Never Too Far

In a remote, rundown village under the hulking shadow of the Himalayas, a family of Breslover shluchim provides Israeli backpackers with food, shelter, and the acceptance they crave. Tapping the timeless wisdom of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, they speak directly to the scarred souls that trek through the Far East in an effort to escape their tortured pasts — and on a quest to discover their very essence

Four toothless mouths. That’s what I see from the window of the small Fiat transporting Aharon Kliger and me to our destination. Collectively they emit a babble of syllables that sound like a cross between shevarim and teruah. The only one who’s able to decipher their babbling is our driver. After a few seconds, he joins the cacophony.

Before we manage to grasp what is going on, he silences the engine and claps his hands together. This is his way of telling us we’ve arrived.

Where to, exactly?

He points to a gravel path. We have reached the literal end of the road. No vehicle can traverse the final leg of our journey; in order to reach our destination — a remote village in Northern India — we’ll have to travel on foot.

After a two-hour, bone-jarring ride in the tiny Fiat, a walk doesn’t sound so bad. Our legs could definitely use a good stretch. And the scenery is heart-stoppingly beautiful. The wonders of creation are on dazzling display here as the Himalayas rise up ahead, with green expanses, dark slopes, and snowy peaks protruding through the clouds.ruachBut are we really supposed to climb the gravel mountain path by foot along with our suitcases? The driver doesn’t understand our hesitance. He points to the foursome of toothless geriatrics. “You walk on road,” he says in stilted English. “Here are porters. They take suitcase.”