Beyond the Miracles

The tziyun of the Baba Sali in Netivot is more than a resting place; it is a vibrant sanctuary pulsating with ruchniyus, hope and reverence. Located in the heart of the Negev Desert, the Baba Sali’s kever draws countless souls from every corner of the world, each one coming to pour out his heart and plead for heavenly intervention.

Nearing the site, I see an imposing structure crowned by a gleaming white dome rising from the sands, casting a serene shadow beneath the sun. You can tell that this is not your ordinary gravesite by the stores selling all kinds of memorabilia, as well as the joyous celebrations outside. The compound contains a Judaica shop, a kitchen, and next to the parking lot, a large seating area with picnic tables and benches. As I make my way over, I see a family with balloons, signs and a birthday cake celebrating what looks like an upsherin. The courtyard is filled with Yidden of all backgrounds and ages.

Wherever I look, pictures of Rav Yisrael Abuchatzeira, zt”l, lovingly known as the Baba Sali, are being sold. Most of them are the iconic image of the famed tzaddik, mekubal and miracle worker dressed in traditional Moroccan garb, a white shawl draped around his face, with his right hand held up to his forehead.
The Baba Sali was born on Rosh Hashanah in 1889 in Rissani, Morocco. His father, Rav Massud, served as its rav, av beis din and rosh yeshivah. Rav Massud was the son of Rav Yaakov Abuchatzeira, the Abir Yaakov, the great gadol of Morocco who authored the Pituchei Chotam on the parshiyos.
Despite the years since the Baba Sali’s passing, he holds a very prominent place in the hearts of thousands. One man, whom I guess to be somewhere in his mid-50s, tells me that as a young child his father would take him along whenever he went to receive brachos from him. “The first time we went was because my baby sister was very sick. The doctors said that she wouldn’t survive. My family wasn’t religious at the time, but my father had heard that the holy Baba Sali performs miracles, so he came to him crying and begging for a yeshuah. ‘Accept taharat hamishpachah, pledge to keep it with all its halachot, and you will see a yeshuah,’ the Baba Sali told him. My father gave him his word and said that he would make sure that my mother took this upon herself as well. The Baba Sali repeated that my sister would survive if they were truly ready to observe these halachos and sent him on his way. My mother readily agreed, and almost immediately my sister’s condition began to improve,” the Yid tells me excitedly. “After my father passed away, I’ve been coming here on my own. I visit the tziyun of the tzaddik at least once a week, coming all the way from Rishon LeZion.”
I speak to a few more people, all of whom have some kind of story that connects them to the Baba Sali. However, a number of them have also forged a relationship with Rav Baruch, also known as Baba Baruch, his sole surviving son, and come to this place to seek his blessing.
As I enter the building, the great hall with the tzaddik’s kever is on my left, while adjacent to the main chamber is a spacious room filled with visitors engaged in various acts of chesed as a zechus. Tzedakah is distributed, and refreshments and hot meals are provided generously to travelers and pilgrims who have journeyed from near and far. One man is handing out stickers with the words “ahavat chinam” to attach to cell phones and cars. He graciously offers me some to hand out back home in the States, and I accept them gladly.
Since I have arrived a little early for my scheduled appointment, I decide to daven at the Baba Sali’s kever. Visitors both young and old gather around it reverently, their lips moving in whispered tefillos, tears streaming from eyes closed in fervent supplication. The colorful kaleidoscope is truly dazzling. All around the complex the hum of Torah reverberates; men immersed in learning, davening and Tehillim, their melodious voices blending into a symphony of deveikus. Tables overflow with sifrei kodesh, worn from constant use. Right outside the kever, I notice that a line is forming in front of a wood-paneled door with a sign announcing that kabbalas kahal is on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:30 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. There is also a sign indicating that this is Rav Baruch’s office. My appointment is for 10:00 a.m., and even though it is only 9:50 there are already at least 50 people ahead of me, and the queue is growing quickly. I decide to wait outside, where I see a tall Yid with a black hat and a long gray beard enter the compound. He is immediately surrounded by people. I gather that this is Rav Moshe Abuchatzeira, Rav Baruch’s son. Rav Moshe is a well-known talmid chacham and mekubal who heads a large kollel. Having spoken to him a few days earlier to arrange the meeting with his father, I approach him to introduce myself.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Rav Moshe says warmly. He explains that his father will be arriving soon but will need a few minutes to settle in. Rav Baruch was born in 1941 in Morocco, and emigrated to Eretz Yisrael in the mid-60s together with his illustrious father. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the first slot,” Rav Moshe remarks as he notices me looking nervously at the line. A few minutes after ten, there’s a commotion as a car pulls up with Rav Baruch and parks in the reserved spot right next to the entrance. Rav Baruch is dressed in the same traditional Moroccan garb that was worn by his father. He is wearing large gold-framed glasses, a dark blue yarmulke, a blue robe and a scarf of the same color. As he nears his office, the crowd parts to allow him to enter. A white plastic curtain is pulled over the doorway to give him some time to get ready. A few minutes later, Rav Moshe peeks out from behind the curtain and motions for me to come in. There is a grumble in the crowd, but one of the gabbaim explains to them that I had an appointment for ten o’clock.
The office is much smaller than I anticipated, with a small desk on the left side of the room where Rav Baruch is seated in a simple office chair. In front of the desk is a Covid-era type plexiglass partition, with a small opening so the Rav can hear petitioners. There are several items on the desktop, ranging from a large pushka to a tray with some glasses, a few bottles of Arak, and a bowl of crackers and some candies. One of the windows in the room directly overlooks the Baba Salil’s tziyun. The gabbaim usher me in and bring one of the chairs in front of the partition around to Rav Baruch’s side so we can converse face to face. As I sit down, the gabbai tells me to kiss the Rav’s hand, as is customary.
Rav Baruch asks me about the purpose of my visit, and I tell him that although his father is well known throughout the world for his miracles, I would like to hear about other aspects of his life.
“Kodem kol, it is our zechut and obligation to be mamshich the derech of our great forefathers, especially Moreinu V’rabbeinu Avi Mori, zt”l,” he says. Rav Baruch has a heavy Moroccan accent. His voice is raspy, fading in and out, and I have to strain to hear him, especially with the loud noise from the crowd right outside, as the flimsy curtain doesn’t do much to muffle it.
“My father’s avodah was to raise up the kedushah of klal Yisrael. Whenever someone came to him with an issue, he would urge him to accept something upon himself, whether it was Shabbat, milah, tefillin or taharat hamishpachah. Returning the Torah to its glory was his mission in life. Therefore, when people come here I try to emulate him and also tell them to make a kabbalah. This is what he wanted. I remember when I was young, a man walked in who had hurt his leg and wanted a brachah for a refuah. My father asked him, ‘Do you observe Shabbat properly?’ He shook his head no. ‘Accept upon yourself to keep Shabbat with all its dinim and you will have a refuah sheleimah.’ The man pledged to keep Shabbat and his leg was fully healed that very day, the reason being that his heart was pure and honest when he made the kabbalah. My father said that it was not his miracle. The Navi in Yeshaya (58:13) says, ‘Im tashuv miShabbat raglecha asot chafatzecha—If you keep Shabbat, your feet will do as you wish.’
“People come here for advice and I stay true to my forefathers’ mehalach. There was a Jewish man whose wife was expecting. The doctors told her that she had to terminate because of complications for the fetus. ‘What should I do?’ the man asked me in tears. I told him, ‘If you do what the doctors say you are a murderer—and the doctors are murderers too.’ ‘But what should I do?’ he pleaded. I told him, ‘Go and daven at that kever. Accept upon yourself to keep every single mitzvah.’ He did exactly what I told him. Three months later his wife gave birth—to a healthy, beautiful child. He brought the baby here to show me. I said to him, ‘Someone wanted to kill this child?’ When a person makes a kabbalah to keep Hashem’s commandments, Hashem says, ‘I will heal you, for I am Hashem your Healer.’
“This place,” Rav Baruch says, waving his hand around at the entire complex, “is a center for bringing the Jewish people closer to their Father in Heaven. We don’t engage in anything else—only in the service of Hashem, so that every single Jew will merit to see the geulah. Especially now, with everything we’ve been through and are still going through. Only Hakadosh Baruch Hu knows what will happen. When He sees that we are behaving as we should, He brings no harm upon us. In fact, the Ribbono Shel Olam hastens the geulah, bringing Mashiach b’karov b’yameinu. But if, chalilah, we do not walk b’derech Hashem…” the Rav’s voice trails off, not needing to complete the sentence.
“What happens depends on our shemirat hamitzvot. Baruch Hashem, there is now a great awakening among the Jewish people. We all want to return to our Father in Heaven. We all want to return to Yerushalayim Ir Hakodesh, to the Beit Hamikdash, to every aspect of holiness. And with Hashem’s help, this will happen very soon.”