The man at the ohel

I don't know him, but he is a dear friend of my mother's. She knows his number by heart. He knows every single detail of our family, everything that we've been through, all of our deepest secrets and requests.

And yet, he has never met us.

He is the man at the ohel. My mother calls up for a bracha all the time. And I mean all the time.

You are flying? Call the ohel. Job interview? Call the ohel. Cut your finger? Call the ohel. Surgery? Ohel. Getting engaged? Okay, we go to the ohel for that.

It is convenient for people who do not live near the ohel, they can call up and ask the Rebbe for a bracha and submit their name, and someone will read it at the kever.

It is a strange concept though, that this man hears everything about people. Details. Names. Things people may not even tell their friends. And yet this man knows it all.

I sure hope he can keep a secret.

My mother said maybe one day she will go to him and say, hey man at the ohel, I'm so-and-so who calls all the time. I can just imagine his eyes lighting up in recognition as he gives my mother a look and says, "So how's the family?"