Estie’s Dream

She breathed a deep breath of relief. After a mad rush of dressing the kids, throwing together a make-shift breakfast, being a one-woman production line of sandwiches, packing school lunches and rushing her bevy of young-ones off to their respective schools, she finally sat down to her morning coffee and a few delicious minutes of self-composure and indulgence before attacking the long list of tasks that had to be done that morning.

As she savored her favorite vanilla-flavored freeze-dried coffee, she heard a familiar rustling at the front door. Looking at her watch, she marveled at the mailman’s continued punctuality. Once again, at exactly 8:45 AM, she heard the tin clang of her mailbox that informed her of the daily mail delivery. By the time she opened the front door, the mailman was two houses down the block. She reached for the stack of mail and her heart skipped a beat…

The return address of the legal envelope at the top of the stack was the Federal Court of New Jersey.

What on earth? Who has anything to do with them? Although the envelope was addressed to her husband, and she wasn’t accustomed to opening his mail, this was different. She felt her pulse in her neck and a dizziness in her head? What could they possibly want from Jason? He puts in his eight hours at his jewelry store in the mall then turns things over to his manager while he goes to the study hall for Mincha, Maariv and two hours of Gemara study with his learning partner. He then comes home in the early evening and devotes the remainder of the day to family. “My husband is so upright,” she thought. “What could they possibly want from him?”

She ripped open the envelope and gasped as her eyes raced down the first of the three-page summons. Without them even knowing, Jason had been under covert Federal scrutiny. He was now being formally charged with two-dozen counts of fraud, tax-evasion, smuggling and interstate transport and sale of stolen merchandise. If convicted, he could forget about seeing home for the next quarter of a century. Hot tears of trepidation trickled down her cheeks. She screamed, “No, Hashem, this can’t be! Don’t let this happen,” and then broke down in a heave of sobbing.

A million thoughts raced through her mind. Yes, Jason made a good living, but between $3500 monthly mortgage payment and paying nearly $10,000 in monthly tuition for seven children in Torah schools, they lived on a no-nonsense budget. Thanks to Hashem they lived comfortably, but where would they get the money for the top lawyers who were qualified to argue cases in federal court. And who says they’d be able to find a lawyer capable of proving Jason’s innocence? Things looked ever so bleak. In one moment, Estie’s rug of content and security was pulled from under her feet. She felt helpless and scared. Her world stood still.

Immobilized, Estie plopped down on the sofa. Her oldest daughter had left the latest issue of Mishpacha magazine there, which she was reading while eating her cornflakes that morning. The magazine was open to a full-color ad that said, “Rosh Hashanah is the Day of Judgment. Every Jew needs the very best legal representation possible in the Heavenly Court, for the charges against us are serious. How much would you spend on legal fees in a federal court? The Heavenly Court is much more serious…”

Estie blinked twice and rubbed her astonished eyes. The ad was speaking to her personally in an amazing stroke of hashgachah pratit, Divine providence. She read further: “You need the best lawyer you can get! Who can possibly get you a favorable verdict on Rosh Hashanah? Rebbe Nachman can! He promised in front of two kosher witnesses that he would rescue anyone who comes to his holy grave site in Uman for Rosh Hashanah from even the depths of purgatory…

Waking up in a cold sweat, Estie looked at her watch. It was 5:50 AM, ten minutes before the alarm would go off. She knew what our sages say in the Gemara that the truest dreams come to people at the crack of dawn, right before they rise in the morning. She quickly washed her hands and said, “Jason, wake up. I have to talk to you.”

Jason mumbled modeh ani and washed his hands. “What’s so urgent, sweetheart?”

“You’re going to Uman this Rosh Hashanah. I’m buying you a present with my wardrobe money. I want you to be by my side for the next 50 years at least, and not in a federal prison…”

“Estie, what in the world are you talking about?”

“Let’s not wait until stern judgments and decrees catch up with us. We need a connection to a true tzaddik. Don’t ask questions. Besides, you’ll be staying at a wonderful place called Uman Inn with a group of English speakers. Do this for me and the for the children.”

“You’ll manage alone with the kids on Rosh Hashanah?”

“I’ll manage a lot easier than I would with you behind bars.”

“Behind bars? Estie, are you serious?”

“Jason, don’t ask questions. This is the very best thing you can do for yourself and for us. You’re going!”

* * *

Each of us are on trial every day. Who knows what we may have done wrong? Most of the difficulties in our lives are simply manifestations of the stern judgments leveled against us. Who can say that he has done true and effective teshuva? Who can be complacent?

Rebbe Nachman said that we have no need to worry, for he walks ahead of us – he leads the way. All he asks is that we participate in the holy kibbutz, the Rosh Hashanah gathering in Uman. Not only will he pull us out of Gehennom, he won’t let us fall in there in the first place. May you all be signed and sealed in the Book of Life for a wonderful New Year!