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I met them in my car.




Along the way, I met angels. It was about 19 years ago. There were maybe 10,000 or so of them hovering about. They were all of different sizes and shapes. Some looked like Walt Disney cartoon angels, the kind that carried Goofy to heaven when hed been hit over the head. Others were straight out of store window displays or greeting cards. Some looked like the plaster angels I used to buy in a Mexican market, primitive, brightly painted in pastel blues and pinks. It was a fascinating assortment, all vigorously flapping their big, little and medium-sized wings.

I met them one day in my car. After days of deliberation and overcoming a tremendous amount of fear, my wife and I had decided to let our six-year-old son cross the street on his own. The place was Milwaukee. Not as bad as New York or Chicago, but with cars just as hard that drove just as fast. The images that passed through our minds were as gruesome as if he’d been walking across 42nd and Broadway for the first time. Little fragile bones, soft pink skin. You get the picture.

We came up with this plan. Unbeknownst to him, after he left the house, I would get into the car, drive to each of the corners he would have to cross, park the car where he couldn’t see me, and watch. I didn’t know if I could protect him. But at least I would know his fate.

(I haven’t thought about this day for years. Then the other day something happened to pry loose a crystal-clear image in my memory.)

I sat in the car and saw him approach the first corner. He looked absolutely tiny. He walked with these little steps, looking this way and that, stopping every once in a while to look at something on the ground, or to turn his head and catch a glimpse of a bird in a tree or a cloud or something up high in a window. He had on this little striped blue and yellow T-shirt, blue shorts, little socks that came just above his ankles, and blue sneakers.

As he approached the first corner, my heart was thumping, my hands gripped the steering wheel. I mustered up all my concentration and attempted, through mental telepathy, to remind him to stop and look both ways. My eyes didn’t blink, for fear that in the momentary blackness when my lids would cover my eyes, something horrible would happen. As he came to the curb, my hand moved to the door handle, and I calculated how fast I could open the door and run to grab him. There was no hope of rescue, but I gripped the handle nonetheless.

Whether he received my message, or whether his own good sense kicked in, he stopped. Cars were coming from both directions. What would he do? As he waited, looking both ways, back and forth, back and forth, calculating when to cross, I experienced a profound helplessness. I felt as if I had no spine, no muscles in my legs or arms, no vivifying force animating my body. I sat and watched and waited, and tried to breathe. He was out of my hands. Then he made his move. When the coast was completely clear, he started to skip across the street, happy as a clam, spry as a bunny.

At the next corner I learned to pray. At the time, I was not religious. But as I sat crouched in the car, I decided there must be a G‑d. As I watched my son approach, I could not accept his vulnerability to the great unknown forces of darkness and harm in the world. Nor could I accept my helplessness to keep him safe. I refused to believe that this little guy was out there on his own with no protection. It made no sense to me that a little life would be brought into this world, forced one day to claim his independence, and then be set adrift with no one or nothing to watch over him. I prayed. I beseeched whatever benevolent forces there were in the world with the power to watch over my son, to come to him now and protect him.

Don’t get me wrong. My hand was still on the handle of the car door. I was poised like a race horse at the gate, prepared to sprint even though I knew the race would be lost. Yet I prayed with the full strength of my love and fear and terrible fantasies combined. And then he crossed the street again.

At the third corner, I had trouble finding a place to park where he wouldn’t see me. I panicked. By this time I was convinced that my prayers and my concentration (reminding him to stop and look both ways) were the only things protecting him. What would happen if I couldn’t get he car parked in time to take up my position with my hand gripping the door handle (which by now had become a superstition)? What if I was unable to focus my unblinking eyes on his little striped T-shirt, and begin praying before he reached the corner? Finally I scooted down an alley, and positioned the car so that just the hood and part of my window was sticking out, allowing me to keep him in view without him seeing me.

As he approached the corner, I took my position, hand in place, eyes unblinking, mind focused and my lips mumbling prayers for divine mercy and protection.

Then I saw the angels.

There were thousands of them. All hovering about, flapping their wings, covering him from head to toe, some touching him. I realized that my son was not walking, but being carried forward by these angels. I saw this clearly when they all, including my son, came to the corner. The angels stopped, and then my son stopped. The angels moved in unison, as though they shared one mind. I remember thinking how strange this was, since all the angels were so different one from the other. How did those Walt Disney angels know what the Mexican plaster angels were thinking and doing? But, sure enough, they all moved together and brought my son to a standstill right at the edge of the curb. And they didn’t let him budge. It was fascinating to watch. While most of the angels stood holding my son, others flew out, like scouts, to make sure no cars were coming. Then, as they flew back to make their report, a new batch of angels flew out again to keep the vigil. I wondered if the mission of some of them was to actually stop the cars from proceeding down the street so my son could cross. Angels were flying back and forth, to and fro, in the same way I now imagine angels ascended and descended Jacob’s ladder. I sat transfixed.

Finally, when all was quiet, the angels moved my son across the street. And as I watched, I felt my hand let go of the door handle. My eyes began to blink again. My mind relaxed and seemed to fill with light. And I took a deep, long breath. I think—though I can’t trust my memory on this point—that I smiled.

I know my son smiled. I saw him (and can see him perfectly clear in my memory, even now) with a big grin on his little face, and I saw him kind of skip and hop and chuckle across the street. I noticed for the first time how absolutely sure of himself he was. How much he was enjoying his new freedom. How he embraced it with not the slightest twinge of anxiety or worry. I wondered, then, if he could see the angels, and I wondered how anyone could possibly have children and not believe in G‑d and angels and still survive the growth of their offspring without a nervous breakdown.

I didn’t actually see the angels again after that. But I knew they were there. As each child after him was born, and grew, and reached that time when he or she needed to cross the street, I remembered the angels, but I didn’t actually see them. I continued to pray, though not so desperately. I even continued to drive to each street corner, but now more out of curiosity than out of genuine worry and dread. And, as each of them grew older, I even stopped thinking of the angels so much, except on especially worrisome occasions.

For my son who introduced me to angels, I didn’t think of them at all. Not until the other day.

My son is now 25. He lives in New York. I went there on a business trip, and we spent a lot of time together. He showed me his apartment. We davened together. We went out to dinner. Did a little shopping. He hung out with me while I went about my business. We talked about him and about me and about his brothers and sisters and about his mom. We talked about his future. It was clear that he knew how to cross the street by himself, yet he still walked close by me down the street, and sometimes I had the feeling that it was he looking out for me, rather than the other way around. He’d pick lint off my coat, or ask if I remembered my tickets, as we headed out to find a cab to take me to the airport. I loved him so much during those days. I enjoyed him. I liked the man he had become. Yet now I had to leave him and go home, many, many miles away.

We had trouble finding a cab, and he carried my suitcase for me as we walked to a cab stand by Grand Central Station. We hugged, and I held my tears inside my eyes when we said goodbye. He let me kiss him. I put my luggage inside the trunk, and as I got inside the cab he said, “Don’t forget to get your luggage out when you get to the airport, Ta.” I turned my head away so he wouldn’t see my tears and my heartache, my worry and hope, my fear and regret, my lips moving in prayer.

And just before the cab turned the corner, I looked back. And then, once again, I saw the angels carrying him down the street.

Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad’s Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad’s Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children. He was a frequent contributor to the Jewish website
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Judy November 20, 2017

I believe that love has no barriers. You can still be with each other in spirit. Reply

Barbara Southampton August 17, 2017

My grandson died on March 09, 2017, 20 days before his 20th birthday. He had a 9 month battle with Ewings sarcoma.
I hope that the angels carried him to heaven. Always try to hear his voice. He is my special angel who will be in my heart forever. Reply

Ferdinand Wang Quezon City November 19, 2017
in response to Barbara:

Amen to that. Live long and prosper. Reply

Barbara Stein Southampton November 20, 2017
in response to Ferdinand Wang:

It is hard to believe It is very hard, I struggle every day. I sometimes wonder why I am still here at 71 and he died at 19. It doesn't make sense. I waiver whether there is a G-d or not. Sorry to be so pessimistic. Reply

jo UK August 2, 2017

Angels are a separate species. The next world is a spiritual world, how to get there from here is the issue Reply

Judy Martinsburg wv 25401 July 19, 2017

I cried. Thank you for printing this story. And I'd like to think that my dad is also able to look down from heaven now and still protect me (when I remember to hear his voice). Reply

Patricia Kissimmee, FL April 11, 2017

Add a comment...I could not keep from bursting into tears at the last sentence.....what a poignant testimony of the parent-child bond of love. Very skillfully written, and much appreciated. G-d's love is so unfathomable, but when we come close to it, the awe renders us helpless. Reply

Ryan Gelb 11598 December 8, 2016

This is very inspirng This article is very inspiring, the article taught me that angles are there to protect and help people especially in tough times, and G-d bless Jay and his Family. Reply

Gini Ohio February 13, 2016

Wow. Thank you brother Jay and Father G-D. This ministered deeply to me and I am now seeing events in my and my children's lives in an entirely different way. I am thankful. Reply

Rebeca Araujo Texas January 8, 2015

Absolutely loved it, I know my boys are taken care of.... thanks Reply

raquel gonzales mariano philippines November 8, 2014

wonderful story, thank you for sharing.this enlightened me Reply

Rosa Lynn September 13, 2014

Beautiful, I have teenagers and this helped calm my worrisome thoughts.
Thank you for the gift of givin Reply

Joan Uk August 11, 2014

Angels This doesn't conform to the view given of Angels in the Bible. Reply

Judy November 20, 2017
in response to Joan :

Angels If G-d wants to speak with me, He will.
If G-d wants His Angles to help us, He’ll direct them to do so.
When G-d wants us to know “everything” about Him, He will.
And..When our spirit returns back to Him and we behold His Glory..then we will just begin our journey in “understanding” Heaven. Reply

Bethel Hachita August 8, 2014

Thank you. Reply

Gabriella Michal Texas August 8, 2014

Angels Bethel, what are you looking for, specifically? Reply Staff August 8, 2014

To Bethel We have several more in depth articles on angels, one of them can be found here. Feel free to click on the 'related topics' button on the right to find more relevant material. Reply

Bethel Hachita August 8, 2014

Just for once, i wish i could get a serious article on Biblical angels. These articles are cute, but not what i am looking for. Tell me about the angels in Torah, please. Reply

Judy December 25, 2017
in response to Bethel:

Isn’t there a difference between mental understanding and spiritual understanding? In the beginning by “reading” I gained mental knowledge about angels. I experienced and gained spiritual awareness later. How awesome it is .. these “stories” (as you call them) are from those of us who have “experienced” G-d’s angelic Messengers.
To “experience” one of His angels is to enter into a different “Understanding” of Him. ♥️ Reply

Ellen goldstein Parkland, Fl via October 3, 2013

Love love love Reply

cindy graham california October 1, 2013

Angels are protector and fighters for G-D. daily they follows us on our daily task. they're there from the time of birth until the day that you leave this earth. I truly believe they have emotions, such as, they smile they cry they even laugh...they fight for G-D. they sing. I have had an experience with a angel voice singing a chord. I was lying in bed just relaxing and all of a sudden I heard this beautiful voice of a very high note of a sopranos voice and it was somewhat harmonizing maybe it could have been more than one it was so beautiful and it lasted for 30 seconds and I was full awake. it was so beautiful and amazing, right away I knew what it was, right at my bedside, as I laid there in my bed it lasted long enough for me to realize what it was, I felt joy go through my whole body, finally it faded away. I wasn't scared. it was as if they were finishing the last part of their praise song and G-D allowed me to hear the ending of the song. no tv or radio was on in my bedroom. Reply

Gayle Meyers Cape Town December 7, 2012

what a sensitive and beautiful being you are/were. How blessed and fortunate your children are to have experienced such love and sensitivity Reply

Cenovia Aventura, FL November 11, 2012

Angels do exist That was such a lovely story that it made me cry. I am a over-protective mother of a wonderful almost 3 year old boy. I can not imagine the day I have to let him walk alone anywhere. I will definitely be following in Jay's frantic footsteps - following, watching, praying and sending telepathically warning messages. Reply

Robbie Sevier B''ham, Al,Jefferson October 11, 2012

Perhaps all parents have been there. How good to be sure Angels are with our loved ones,and how fortunate to have seen them at one time or another. A lovely piece of learning there is a God . That you, dear friend. Reply

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