If you visit Har Hamenuchos on Chof Daled, the 24th of Teves, you might notice a big group of Yidden gathered around a specific kever. But whose kever are they visiting? And why are they davening there?
Our story begins far away, in the Arab country of Kurdistan, where a woman named Miriam Mizrachi bas Mama, lived with her husband.
One day, her husband suddenly passed away, leaving her all alone. They had no children, and now, she had no husband.
With tears in her eyes, Miriam gathered some food and a few of her things and set out for Eretz Yisrael, where she hoped to live for the rest of her life.
She walked on foot, through sandy deserts, under the blazing hot sun, for many weeks, until she finally arrived in Yerushalayim.
Miriam was tired, hungry, and covered in sand. But where would she sleep?
Too proud to ask for tzedakah, Miriam began work as a washerwoman, cleaning houses and laundry for families who lived in Meah She’arim. She made just enough money pay for her food and her little, tiny house.
The sun rose over the small stone homes in Yerushalayim, shining a soft, warm light through the window. Miriam sat up and stretched. Today is going to be a good day.
She reached for a pail of water nearby to wash negel vasser, listening to the cool water splashing into the small bucket.
Miriam dried the last few drops off her hands and smiled. It was her favorite day of the week – the day she got to clean the home of the great Tzaddik, Reb Shlomke of Zevhil.
There were many stories about Reb Shlomke making great miracles happen. Miriam knew it was a big zechus to work in his home.
She lifted her eyes to Shamayim and thought, Hashem, I will start the day by davening to You the only way I know how.
“Shalom, Shechinah,” she said simply.
“Shalom Avraham Avinu, Shalom Moshe Rabbeinu…”
Miriam said “Shalom” to all the tzaddikim she knew about, trying to connect with each of them, even though they weren’t around anymore.
You see, she’d never gone to school when she was younger. She didn’t know how to read the Alef Beis, or even how to make a bracha. These simple words to Hashem were the best she could do – and she knew Hashem was listening.
After her short tefillah, Miriam cut a piece of bread and lifted her eyes up to Shamayim once more.
“Thank you Hashem,” she whispered, before biting into the bread. She then rushed out the door and through the narrow streets of the old city, until she reached Reb Shlomke’s home.
Miriam greeted everyone with a big smile. “Good morning,” she said, before getting to work. Leaving a large pot of water to boil, she gathered all the dirty clothes and set them aside in a big pile.
As the water boiled, she cleaned the house and swept the floors. Soon, the house was sparkling. She then took the clothes one by one, soaking them in the boiling water and rubbing them against a hard wooden board to get the stains out.
I’m so lucky to help out in the home of such a great tzaddik, she thought with a smile. I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.
Soon, all the stains were gone. Miriam poured out the dirty, brown water and filled the bucket with clean water to rinse off the clothes.
Finally, it was time for everything to dry. She squeezed out all the water and then hung the clothes around the courtyard to dry under the nice, warm Yerushlayim sun.
When she was done, Miriam’s hands were tired and her bones hurt from all the bending and rubbing and scrubbing. She said goodbye and walked back through the tiny streets of Meah She’arim, until she arrived back home.
It was dark and empty, as usual. Miriam sat down and sighed – she was tired. If only I had a child, – she thought. How much happier my life would be. After whispering a short tefilla to Hashem, one that came straight from her heart, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Years passed. Week after week, Miriam dropped by the home of Reb Shlomke of Zevhil to clean and wash his laundry. But even though she greeted everyone with a smile, every day, she felt lonelier and lonelier. She really wished she had a child.
As she swished the clothes around the bucket with a big wooden stick, she couldn’t help but think: If I don’t have a child, who will remember me when I pass away?
One day, the pain became too much. After hanging all the clothing out to dry, she went back inside the house and walked, nervously, to the room where Reb Shlomke was learning.
The Tzaddik’s holy face made her step back in awe. A bright light shone around Reb Shlomke as he bent over his sefer, thinking about the Torah’s deepest secrets. For a few moments, Miriam just stood by quietly, until she finally said. “Rebbe, may I have a bracha for a child?”
For a second, it seemed like the Tzaddik hadn’t heard her. Miriam held her breath, wondering what to do.
Suddenly, Reb Shlomke looked up from his sefer and shook his head from side to side. “I can’t help you,” he said, sadly.
