A Ride to the Cemetery

You read about traffic accidents almost daily in Israel. They kill more Israelis each year than Arabs do. Today alone there were 97 traffic accidents. This past weekend 15 Israelis were killed on the road, 21 in the past week.



Two especially unique Jews, killed in the car above were, have left me grieving heavily, along with the rest of the nation of Israel.

Yocheved Chein, of blessed memory, died well before her time. She was 44, a devoted wife and mother of six. Well, maybe mother of eight, if I would count my wife and I. Yocheved was like a second mother to us.



This was one of the truly genuine women of our time. She was selfless, and righteous. She gave every last resource she could scrape to help others. It didn't matter if Yocheved knew you or not. If you needed something, and she heard, she was going to help. Convenience was not one of her considerations.

As the wife of a Chabad Shaliach, Yocheved's home was open 24-7. Their door was open all the time. Literally, even if they weren't home. And in Queens, that's not always advisable. I entered through their door on hundreds of occasions.

The Rabbi and Rebbitzin worked non-stop with the community of Georgian immigrants they devoted their life to. They taught them Judaism from scratch. The Georgians always knew that they were Jewish. The Chein's taught them how to be Jewish.

The Cheins were literally readying the world for Moshiach, one mitzvah at a time, and believe me, that is not an easy task.

I cannot tell you how many times the Chein family came to our assistance. Handing us a car, and giving me a second income from their community for two years--which I later found out sometimes came from their own pockets--are just a few of the memorable kindnesses they offered. We were regulars at their Shabbos table.



The Rabbi survived the crash with several broken ribs. Rabbi Chein is a Rav, mentor, and friend, in addition to a father-figure to me. How he escaped the car alive is a miracle that is overlooked amidst tragedy. The Rebbitzen and her mother passed away.



The Rebbitzen's mother, Rachel Tzedek Schneerson, of blessed memory, was a true matriarch figure. Her husband had passed away many years ago, and she raised the family. I'm not sure how many grandchildren she had, but it is in the dozens. Rachel was known to me, and the rest of the family as Bebby, or grandma in Georgian.

Bebby had a comforting smile. A glance in her eye told you that she knew something you didn't. I didn't get the chance to find out what it was.

Yocheved was a fireball. I have never seen a woman with so much energy. She was a perpetual optimist. Even when the cards didn't seem to line up aces, the Rebbitzin had no fear. She put all her trust in G-d, and didn't worry about the rest.

She had a loud voice, and was not afraid to let anyone hear her opinion. Yet, since she really was righteous, she never really offended anyone.

She cooked up a storm, Georgian-style. I am going to miss her spicy sauces, despite the fact that I am an Ashkenazi Jew who prefers that sweet European-style cooking.

Yocheved was a great wife and mother, and was without a doubt the glue that kept her fast-moving family together.

Though they were living in New York, sent there on Shlichut by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, they were Israeli at their core, and loved the Holy Land. The Rabbi and Rebbitzen came to Israel at least a few times a year to visit their family, including the Rebbitzen's mother Rachel, who lived in Kiryat Malachi.

On this trip, as they did every year, the Rebbitzen came to honor the passing of her father. On the yahretzeit (memorial day), this past Friday, the Rabbi, Rebbitzen, and her mother were on route to the cemetery to pay their respects.

They eventually made it to the gravesite, but not in the condition they had envisioned.

You can read about the accident, and see pictures from the site.

My wife and I, and two friends were supposed to meet the Cheins for breakfast in Jerusalem Friday morning. An hour before the rendez-vous we got a call from their daughters saying that for some reason breakfast was off. An hour later, we got the news.

I was at Yocheved's funeral Sunday night at Har HaZeitim (Mt. of Olives) cemetery. That is a spooky place at night. It is perhaps the oldest Jewish cemetery in the World, and it shows. Her grave stares straight across to the Temple Mount. It has been a while since I was at the funeral of a loved one. It is an uncomfortable feeling.

The Rabbi made it to the funeral despite the severe pain in his ribs. I know his physical pain is nothing compared to his emotional suffering. Their children flew in from NY to attend their mother's funeral. I can't imagine what that plane ride was like.

Funerals in Israel are not the same as in the states, particularly in Jerusalem.

I had never been to a funeral at night, and here in Israel, bodies are brought to the grave in just a sheet. No coffin. A member of the Chevra Kadisha (burial society) literally jumps into the grave, and lays the body down to rest.

And then it is over. Yocheved and her mother were returned to the earth and returned to their maker.

We are left to grieve in their wake. May they merit all the rewards of the righteous in the world to come, and may their memories be a blessing for the Jewish people.

May the Chein and Schneerson families be comforted among mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.