..and they were dispersed throughout the world

Yesterday our granddaughter Chayala who resides in Lakewood, called me while I was on my way to the market. She is working on a school project related to the Shoah.

“Wait, Chayala,” I said.
“Let me park my car and then I will talk to you.”

She wanted to know the birthdate and the names of the parents of family members who perished Al Kiddush Hashem, and to whom I dedicated my first book.

When she mentioned little Efraim, the son of Malki and Chaim Kahan, I suddenly fell silent. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and then continued.

“Chayala,” I said,” I will tell you a story.

There is a little Efraim today who is celebrating his Bar Mizvah this very week, Shabbat Parashat Vayigash. His father, Avromi, who is my brother Tomi‘s son, was able to call Opapa, our dear father, when he was in the hospital a few months before he was Nifter. Avromi was on speakerphone and said,
“Mazeltov, Opapa.
I have a little Efraiml!”

A smile washed over our dear fathers face, and he fully comprehended the meaning of the message. I was so blessed to be present in the hospital room at that very moment.

Opapa spoke so often about little Efraiml. He repeated the story many times of how, in the train wagons to Auschwitz, this young boy sang Ani Maamin.
This was Opapa‘s essence throughout his life, his faith, his unwavering belief in Hashem. And little Efraiml embodied that faith at such an early age.

I watch this little Efraiml, my grandnephew, growing so beautifully, raised with strong values and proper upbringing.

Why this lengthy introduction to my point?
Well Efraiml, is celebrating his Bar Mizvah in Yerushalayim and I cannot attend.

I travel often for family Simches. In the last three months alone,
I attended a Bar Mizvah of a grand nephew in Israel,
A Bat Mizvah of a grandniece in Switzerland, and a baby naming of a grandnephew in New York.

I refer to them as grandnephews and grandnieces, but in truth, they are my sister’s and brother’s grandchildren. We siblings share a very close bond, yet each of us lives far away from one another.
Los Angeles,
New York, Vienna, Zürich.
Yerushalayim is everyone’s home.

When a Simcha takes place in any one of this cities, tickets are bought and the family unites. But not every time does one succeed in accomplishing this.
And sometimes I wonder, when the Jews were dispersed throughout the world, did they have in mind how expensive plane tickets would be thousands of years later?

I cannot be in Yerushalayim this Shabbat.
But the fact alone remains that names travel farther than bodies ever could.
A child once sang Ani Maamin in a cattle car and generations later another Efraim believes in that same faith.
My parents your great grandparents are shepping immeasurable naches in Shamayim.
And G-d willing I will stand at Efraim’s wedding.

Thank you, Chayala for listening to this important family history lesson.