Ness Ziona, 1956. When I was six years old, I built a sukkah. Not something big and fancy. A small gazebo attached to the kitchen door on the backyard side. My mother helped lay the thatch from lattices she pruned from the citrus trees in our yard and hung wool blankets that served as walls for the sukkah. My sisters decorated the sukkah.

On Sukkot holiday evening, we sat crowded around a small wooden table that my uncle Lisko had built, and ate the holiday meal. In those days, “pre-war” winds began to blow.  “Fedayeen” terrorists attacked throughout Israel and even killed workers, residents of our town, Ness Ziona who worked in the orchards of the moshav Beit Hanan (August 29, 1955). Gamal Abdul Nasser (President of Egypt) nationalized the Suez Canal, and changes took place in the Arab world, which began to join forces with a hostile objective against Israel. My parents did not let this breeze to cross our doorstep. We celebrated the holiday of Sukkot in an atmosphere of national renewal and hope for good years in the future.

That same evening, I began to feel weak and tired. My wrists and legs contracted and locked. At the time, I thought it was because of the effort in digging the pits for the piles that were used for the columns of the sukkah and the construction of the building in general.

In front of our house, on the edge of the road, stood a street lamp that cast rays of light around it. Some managed to sneak through the branches of the loquat tree that moved softly in the autumn wind, and from there they slipped through the slits in the shutters in my window. On the wall opposite my bed, they drew stripes of light that flickered tirelessly without a rhythm.

In the middle of the night, in my dim room, I saw in front of me three figures that came to me out of nowhere. I lay in bed, my body cramped like a wrinkle and above me, like an awning, the three circled in a small whisper.

One looked very old, the folds of his complexion, like the waves of the sea. Chickenpox scars filled his face and his lips disappeared at the bottom of his vulture nose. He seemed to be the oldest and leader among the three.

The other looked younger and fresher, wore light-colored, almost white clothes, and the look on his face expressed joy. A garlic knob in his hand.

The third looked gloomy and bitter and wore dark clothes, like darkness in the depths of the sea. With a sash on his waist, he carried a sword with a hilt with gemstones set in it.

The three examined me with great interest. They spoke in a quiet voice that did not penetrate my ears, but from the tone of their voice it was evident that it was difficult for them to decide which tag to tag me. 

I was a young and innocent boy. My body was small for my age. Skinny, blond with green eyes who didn’t fit into a Jewish section. There were marks on my body indicating that I didn’t fit the Gentile section either. 

I was asked my opinion, and I didn’t really understand the question, and in my soft voice I invited them to stay as an Oshpizin (special gusts) in the sukkah I had just built.

Again there was a discussion between them, but it seems that in the end they decided not to decide. They asked for my forgiveness and with a slight wheeze they left the room and disappeared.

My mother heard voices from my bedroom and called the doctor early in the morning. This determined that I had Rheumatic fever and my fever was high. My parents and the doctor assumed that the sounds were from dreams and hallucinations that came from my high body temperature. But only I knew the truth.

I knew that I just had visit from heaven. The Holy One, accompanied by two angels, came to my room to take me into his embrace. At the end of the visit, last night in the middle of the night, they gave it up.

Apparently, my humble sukkah and my young and innocent appearance made him decide to give me another chance for a few more years.  To be a mitzvah messenger and to do good deeds in the world He created.

Ridgewood, New Jersey 2019. At the age of sixty-nine, I fell ill and was admitted to the Oncology department of the hospital. A light snow fell outside and softly knocked on the glass of the window could be heard in the room. I laid on my back staring at the ceiling, in a room that was cold and dim. Faint lights flickered from the monitors, adding a depth to the somber atmosphere in the room. I, who had only been informed that morning that I had a serious illness, turned around in bed from side to side and couldn’t fall asleep. Cold sweat covered my body and wet the bed linen,  I felt like I was drowning. 

In the middle of the night, I heard a slight murmur and immediately knew that I had received another visit from the same three.

The old man looked older this time. The young man looked younger and the garlic in his hand shrank and wilted. Dressed in black, he looked grimmer and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword. 

Me too, I was no longer blond and my body was no longer skinny.

Stranded in a cloud of painkillers, I immediately recognized the three and asked simply:

Well, what’s the verdict this time?

They looked at me in wonder. The old man gently whispered to me that my time had passed and they had come to pick me up. They just have to decide which of the two escorts will accompany me to the heaven gate that he is in charge. To heaven or hell.

I realized that my fate had already been sealed. 

When the discussion went on, I felt that there was actually no agreement between the sides, and maybe a small crack of hope opened up for me. Maybe there is some crack here through which I will survive one more spring and one more hug from my wife, children and grandchildren.

I looked at the old man and said:

Listen friend, after all, we have already met before. You are the Riboyne shell Oylam (Creator of the world), If you wish me to stay? I Will Stay and if you wish me to leave? I Will leave. It is your decision to make. Just before you decide, please hear what I have to say. 

Since last time we met, years ago, I have made sure to do at least one mitzvah a day. 

 I may not have visited the synagogue but I have built at least one synagogue that will have a place for you to lay your head as you pass through the neighborhood. 

It is true that tefillin I did not put, but I was always looking for the poor and widows to help them cope with their fate. 

Despite the temptations you sent me, I did not cheat or steal and even checked my origin and discovered that I was indeed Jewish. 

Between us, it seems to me that everything I’ve done is more important than three prayers a day. A sail on my boat with family and friends on Shabbat is also more important to you, the understanding adult, than sitting for three hours in a synagogue just to eat herring at Kiddush after prayer. The old man nodded and I realized I had made a small breakthrough.

I summoned up the courage to continue.

I have a few more good deeds to do in the world you created, to correct some more wrongs that you may have planned to happen, or that happened because of some mistake in your algorithm. After all, I am your faithful servant and on a constant mission to help.

The three looked into each other’s eyes, shook their heads and disappeared as they came.

I felt relieved and a smile crossed my lips. I knew that this time, at the end of the difficult treatment trail that was already ahead of me, a full recovery was waiting for me. An hour later, the public address system sounded:

Code Blue, Code Blue, Room 207 

The next day, on my morning stroll, I noticed that the bed in room 207 was empty. 

Special thanks to Colleen Dritschel for helping me with the translation.