I grew up as a middle-class American, went to college, dated, and had fun. I happened to be Jewish, but it didn't play a big role in my life.

My mother grew up in Chicago in an observant home. When I was little, grandfather would hold me on his lap and tell me stories of his childhood that seemed like fairy tales to me. Although grandfather's stories were about struggle and sacrifice, when he spoke of his life in the old world it seemed filled with magic and beauty.

When he was six years old, his parents left Europe for America to work, leaving him behind in the care of friends in their little village.

My great-grandparents worked hard, and were able to bring grandfather over by the time he was seventeen years old. He didn't recognize his mother when he met her in America.

But his parents’ foresight saved the family's lives. Not one person was left when the Nazis rolled into their village. The pictures of my grandfather's village, Eisheshuk, now cover the tower of the Washington, D.C Holocaust Museum; the story of a world that was and is no more.

I loved my grandfather. But he had passed away years before, and my connection to my Jewish roots was eroding. I was a hip college student, disinterested in tradition or religion.

Then, out of the blue, my fifteen-year-old brother decided to become observant. My reaction was… huh??? That's for grandparents, not for you! Judaism is beautiful, --in its place, in the past.

But my brother introduced me to the mystical world of Kabbalah and Chassidut. I found it fascinating, I sensed a truth. I began--tentatively--to eat kosher and observe the Sabbath. But it didn't feel right. The problem wasn't with the observance itself. It was me. I felt out of place, caught between two worlds without a solid foot in either.

Hardly any of my friends were Jewish. I wasn't even sure that I believed in G-d--and I was sure that if there was a G-d He wouldn't particularly care about me.

So when the opportunity came up to drive to the country that Friday night with friends I was tempted to go. But at the last minute, I decided to give Shabbat one last try.

There I sat, that Saturday night, feeling little in common with these odd people--but still curious to get a final glimpse into their mystical world.

The Rebbe's Disciple
The white-bearded speaker was a disciple of a Rebbe--a great Chassidic Master said to be a holy spiritual man with deep insight into a person's soul.

His successor, in Brooklyn, was the spiritual leader of the Chabad Chassidic movement, said to have even greater spiritual stature than his predecessor.

The visiting rabbi from Chicago was a very talented speaker. The small community in Minnesota had tried to book him for the last ten years, but it never worked out. But he was there that night.

There Are No Accidents
“It's no accident that we're here together this particular night,” began the rabbi in a deep, sonorous voice. “The Rebbe often quoted the Baal Shem Tov, the first chassidic master, that everything a person sees, he's meant to see, and everything he hears, he's meant to hear. It is by Divine Providence to give direction and insight in a person’s mission.

“The fact that I'm here tonight with you is surely significant,” the Rabbi repeated, and told stories about the Rebbe’s greatness, genius, holiness and kindness.

One story caught my attention.

“After the Holocaust,” he told, “we collected money to help the refugees. A man named Samuel Broida who owned a Chicago kosher meat packing company was the president of our fund.

“We managed to raise $180,000. Mr. Broida was delegated to take the money to Europe to help a group of Russian refugees near Paris. When he returned home, he shared with us his impressions.

“'When I was in Paris,' said Mr. Broida, 'I met a little boy, and asked him what I could do for him. I thought the little boy would ask for shoes, clothes, food, candy, a suit, a hat… but asked instead, “I want to be able go to America and see the Lubavitcher Rebbe.”

“'I myself,' continued Mr. Broida, 'am not a follower of the Rebbe. I've heard stories of the Rebbe’s blessings, but I didn't really believe that the Rebbe is more real than hunger, devastation or poverty. Yet this poor child wants nothing in the world but to catch a glimpse of the Rebbe?'

“A Rebbe that leaves such an impression must truly be head and shoulders above the rest of us...'”

The Rebbe's Promise
“After this,” the rabbi said, “Mr. Broida asked me to take him to New York to meet the Rebbe. This was 1947, the Rebbe was frail, but I managed to get Mr. Broida an appointment. He told me afterwards that it was a most profound and incredible experience.

“But then,” continued the rabbi, “Something amazing happened. If a lawyer or a doctor is bound by confidentiality, certainly a Rebbe! Yet, after Mr. Broida saw the Rebbe, the Rebbe called me into his office.

“'Mr. Broida came in today,' the Rebbe told me. 'I had asked him about his business and communal work. We talked. Then I asked him: “And what are your children?” He burst into tears and told me that none of his six children were observant. I promised him,' continued the Rebbe, 'that he would have the joy of seeing his Judaism come alive again one day in his grandchildren.'

“I’ve often wondered,” concluded the rabbi, “what happened to the Rebbe's promise. Mr. Broida passed away years ago and I don't know what happened to his family. But I do know that the promise of a Rebbe is not in vain.”

The speech was over. I sat in my seat with tears pouring down my face.

I now knew what had happened to the Rebbe’s promise.

Mr. Broida was my grandfather.

The rabbi began his talk discussing Divine Providence. That was no accident. Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Hecht of Chicago passed away a few months after that evening.

If he had not been there at that time, if I had taken the Friday night ride to the country, if he had told a different story, if he had told this one and just not mentioned my grandfather’s name… I would be living an entirely different life. And you would not be reading these words today.

Our lives are like the reverse side of a great tapestry. From the back, all we can see are the knots, the imperfections, some bumps, random and chaotic smears of color.

Only from the front side of the tapestry can we see how it all fits together. From the front you can see that every stitch and every knot forms an integral part of a vast, magnificent picture.

In life we usually only see the back of the tapestry. We have to use our intuition, knowledge and wisdom to try to guess at the picture on the other side.

But that night, I, the agnostic, was granted a rare privilege. I was given an open glimpse of it.

In that glimpse I saw the complex and awesome power of Divine Providence and the infinite care that weaves together the events of a person’s life. I saw the awesome power of a Rebbe, his ability to see beyond time and beyond worlds, to reach into the reservoir of souls and empower a specific soul to fulfill its destiny, to make a promise and keep it.

Finally, I saw that G-d plants messages for us all, and those messages, if we allow them to, can change our lives. Sometimes they’re big and blatant, sometimes small and subtle.

When I stumbled over my destiny it was the furthest thing from my mind. But when I ran headlong into an alternate plane of reality, I saw that it was vaster, deeper and more compelling than anything I had believed possible before.

Since then, more than my own life has changed; the train of history has traveled many stops en route to bringing me back home.