Motzoei Shabbos brought sad news. Angie*, a beloved elderly member and leader of the original Jewish community in Zambia, had passed away at the age of 93.
Angie was one of the first Jews we met when we arrived in Zambia. Her husband, who had passed away shortly before we moved, had been a prominent leader and politician in the country. Angie was extremely welcoming, though she didn’t quite believe us when we told her we were moving here for life. She looked at us with a raised eyebrow and asked, “Zambia? For life? How old are you?”
While she preferred to keep Jewish life at arm’s length and wasn’t interested in many community activities, she became my biggest Challah and Honey Cake Fan, and often counseled me on the challenges of raising two wild boys. Angie would be terribly missed.
Immediately after Havdallah, we began trying to find out who would take care of her shmira and tahara. The answer?
“We don’t really have anyone… Can you do it?”
Later, I wondered what overtook me when I instantly wrote “yes.”
After two days of frantically searching for a member of the Chevra Kadisha in nearby countries who could fly in and help, I realized I would be on my own — together with two other women from the community.
It was time for a crash course.
I watched hours of video classes, took copious notes from my shluchos friends, and finished with a half-hour FaceTime lesson on how to tie the tachrichim.
I was ready.
Leaving my two toddlers at home, I headed out at 6 a.m. to begin the tahara. I think only those who have done this can understand what it means to feel the neshama in the room — almost as if she was begging us to complete a proper tahara for her, a precious Jew in the middle of Africa.
Later many people asked why I had done it. I had even been “exonerated” by a Rav who paskened that I could leave the matter to others responsible to get the job done, since it is not usually proper for a young mother with children to perform a tahara.
The question gave me pause. Why had I actually done it? What was I thinking when I said yes and waited to panic later?
Then it came to me like lightning. I had felt that Angie’s neshama belonged to me. She was my child — just as much as the then two children I gave birth to. And what doesn’t a mother do for her own?
In truth, that’s the very feeling that brought us to Zambia to begin with — the responsibility toward “the one isolated Jew in the far-off distant country that nobody knows about” (Purim 5728).
If I wouldn’t come to her aid, mi yatzilenu — who would rescue her? She was my responsibility.
I can’t say it was an easy task. But there’s no doubt that traveling far and deep into this difficult shlichus — challenging both physically and emotionally — brought me closer to the fulfillment of the shlichus of my own neshama.
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A few months later, I came upon the sicha from Purim 5728, which we had learned and watched many times before making our move, and I suddenly realized what had brought me to this feeling:
“If news reaches you that there is an isolated Jew far away, “G-d does nothing in vain”, the very fact that you learned of it indicates you are expected to act upon it.
“Now, one may make calculations: With the same effort required to succeed in a distant country, I can achieve many times more in closer proximity.”
“…A Mitzvah which cannot be accomplished by anyone else must be your top priority. For someone living in a populated Jewish area, there are plenty of observant Jews to reach out to him. But if you – who knows of a remote, solitary Jew – if you do not take action, mi yatzilenu – who will come to his rescue?”
Therefore I’m turning to you.
Please take a moment to help us keep our doors open to ensure that we can continue to meet the vast needs of our small but vibrant community in the heart of Africa.
We are the only source of kosher food or Shabbos warmth. We’re the only source of the Yiddishkeit that they so deserve just like anyone else in the world.
Join our campaign to raise $100,000 before Thursday at charidy.com/zambia.
If, by hashgacha pratis, you clicked and opened this article, perhaps these yidden belong to you too?
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Thank you for taking a part in our shlichus.
