus, Salt Lake City wasn’t always so beautiful.

That’s why, in 1992, my wife and I came here to serve the Jewish community, and we’ve been doing that ever since!

When we just started out in Salt Lake City, we noticed Jewish parents weren’t giving their baby boys proper brissim. There was a pediatrician – a children’s doctor – on a nearby air force base who would perform brissim for the community, but the doctor knew these “brissim” weren’t being done according to Halacha.

For the Mitzvah of Bris Milah, a regular circumcision by a doctor isn’t good enough, it has to be done by a Yid, and in the right way. We wanted all the Jewish babies in Utah to have a kosher Bris.

We realized this was something we needed to work on. So right away, we invited a frum Mohel from Los Angeles to visit Salt Lake City whenever we needed a Bris done. We’d organize his flights, and offer our home for the Simcha. Sometimes people wanted to have the Bris in their own home. It didn’t matter to us, just as long long as they were giving their child a kosher Bris!

By doing this, we were, B”H, also able to solve another problem.

You see, when someone has a Bris that’s not done according to Halacha and Torah, then it can actually be fixed! This is called a hatofas dam bris, and can be done by a proper Mohel as well.

Anyway, this often happens when a person’s parents had a Bris done for them as a baby incorrectly, and then they found out more about Yiddishkeit later on in life. By having a hatofas dam bris, their past Bris is corrected and fixed.

Whenever we arranged for the Mohel to come eight days after a Jewish baby boy was born, we also invited community members to bring their older boys to the Mohel for hatofas dam bris, to fix the Bris that the pediatrician did years ago. This is something many people in the area, B”H, agreed to do. We really were helping Jews and filling an important need.

***

“Mazal tov, *Cheryl!” My wife smiled into the phone, wishing her good friend well after the birth of her second baby boy.

We knew Cheryl well. She and my wife were very close. Sadly, she didn’t marry a Jewish man – but her baby was still Jewish, and we were looking forward to helping her arrange a proper Bris.

There was just one thing about Cheryl. She was a VERY organized woman. She always needed to know exactly what was going on, and what her schedule was going to look like.

It was the summer, Tammuz to be exact, and we planned the Bris for a Monday morning. She agreed to give her three-year-old boy a hatofas dam bris in our home first, at exactly 11:30 am, followed by the Bris of the new baby at 12 noon in her home. Everything was arranged.

“Great!” Cheryl said to my wife. “So the Mohel has your address, and knows where to drive from the airport… That’s good. We’ll be there at 11 am, just to make sure everything is in order. I’ve already got the caterer confirmed for noon at my house, but my in-laws may come slightly earlier to help out… Oh! I almost forgot… the balloons! You can’t have a party without balloons. Those will be at my place, too. Everything should be set to go.”

“Perfect!” answered my wife, trying to keep up with Cheryl’s planning and all her excitement. The pressure was definitely on. This would be a grand celebration, but it was well worth it. We were doing this for the mitzvah!

***

But the Motzei Shabbos before the Monday morning Bris, I got a call from New York. It was probably the most difficult call I’d ever gotten in my life, sharing news I never thought I’d hear.

The date was Gimmel Tammuz, 5754.

“The Rebbe…” the voice on the other end of the line shook uncontrollably, almost unable to finish the sentence, “…the Rebbe is no longer with us, physically.”

I felt like I’d been hit with a brick. The Rebbe had been sick for a very long time, but this… this was something no one had expected. Everything was blurry. I couldn’t understand or process what was going on. The Rebbe was our leader, our teacher – he was the reason my family was here, spreading Yiddishkeit to this lovely little community, on his instructions! And now, he was…

While Chabad Chassidim all over the world were struck with sadness and grief, I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t have time to think.

All I could think about was the Bris. Two Jewish boys needed a Bris, no matter what. I am a Chassid. My job was and always will be to help other Jews, as the Rebbe directed us.

Knowing the Mohel was a Chabad Chassid as well, I immediately hung up the phone and dialed his number, only thinking about how we could pull off this Bris, given the horrifying news. His wife picked up the phone.

“I’m so sorry, he’s on his way to the airport now. He’s going to New York, and will be sitting shiva there all week. You’ll have to find someone else. I really apologize…”

Now, Chassidim and Rabbanim from all over the world were traveling to New York… Everyone wanted to be in 770, united through this very hard time, and all those Chassidim would be sitting together afterwards, but this news was too much for me to handle.

What about the Bris? What about Cheryl and her VERY organized plans? WHAT WOULD WE DO??? No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get rid of these thoughts.

Meanwhile, I, a Chassid of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, also wanted to be in New York, so I called the airline to book myself a ticket, too. It was midnight. I wasn’t sure if I’d have any luck at that hour, but I figured I’d give it a shot.

“Sorry, sir,” said the woman from the airline, “our last flight to the east coast left an hour ago. Our next flight won’t leave until 5:00 AM tomorrow morning, and it makes a stop in Dallas, Texas.” I remember feeling so broken.

I had no Mohel, and I’d have to wait until 5:00 in the morning to start my trip, stopping in Texas, of all places, but I had no other choice. I booked the ticket and got my things together.

My mind was foggy. I felt completely lost. All I could do at that point was cry and say Tehillim until it came time to leave my home, travel to the airport, and board the plane. After landing in Dallas, I had to move past my misery and keep figuring out this Bris!

Now, this story took place in the 90’s, before cell phones became popular. So during my stopover, I went to find a payphone. I had to find another Mohel!

I called one Mohel I knew of and I explained the whole situation.

“Rabbi, I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you on such short notice,” was his response.

I didn’t have time to despair. I had to continue my search. So I called the number of a Mohel from Denver, Reb Feder, and to my relief, he agreed!

“Don’t worry about the expenses. Just put everything on your credit card, and I’ll pay you back,” I assured him. At this point, I could finally, finally breathe a sigh of relief!

B”H, I found a Mohel. Hopefully, now everything else will fall into place, I told myself. Now I can go to New York and join the Chassidim.

The next thing to do was let Cheryl know. Still standing at the payphone, I dialed my home number, asking my wife to tell Cheryl about the emergency change of plans.

“Just let her know something came up, and I won’t be able to make it Monday morning, but you’ll be there, and a different Mohel will also be there. That’s all she needs to know,” I explained to my wife.

“You know what, Cheryl’s actually on the other line right now,” she said. “Let me give her your message. Don’t hang up. I’ll let you know what she says in just a minute.”

I anxiously waited for what felt like forever. It was such a relief to hear my wife’s voice again.

“All right, so… this is what she said.” My stomach began to twist. I knew my wife very well – I knew the voice she was using. This was not going to be good news.

“Either you and the regular Mohel will be there tomorrow morning for our toddler at 11:30 and the baby at noon, or there won’t be a Bris at all. And if the Bris doesn’t happen tomorrow, she says you should never speak to her about a Bris again. There won’t be one at all, and she doesn’t want to discuss it further.”

If I felt broken before my flight to Dallas, well, now I felt a thousand times worse. How could I let two Jewish boys miss out on the opportunity to have a Bris, all because of Gimmel Tammuz? How was I supposed to get back to the other side of the country that quickly?! And if I couldn’t get the original Mohel to come with me, none of it would matter! Those little boys would never have their Bris!

Chas V’Shalom! I wouldn’t let that happen! But how?

***

My flight to New York landed at LaGuardia airport at two in the afternoon. I hadn’t put a thing in my mouth since Shabbos afternoon, but I had no time to eat. There was too much on my mind, and too much to do.

I took a taxi straight to 770, where I tried to get as much information about the levaya as I could. Things were very chaotic at that point. No one really knew what was going on. Gimmel Tammuz had left everyone completely shocked. No one was prepared. The Rebbe was such an important part of our lives, we couldn’t imagine life without him.

It turned out that Rabbanim were on their way from Eretz Yisroel, so the Rebbe’s levaya would only begin once they arrived. In the meantime, everyone in 770 stood in line, waiting to walk past the Rebbe’s room, tearing kria, as mourners do.

Shluchim were upstairs in the Zal, saying Tehillim together, which went on for some time. I personally had one eye on my Tehillim, and one eye looking out for our Mohel from L.A. At the same time, my mind went back to those nervous thoughts. The Satan did this horrible thing – he took our Rebbe! And now, because of that, two Jewish boys might not have a Bris! It can’t be! Something’s got to give!

I got out of my seat and started asking people around me if they’d seen my Mohel. People thought I was crazy! Everyone was so sad, unable to even accept what was going on, and here I was, looking frantically for a friend like it was a normal day! But that was just too bad. I had something important to do. I am a Shliach of the Rebbe, and if these brissim don’t happen, I’ll have let him down. Nothing else mattered.

The Tehillim continued until the Rebbe’s aron was brought into the room. That was when the levaya began. The Shluchim walked in front, right behind the Rebbe’s aron, on the way to the car that would take them to the Ohel.

The chaos began once again, when thousands of people tried to find a way to the Ohel. I hopped in a car with someone.

I came back to Crown Heights at 11:30 that night to find Chassidim sitting on the floor of 770, crying and saying Tehillim. By now, I hadn’t eaten for 36 hours, and my mind was moving a million miles a minute. The Bris was supposed to happen 12 hours later, and I had no clue where the Mohel was, or how I would convince him to come back to Utah with me.

I did the only thing I could think of.

I marched right out of 770 onto Eastern Parkway and started knocking on doors. I knocked on every Jewish door on the street, and then made my way to Union St., knocking on every single door. From there to President St., searching all of Crown Heights for this one Mohel from California.

By now, it was already after midnight, and people must have thought I was a meshuganeh – knocking on random people’s doors, asking for a Mohel at midnight – but I kept going! Some people even thought I was sick and offered to call Hatzalah. But I wasn’t sick. I was just determined.

At every door, I asked people if they knew where my Mohel might be staying. It was disappointing to get so many nos, but I knew I had to continue.

After some time, someone finally gave me some information I could use.

“Yeah, actually, I think he’s staying in a basement on Montgomery St., between Brooklyn Ave. and New York Ave.,” the man at the door told me.

These words were music to my ears! I was so grateful to Hashem! I raced in that direction with a newfound Koach!

When I made it to the block, I began knocking on every basement door, until finally, he opened the door. It was him. It was finally, really him!

“What are you doing here?! It’s after midnight!” he asked in total shock.

“Listen, my good friend. We have two brissim to do in under 12 hours, and we need you there.”

He looked at me seriously. “But…. didn’t my wife… she told me that she told you that I can’t do it … That you should find someone else?”

“Yes, she did!” I answered, going on to explain the new situation. “…That’s why, if you don’t come, THERE WILL BE NO BRISSIM! NOT TOMORROW, NOT AT ALL!!! We cannot let that happen!”

I held my breath and waited for an answer.

“I’m going to think about it,” he finally told me after a few moments. But by that time, I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t think. I could only act, and what I did, I had NEVER done before, and NEVER did again.

I marched into the basement, took his bag, took him by the collar of his shirt and shlepped him outside. As this was going on, he started to yell at me. “Benny, I think you’re sick. I think we need to take you to a doctor – something seems really wrong with you. You’re going crazy.”

He was right! I was going crazy. But it didn’t matter. I had to do this. I called a car service to come pick us up, and within minutes, we were on our way to LaGuardia airport.

The Mohel seemed like he might only be going along with me because he was concerned about my mental health. We’d spent lots of time together in the past, and he’d never seen me like this before. Don’t forget – I still hadn’t eaten since Shabbos day, and it was already Monday morning, sometime after midnight. I really was acting like I’d totally lost it!

Now, flights from LaGuardia to Salt Lake City always left at 6:30 am, so we needed to get to the airport as quickly as possible to book our tickets in time!

This is what I told the Mohel: “I don’t want you to miss out on sitting in 770 with the Chassidim. After the Bris, I’ll pay to fly us both back to New York. We’ll sit like everyone else in Crown Heights, and then I’ll fly you back to Los Angeles, and I’ll fly to Salt Lake City.”

***

Our Delta airlines flight landed in Salt Lake City at 10:00 am. I immediately called my wife to have her let Cheryl know we were back on schedule.

B”H, we made it to my house on time for the hatofas dam bris at 11:30, and for the Bris at Cheryl’s at 12 noon. It was a very special simcha, where I was even given the honor of being Sandek!

Mission accomplished. Knocking on doors at midnight like a crazy person was the only thing that allowed these two Jewish boys to have a Bris.

After things wrapped up, I turned to the Mohel and said, “A deal is a deal. Let’s get our things together and fly to New York, as planned.”

The Mohel looked at me as if I was crazy. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to spend all that money flying us both from coast to coast? Absolutely not. I won’t have it!”

So, instead, we sat together on my basement floor for hours, crying and saying Tehillim. Later that night, the Mohel flew back to Los Angeles, putting an end to this story.

***
That was my Gimmel Tammuz 5754 – a day I will never forget. It was one of the most confusing and emotional days of my life. Everything felt upside down. On one hand, I was heartbroken. The Rebbe, the person who sent me to Utah, who inspired me to bring Yiddishkeit to Salt Lake City, was no longer with us physically. On the other hand, I had a job to do. Two Jewish boys needed a Bris.

I had every reason to say, “Not today.” I could have said, “I’m too tired.” I could have said, “This day is too hard for me.” And any normal person would have understood. However, I kept thinking about what the Rebbe would want me to do. I knew he wouldn’t want me to stop because it was difficult or painful. The Rebbe taught us that every Mitzvah matters, no matter what’s going on in our lives.

So, I didn’t stop. Even when it meant knocking on doors in the middle of the night like a crazy person, then begging the Mohel to come with me. Even when it meant skipping sleep, skipping food, and running back and forth between two cities. Even when it meant holding onto hope when everything felt like it was falling apart – I just couldn’t give up.

When I saw those two boys have their Bris, I knew it was all worth it. And in that moment, I realized something so important. When we work hard to do the right thing, even when it’s really difficult, Hashem gives us the strength to succeed. The Rebbe didn’t just tell us to help other Jews – he taught us how to keep going, even when the Yetzer Harah is whispering, “Just stop. It’s too hard today. Relax.”

So, the next time you feel like saying, “I give up. Not today,” think of this story. Think of a Mitzvah you can do, and just go do it, even if it feels hard. Because that’s what brings us closer to Hashem. That’s what brings us closer to Moshiach.

And that’s how you make every day count.