PUTTING IN THE ALEF

 By Zalman Ben-Nun

“The truck came,” announced Rochel excitedly, as she closed the window and ran toward the door. On her way, she nearly overturned one of the heavy boxes that was on the floor.

“Don’t forget my personal box,” called out her mother, and Rochel rushed back in to take the medium sized box that was in the corner of the living room.

“Number one is everyone take their personal box and bring it downstairs. Then come back up and we will see how to get the rest of the boxes down,” our father said. He was holding a big box that covered his face and he headed toward the door.

I glanced at the empty walls that up until a few days ago were full of pictures and pretty decorations. I gave a final look at the house I loved so much, where I grew up.

I searched among the boxes until I found a small brown box which had “Yosef Yitzchok” written on it in black. I picked it up with both hands, kissed the mezuza for the last time, and went downstairs to the truck.

Zalman, the truck driver, smiled at me and helped me put the box inside the truck. As he made sure the box was secure on the wooden floor of the truck he said, “I picked this profession so I can help people all day long.” I smiled back and we went up to the house together in order to bring down the rest of the boxes.

The truth is that if not for what Zalman said, I would have tried to get out of that tiring job, but Zalman’s smile and warm words motivated me to help.

“You are a great kid,” said Zalman, when we finished bringing down the last box which was the heaviest of all. “You deserve a prize. You are invited to sit next to me during the trip to your new house.”

I jumped excitedly into the high seat next to the driver. Rochel went with my parents in our family car, and we set out. Throughout the trip I tried to picture our new house. Would it be a high building or a low one, big or small, with a private yard surrounded by fruit trees or an apartment in a big apartment building?

A sign with an arrow pointed right and Zalman turned right. In front of us was a narrow, pretty road. Tall trees towered on either side of the road and grass grew between them. Flowerbeds in beautiful colors were everywhere. “How beautiful!” I exclaimed.

“Definitely a special place,” said Zalman. “A good spot to set up a Chabad House.”

“You hear,” Zalman said to me as he looked at me in the rearview mirror. “In my line of work I get to set up many Chabad Houses. I help people get their place and home ready for the hisgalus of the Rebbe, transforming the place into a ‘miniature sanctuary.’”

I nodded as I tried to imagine the new Chabad House. I was going to become a young shliach in a new and distant place!

I looked to the right, toward the row of wide houses that were placed along the length of the street. “See – these nice houses look alike, ordinary houses where you can go in and sit down. But suddenly a family walks in and turns the house into something special!”

I thought over what Zalman said. What did he mean? Were we going to decorate our home in some special way? Was our furniture nicer than our neighbors?

Zalman saw my wondering look and explained, “You are going to turn your home into a ‘miniature sanctuary.’ You are planning on having guests, on having shiurim, davening, and filling it with holy books. Kosher meals will be cooked in the kitchen and in each room you will put a pushka and a Chitas.”

Zalman stopped next to a two-story building. A large yard was around it in which there were fruit trees and flowers. To my surprise, I saw that the other houses on the street were identical to my house, I mean, the house we were going to enter.

“You are so right!” I said as I smiled at Zalman. “In an instant, we are going to take an ordinary house, normal existence, and turn it into a place of holiness, a place of Jewish living.”

Zalman began taking down boxes and said, “This is exactly what the Rebbe is saying in the D’var Malchus, that Geula is about putting the ‘alef’ into ‘gola.’”

This time, I did not quite understand. “What do you mean?” I asked Zalman.

“The word ‘Geula’ is made up of the letters of ‘gola’ (exile), the terrible state we are in, but if we put an ‘alef’ into the word ‘gola,’ and the alef refers to ‘Alufo shel olam’ (Master of the world, Hashem), we get Geula.”

“Then it’s just like the houses! We are taking ordinary houses in which anything can be done, and putting the ‘alef’ into them, meaning that we use them for k’dusha. That’s Geula!”

My father, who had just gotten out of his car and heard me, smiled. He cast a thankful look at Zalman and said to me, “The time has come to do it. We will enter our new home now and focus on the things that are truly important.”

We walked toward the front door and then my father stopped and explained, “Just like you said, we are going to put the ‘alef’ into our new home. We will make it a Chabad House and prepare it for Geula.”

My father took out a mezuza from his pocket and a hammer and a nail out of his personal box, and knocked in the mezuza and said a bracha. We said amen and my mother took a sign out of her bag which said, “Beis Chabad Levy Family.” My father hung up the sign on the door.

“Now it’s your turn,” said my father. We knew exactly what to do. We put a Chitas and a pushka inside and then ran to find the neighbors’ children to make our first Hakhel in our new house.