Or, his own hand-baked shmura matza we ate throughout Pesach.
The fact that Zaidi gave everything away is no secret. He now is in the richest and holiest part of Heaven.
I feel he is and has protected me. When I went to Russia five times in ’72 he was with me.
I went to a memorial for the people blown up on Bus 19 in Yerushalayim. As I looked around I thought of Zaidi and the solo battles he fought for his people all over the world.
It is well known and acknowledged that most (including Jews) did not want to believe him about the Holocaust. He had a noble mission: He could not rest. He had a positive outlook and above all, was an optimist.
He and his Va’ad Hatzolo (International) Rescue work directly saved tens of thousands during the Holocaust, and many more in its aftermath (and their descendants).
I remember a visit to Yad Vashem. The guard at the very large room (with the names of all the camps and the numbers who perished bronzed into the floor) spoke Yiddish to me, and when I said Zaidi’s name, he literally fell to the floor, exclaiming that Zaidi had saved his life.
Zaidi put his people before himself with an undaunting courage, persistence and faith that is awesome.
I had the unique honor of growing up in his midst, even though we shared Zaidi with the world.
He watched over me on my trips to Moscow in 1972, especially when I went without a visa to publicize the plight of the more than 3 million Jews in the former Soviet Union. He is the reason I am forever the activist, regardless of the challenge.
I fed Zaidi his last meal. He gave me a twinkle of his one-of-a-kind eyes, closed them, and went to his eternal rest. He is truly the epitome of a pious man, and a human being who cared more about his people than any other individual I can name. He is irreplaceable.
Zaidi, what you did is, was, and will forever be the stuff of miracles.
I am truly blessed.
Parts of this article originally appeared in the South Jersey Jewish Times.