PART I
I met the shliach and his wife in the departure terminal at the airport in Lud, shortly before they boarded their flight and headed back to their place of shlichus, in some city in the CIS. For many years, they and their family have been putting all their energy into preparing their city to greet Moshiach.
The loudspeaker in the terminal blared its announcements, but the conversation continued in a relaxed manner, and pretty soon became quite fascinating.
The shlucha, let’s call her Mrs. Nechama Osnat (she requested from me not to use her real name) began telling me an extraordinary story that happened to her many years ago, when she was just three years old.
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My name is Nechama Osnat. My parents lived in one of the big cities of the former Soviet Union. I was raised in an atmosphere of atheism. My parents, goodhearted Jews, knew next to nothing about Judaism. The name they gave me was for their cousins, Nellie and Joseph.
Joseph was born to my aunt when she was 47. My aunt and uncle were thrilled. However, that joy did not last long. The war began just a few years later, and at a certain point, the Germans began conquering large parts of Russia.
In those days, government propaganda worked overtime to instill the message that every citizen had to produce the maximum output for Mother Russia. So that children would not interfere with their parents’ work for the motherland, the government would take little children and put them in daycare from seven o’clock Monday morning until seven o’clock Friday evening, for five days straight each week. In other words, Mother Russia would be taking care of the children.
When the war broke out in Russia, the government sent the children by train deep into Russia, far from the battlefield. They were sent with counselors while the parents stayed behind.
When she heard about this, Nellie, the older sibling, ran to the daycare center to take Joseph, her younger brother. She began running with him but was too late and the Germans shot at them both and killed them, may Hashem avenge their blood.
The Russian names I was given were to memorialize them.
PART II
When I was only three years old, I had a formative experience that changed my life and has affected me till today, decades later. It began with an ordinary cold that just kept getting worse. My parents brought me to the hospital. The doctors examined me and in the middle of the exam, I saw myself as though I had left my body. I watched myself lying there with the doctors running around me in a panic. It was a clinical death and watching myself from above was like looking through a transparent tunnel. I understood, and my understanding at that moment was fully mature, not like that of a little child, that the doctors could not see me; it was one-way vision.
I saw my body, but I gazed upon it in a dispassionate way, as though I was watching someone else lying on the bed.
A soul has no age. From the aspect of deeds, I was a young soul without much experience, but I remember till today, that I did not see myself as a child, because a soul does not have an age, just a purpose.
I was suddenly drawn into a place that looked like a long pipe and next to me was an escort in the form of light. It was very different than what we are used to and it is hard for me to describe, because it was not the sort of light we have here in this world. I remember that I felt serene and a special love.
I can say now that when we are here in this world, it’s chaotic. Most things are meaningless. But up above, everything looks completely different. It’s all orderly and rational, there is a sort of pervasive inner calm, peace with great happiness, a powerful light. The closer you get to the source of the light, the more powerful and clear it is.
I realized that the light accompanying me on my way “over there,” is an angel. It was next to me but was outside. I came from here and it came from there. I remember that I had a very good feeling about the protecting angel.
Then I saw Nellie and Joseph, my cousins who were murdered in the war, coming toward me further down the pipe. Joseph came as a boy and Nellie came as someone older, both very smiley. They came toward me holding hands, but still, they were far.
I reached a certain point like a gate and was told that if I pass through the gate, I could not go back down below. It was knowledge that was in my awareness; it wasn’t said to me verbally. It’s something you know. I wanted to pass through the gate.
But I knew, without it being told to me explicitly, that it wasn’t my time to pass through, and I had many things to do in the world down below. But I did not want to go back down. Why? I said, they, meaning my parents, did not observe the days properly and their meat was no good.
I said it but did not know what I was saying. What “days” was I referring to? What food? Why wasn’t it good? I just explained that “they” did not behave as they should and therefore I did not want to go back down, to my parents’ home.
I stress, I was a three-year-old, born in Russia, with no knowledge of Torah and mitzvos. My neshama knew to say this even though I had no idea what it meant.
I sensed that “they” – those up above who spoke to me, who I did not see and I don’t know what they were – understood my concerns. A soul suffers greatly when it is in a family that does not keep mitzvos. It is like being in a prison cell under intolerable conditions. This was my claim. The non-kosher food that was eaten in my parents’ home looked black from up there. In general, anything opposite to Torah and holiness looked like a black stain from up there.
I saw everything from up there in terms of black and white. (When we say Moshiach will come and immediately see what every person is about, his vision is a spiritual one, that he will perceive things in the clearest way without needing in-depth research.)
Years later, my parents told me that I was a skinny child and despite the difficult situation, they made great efforts and obtained some meat so I could eat and develop properly, but I never wanted to eat a cooked meal. They did not understand why. Later, when we became baalei teshuva, I realized that my soul recoiled from eating it.
But at the time of my out-of-body experience, I could not explain it. I did not have the words; I just said that their meat is no good.
The same for Shabbos. I had no idea what Shabbos is, but my soul knew that going home meant not observing Shabbos and I did not want that. So I said, “they do not observe the days properly.”
At that point, I felt they were telling me: You need to return down below. You will marry at age 20 and will have many things to do there.
I told them: But how will I know?
They said: You were here and you will remember what happened here. This will give you the strength to do what you need to do.
I remember accepting the decision to return below, though not wanting to. They told me that someone who comes before their time is not desirable and the Will cannot be altered. The feeling was clear: Creator and creation, Master and servant. I could not defy the Supreme Will although I seemingly had a choice.
From the point that they distanced me from there and sent me back, I saw nothing else. I returned to my body and burst into tears. My crying is what the doctors were waiting for. There was tremendous joy – my parents told me when I got older.
Years later, I spoke with people who underwent clinical death, had the same experiences and came back. They all described the return as like “from a high roof to a deep pit.”
I’d like to tell you something else that I saw. In the period before my clinical death, there were some toys in my house with non-kosher animals pictures on them. I remember that up above I saw these toys and they looked to me like threatening black things. Afterward, I did not want to touch them.
It was only years later, when I was already a Lubavitcher, and the Rebbe announced (Cheshvan 5744) to refrain from giving children toys or pictures of impure animals, that I realized what was bad about those toys I had and why I saw them as black.
PART III
I was three and forgot what happened, but as they told me “there,” you will receive strength from what you remember of what you saw and heard “here.”
A year later, we got permission to emigrate and we moved to Eretz Yisroel in the 70’s. We lived in the immigrant hostel in Kfar Chabad. As a four-year-old, I suddenly remembered everything I experienced and since then, I can remember it very well. I know that a child of that age is not likely to remember things, certainly not with all the details, and I attribute my memory to the strength that I was given up above, that the experience would accompany me and give me the ability to overcome all obstacles.
Since then, there are numerous things that I see from a different perspective than people who did not undergo a similar experience.
Over the years, my parents became involved with Chabad and the entire family became Lubavitch. We children were sent to Chabad schools. As I was told, I married at age 20 and later went on shlichus to the place where we are now operating.
PART IV
I have a relative with whom I have interesting and unusual conversations. A while ago, I was visiting Eretz Yisroel with a delegation from our city. We were their guides.
During the encounter, she told me I need to convey the important messages I have “because people listen to you.” She told me that soon I would be able to publicize these things.
I told her that I don’t like publicity and I keep my distance from it. The only publicity I do is for our shlichus, as necessary, and no more.
“No,” she said. “Soon, journalists will come to ask about your messages and you will tell them.”
A short while later, a group of distinguished people came to our home from the US, including journalists, who insisted on doing an article about me. I was in shock. I remembered what she said and, atypically for me, I agreed. They wrote a very long article that was published in the US and conveyed a message about Judaism to many people.
I really am so simple and small, that it confounds me.