Monday, Sept. 30, 1974, Erev Sukkos, 5735: 4:40 A.M., Long Beach, California (7:40 A.M. New York time): Rinnnng, Rinnnng… Ringggggg. Could I have set the alarm clock for this pre-dawn hour? Rinnnnng. That’s not the alarm clock, that’s the phone! Who could be calling at this hour? It must be a mistake! I warily reach over and pick up my phone.
“Good morning; it’s me, Gila,” the voice on the phone says. “My father just died.”
As if a bucket of ice water had been dashed in my face, my mind is suddenly alert. It all comes back to me in a flash. I remember that Gila Cyrulnik’s father was very ill for the last few weeks and had gotten worse over the last few days. Her husband Reuven is in New York, and she is home alone with her four small children in Long Beach, California (where we live on Shlichus with our own bunch of small children). And now this.
“I just received the call from my brother at the hospital. I need your help,” Gila is continuing. “Since Reuven is in New York, would you take me to the funeral?”
It’s Erev Sukkos and my sukkah is not up yet, and there’s so much to do today. “Sure, no problem,” I hear myself saying.
I ask her, “Who is with your children? Is anyone besides you making the funeral arrangements?”
She answers me. I sense that she is overwhelmed and on the verge of tears. I ask her, “What can I do to help you?”
In a soft voice, almost a whisper, Gila says, “Just get Reuven back home before Yom Tov.” “Sure, no problem,” I hear myself saying again.
Reuven, an M.D., had gone to New York to take his Boards in neurology (which, upon passing, would make him a Diplomate of the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology, quite a prestigious achievement). The Cyrulnik’s plans were for Reuven to spend the first days of Sukkos with his brother in Kew Gardens, Queens, and for Gila to go to New York and spend chol hamoed together with Reuven at the Pineview, a kosher hotel in the Catskills. Then they would go to Crown Heights for Simchas Torah and spend it with the Rebbe. Now, those plans were not going to happen.
Reuven, who studied medicine at the Albert Einstein School of Medicine of Yeshiva University, and Gila, had been Modern Orthodox. After coming into close contact with the Shluchim a few years earlier, they became full-fledged Lubavitchers.
“Just one more thing, please,” Gila is saying. “You mustn’t tell Reuven that my father died. He just spent the whole summer studying very hard for this test. If he hears about it, he won’t be able to concentrate, and he may fail the test. If that happens, he will have to spend all winter preparing for it again.”
The Talmudic metaphor for doing the impossible, Shvor chovis u’shmor ess yaynah (Bava Basrah 16a), break the barrel but preserve its wine, flashed through my mind.
“Call me when you have an exact time for the funeral,” I say, and hang up.
No point going back to sleep with this project placed on my lap. First of all, I must track Reuven down and talk to him. It’s almost eight o’clock in the morning in New York, which is a good time to call.
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4:50 A.M. (7:50 A.M. NY time) I find the hotel where Reuven is staying and I reach him. He says, “I’m just getting ready to leave to my day of exams. Had you called a minute later you would have missed me. How did you know where I am? Why are you calling? Is everything OK?”
“Sure, sure, everything’s fine here, boruch Hashem, it’s just that your father-in-law is very sick, and last night he took a turn for the worse. I think you should come home for Yom Tov,” I say.
Reuven doesn’t understand. “I had told you that I wrote to the Rebbe asking if I should go to New York to take the Boards since Chanie, my four-year-old, is sick, and my father-in-law is very sick. The Rebbe answered, first, ‘We should hear b’suros tovos’ [good tidings] and then —Rabbi Klein called me just yesterday morning— ‘Yes, come to New York.’ I’m sure it will be OK,” Reuven is saying.
“Well, the Rebbe didn’t exactly say that it will definitely be as you want,” I respond. “The Rebbe said, azkir al hatzion, which means that he will daven for him at the Ohel…. and that we should, hopefully, hear b’suros tovos’.” I find myself in this convoluted conversation trying to convince one of my baalei-batim, who is optimistic and full of bitachon in the Rebbe’s brochos, that things are not necessarily going to be OK in spite of the Rebbe’s answer, while unbeknownst to him, his father-in-law’s body is at this very moment on its way to the chevrah kaddisha for a taharah.
“Furthermore, Gila doesn’t think it would be a good idea for her to go to New York after Yom Tov under these circumstances. It would be better if you just come home today,” I conclude with finality.
“OK, I’ll think about it, but it’s too late to do anything about it today. My last test is to conduct a pediatric neurological intake exam, and it’s scheduled for 2:00 P.M., ending at around 3:00 P.M. That’s too late to get to the airport in time to get a flight to California before Yom Tov. I already tried unsuccessfully to get this scheduled earlier since I have to get from Columbia University Hospital in Manhattan’s upper West Side to the nearby hotel where I’m staying to pick up my belongings, and then go to my brother’s home in Queens, during rush hour traffic. So let’s talk again after Yom Tov and we’ll see how my father-in-law is feeling then. Anyway, I have to run now or I’ll be late for my first test. Good-bye,” Reuven says.
“Good-bye and good luck on your tests,” I answer, while thinking, “He’s right. This can’t be done.” The best laid plans of mice and men …
By now, a little after 5:00 A.M., I’m wide awake and thinking of the full day ahead of me. I get dressed and begin shifting my schedule around to allow for the two or three hours the funeral will take. The shul’s sukkah still needs s’chach and my own sukkah still needs to be put up. These two things are top priority, besides the million other Erev Yom Tov things that have to happen.
5:45 A.M. Gila is on the phone again. “I’m sorry, but I hoped you didn’t go back to sleep. My brother says that it may not be possible to arrange the funeral today in such a short time. The California cemeteries are not as accommodating as those in New York City, which has so many Jews.”
“You must insist,” I advise. “Do you want me to talk to him? If it’s not today, it won’t be until Thursday, the fourth day, that’s not kovod hames [respect for the deceased]. Also, you won’t begin ‘sitting shivah’ until after Simchas Torah, but if it’s today you will start and fulfill all of shivah today. If you insist that it must happen today, it will.
“By the way, I spoke to Reuven just now. I didn’t tell him about the funeral, but it seems impossible for him to get home before Yom Tov. There are simply not enough hours left to the day after his tests are over.”
Gila starts to cry. “I can’t do this on my own…the funeral, four small kids at home, my husband 3,000 miles away…. Where there’s a will…. Hashem will show the way. Please, don’t give up yet.”
I rethink the times. licht benching is 6:21 P.M. today. Flying time from NY to California is a little over six hours, but only three hours or so on the clock since California is three hours earlier. So, if one gets a 2:00 P.M. flight from New York, one should get to California a little after 5:00 P.M. Is there a 2:00 P.M. flight? But Reuven’s last test ends at 3:00 P.M.…. We’re back to the same conundrum.
By now I am rushing to shul to attend our struggling shacharis minyan.
8:00 A.M. I’m home again. I’ve davened, cleared my calendar somewhat by delegating chores to others, and I’ve gone to the store to buy some items vital for Yom Tov (such as Pampers for our two babies at home). Now I can focus on the task at hand. Yes, I know “the impossible just takes a little bit longer…” but where does one begin?
I check the flights coming from New York to California today. I call the three major carriers in our market and find out that there are 1:00 P.M. flights and 3:00 P.M. flights, but no 2:00 P.M. flights. A 3:00 P.M. flight will arrive in California at 6:09 P.M.; 12 minutes before licht benching time (if the flight is not delayed). This is not enough time to get to Long Beach, which is only 18 miles from the airport, even if there’s no traffic. During the afternoon rush hour traffic, it could take an hour and a half. Well, one can always walk… but 18 miles? Alone? Some of the areas are not safe, and Sukkos has no lail shimurim protection like Pesach. And what if the plane is delayed? The halachah is that if you arrive on a plane on Shabbos or Yom Tov you have to stay on the plane, and certainly you can’t leave the airport, until Yom Tov is over. Well, at least I learned that there is a flight available that Reuven could take if the other obstacles can be overcome.
I check Reuven’s test schedule. I am placing a call to Columbia University to find the department in charge of the neurology Boards. I don’t expect to get to the right department on my first try, and I’m right. It takes five calls, but finally I’m speaking to the registrar in charge of scheduling. I tell her my story. “Well,” she says, “this is highly unusual. We never make changes in the Boards test schedules since it is an enormous coordination feat. Please hold; let me see what I can do.” While on hold I say a kapitel Tehillim. She returns. “It’s been approved to move up his last test to 1:00 P.M., would that help?” she’s asking. “Yes,” I say softly, trying to contain my excitement, and then, pressing further, I say, “What about the noon slot? Is it possible?” “No,” comes the instant response, “there is no noon slot. That is the lunch hour, which is sacrosanct. Be happy with the 1:00 P.M. slot. I cannot remember the last time there were changes to a Board’s test time slot. They are set weeks in advance.”
9:00 A.M. (Noon in NY) I call Gila and confer with her. I tell her what I’ve learned so far and present the uncertainty and risks involved. “Should we go for it?” I ask. “It’s your call.” “Let’s go for it. It will work out… somehow…” she concludes feebly.
I call United Airlines and ask if there is a coach seat available on the 3:00 P.M. flight to Los Angeles. There is! I ask to move Reuven’s plane reservation from Issru Chag to today at 3:00 P.M., due to a death in the family. They comply and waive all the change fees, saying something about bereavement fare. I don’t quite understand what that means, but I don’t ask any questions. I’m satisfied that the seat was available and that they made the change. I’m surprised and pleased that things are working out. How come they believe me? I don’t know, but I don’t complain.
I call the hotel (I have the number scribbled on a paper from earlier this morning) and say that I’m calling regarding Dr. Cyrulnik who is a guest at the hotel. He has been called away on an emergency. Would they please send the concierge to pack up his personal belongings and ship them to his home address, billing any costs to his credit card? “Consider it done,” comes the reply. I’m surprised; why do they believe me? I don’t know, but I don’t complain, I’m just amazed and grateful at how things are falling into place.
Now to find Reuven and let him know. After another round of calls I locate him. I tell him, “Your father-in-law is much worse and the doctors don’t think he will make it another day; you must come home!” “OK,” he says, resignedly, and then adds with some excitement, “Hey, I was just informed that I was rescheduled to 1:00 P.M.” “I know,” I say. “You do?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, but continues, “But I don’t know when there’s a flight to Los Angeles, and whether I can I get a seat on it, and all my stuff is in the hotel, and I have to go in to the exam room shortly…” he trails off in frustration.
“It’s all under control,” I assure him. “You have a seat on United’s flight #21 which leaves at 3:00 P.M. Your stuff at the hotel is being shipped to your home, so don’t worry about it. Just take a taxi from Columbia to JFK as soon as possible. I hope an hour will be enough time to catch the flight. Call me if you don’t make it onto the plane. If I don’t hear from you, I will assume you made it. May you pass your tests with flying colors! Good-bye.”
10:00 A.M. Gila is calling. “OK. The funeral will be at 3:00 P.M., uncomfortably close to Yom Tov. It was 3:00 P.M. or Thursday, so we said yes.” “You did well,” I say. “Everything will have to be abbreviated and rushed. I’ll pick you up at 2:30 sharp.”
The question of how Reuven is to get home from the airport will have to wait a while. But we have time. If everything falls into place, he won’t be arriving for more than eight hours from now, and it is Erev Sukkos with so many things yet to do. And s’chach still has to be gotten for the shul’s sukkah, and my sukkah still has to be put up. “Oh, why did I wait until the last minute?” I berate myself.
1:00 P.M. (4:00 P.M. NY time) Reuven hasn’t called. Shall I believe —wonder of wonders— that he’s actually on the plane on the way to California? If so, I can start thinking about Reuven’s trip home from the airport! I call United Airlines and ask for flight #21’s estimated time of arrival and am told that it will be at 6:04 P.M., five minutes early, and 17 minutes before licht bentching. “It’s only five minutes but five minutes early is much better than five minutes late,” I mutter to myself. He might get a taxi to take him the mile or so from the airport along Century Blvd. to the freeway, but then what? Walk 18 miles, alone? No, that wouldn’t work. My colleague, Reb Moishe Yosef Engel, is volunteering: “I’ll find a walking route; I’ll drive to the airport, meet him and walk back with him.” “Really? OK; agreed!” As for the safety along the route, let’s try to get them a police escort. Is it possible? Whom do I know with influence in those circles? Perhaps M.W., director of the City’s Queen Mary Dep’t. (a unique position in Long Beach’s city government, equal in rank to the fire chief and police chief) could help? Two calls, from me to M.W. and from him to the police chief, might just do the trick. I call M.W. He says he’ll do what he can and let me know in a while.
2:00 P.M. (5:00 P.M. NY time) I still haven’t heard from Reuven, so I’m sure he’s on the flight. I’m putting the final touches on my sukkah and have to go to Shul and make sure the s’chach is going up on the shul’s sukkah. Everything that can be done is now done.
2:15 P.M. M.W. calls back. He can’t get the police chief to provide a police escort. Reb Moishe Yosef calls to say that he will go to Reuven’s home to check on his sukkah. His sukkah is the pre-fabricated canvas kind, still standing from last sukkos, with the bamboo s’chach still on it. He wasn’t planning to use it this Sukkos so it is still under the overhang next to his garage, dusty and full of spider-webs. Also, al pi halachah, the s’chach must be lifted and reset specifically for this sukkos. “I will take care of these things,” Reb Moishe Yosef promises.
2:30 P.M. I pick up Gila and accompany her to her father’s funeral, which takes place at 3:00 P.M. Due to the time, mid-afternoon on an Erev Yom Tov, there were no sermons or eulogies. Only the essential Psalms and Kaddish were said.
4:30 P.M. Reb Moishe Yosef is leaving for the airport. He’s leaving early because there’s heavy traffic both ways, and he doesn’t want to risk missing Reuven.
4:45 P.M. I’m back home from the funeral, which was, indeed, as dignified as the harried circumstances allowed. Gila is back in her home, and my wife Rochel Leah is with her. My wife is the only one of the young Shluchos who has sat shivah for a parent, so she is acquainted with the minhagim of the seudas havra’ah, the meal eaten by the mourner upon return from the funeral, when one starts sitting shivah. The meal, traditionally brought over by friends, consists of round breads —rolls in this case— and hard-boiled eggs. My wife had come to the house earlier, along with fellow Shluchos Mrs. Nechama Engel and Mrs. Chana Piekarski to await Gila’s arrival and to sit with her for a while. While there, they quickly warmed up some food, straightened up the house, washed the dishes, etc., and got the house ready for Yom Tov.
4:50 P.M. I have an idea. There are many charter plane companies on Lakewood Blvd. abutting Daugherty Field, Long Beach’s airport. I wonder if one can charter a small plane to provide taxi service from Los Angeles to Long Beach, and if it would be affordable?
I make a few calls and find out that the cost of chartering one of those four passenger planes is $30 per half hour. The flight from Long Beach to Los Angeles airport and back should not take more than an hour, including taxiing and waiting time. However, since the small plane cannot enter the main Los Angeles airport because of danger to it from jet exhaust turbulence, it can only get as close as the Imperial terminal, which is two miles away from the main airport. It would be up to us to get the arriving passenger from the jet to his plane. “No problem,” I hear myself saying. “Can I pay with a credit card?”
“Big talker,” I say to myself. “How does one get Dr. Cyrulnik and Reb Moishe Yosef — can’t forget about him since he’s on the way already— to the chartered plane with the precious little time from landing at the Los Angeles airport to Yom Tov?”
I call United Airlines at Los Angeles airport. I work my way up the hierarchy until I am speaking to the chief supervisor. “Listen,” I say, “I have a very serious problem, and I need your help. On your flight #21 there’s a neurologist by the name of Dr. Cyrulnik. This is an emergency! (I don’t specify whether it’s a medical emergency or a Yom Tov emergency; I let him draw his own conclusions.) We must get him to Long Beach as soon as possible. Every minute counts! We have a chartered plane waiting for him at the Imperial terminal, but we need to get him to it as fast as humanly possible. Can you help me?”
“I believe so,” comes the hoped-for reply.
I continue, “And then there’s the Rabbi who is in the passenger terminal waiting for the doctor. He, too, must be alerted and gotten to that chartered plane…”
“Is that in case he is needed to administer the last rites?” the supervisor is questioning.
“No, and wrong religion, sorry,” I say. “But please, would you get the Rabbi, too?”
“We’ll radio ahead to the pilot to alert Dr. Cyrulnik to move to a seat near the exit door and be ready to bolt as soon as the plane lands. We’ll page the Rabbi in the passenger terminal to go downstairs to wait in an area that we will designate. We will have a car waiting on the tarmac to rush the doctor and the rabbi to the plane at the Imperial terminal. Will that do? How else may we be of service to you?”
“Great!” I almost shout with joy, “And thank you very much, and the family with the emergency thanks you, too!”
5:30 P.M. I am drained… is this really going to happen? “Az der eibershter viel, shist a bezim eich’et,” (if the One-Above wants it, even a broom can shoot) goes through my mind! Now, how are they going to get from the Long Beach Airport to Dr. Cyrulnik’s home? It’s only four miles, but still… I guess I’m the one.
6:00 P.M. I’m on my way to Dougherty Field. It’s an eight-minute drive. I arrive and park my car close to the opening in the chain-link fence that leads to the runway for the charter plane.
6:15 P.M. I raise my eyes to the heavens to see if I can see the incoming commuter plane. All I see are clouds and a setting sun. Licht bentching is in six minutes, shkiah in 24.
6:21 P.M. It’s licht bentching; no plane in sight.
6:26 P.M. It’s five minutes after licht bentching; no plane in sight. G-d help us.
6:27 P.M. It’s six minutes after licht bentching; is that a bird or a plane…?
6:28 P.M. It’s seven minutes after licht bentching; it’s definitely a plane, it is the plane; I can even see Dr. Cyrulnik and Reb Moishe Yosef through the plane’s windows!
6:29 P.M. It’s eight minutes after licht bentching; 10 minutes to shkiah. The plane door is opening. They see me and they are sprinting across the tarmac towards me. I open the car doors for them. Now, every second counts.
6:30 P.M. I’m driving a car, not a plane. How quickly can I drive the four miles?
6:35 P.M. No lights, no police, no tickets! We pull up into Dr. Cyrulnik’s garage and park. shkiah is in four minutes. Dr. Cyrulnik walks into his home to his waiting wife, and we hurry across the street to shul.
