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Orchestrated Sound Effects
By: Anonymous
Cleveland, OH
I walked into Rabbi Chaim Dovid Ackerman's
class at Aish HaTorah, in the winter of 1981, and unusually was the first to
arrive. This was in an apartment across the short bridge from the old bais
medrash, not the old-old bais medrash. There were usually 10 to 20
students there already. I sat at the far end of the table. Only one
other student came, and sat opposite me, at the far end of the table. No
one else came which in itself was very unusual. Rabbi Ackerman arrived, and, since only 2
were there, for the first time, he came to our side of the table and
began the class in tefilla. This afforded us a view of the glass doors
leading to an enclosed patio that could be used to build a succah.
Being Winter, there was a tarpaulin spread across that courtyard, and it
was full of water. I had noticed this on numerous previous occassions.
The other student asked R' Ackerman a question about the Sotah (unfaithful wife), and
he launched into a discussion of that. The class was actually a
stealth hashkafa (Jewish philosophy shiur), disguised as a class in mechanics of prayer. He
described how, if the Sotah had actually behaved correctly, things would be
much better, then said something like, ... "But, if she didn't,
[loudly] WOH HOOOOO!!!!" And, at that instant the tarpaulin burst in the
courtyard, the water crashed down, R' Ackerman turned for one moment to
acknowledge the event, turned back and said: "We go viter! (onward) ..." Believe
me, I've tried to figure out who could have set this up, it would have
been quite a job. You decide.
(Editors note: The punishment for the unfaithfal wife- sotah- is that her stomache bursts after drinking the holy water)
Angel With An Apple
By: Herman Rosenblat
NY
August, 1942. Piotrkow , Poland :
The sky was
gloomy that morning as we
waited anxiously. All the men, women, and children of Piotrkow's
Jewish
ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we
were
being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had
run
rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our
family
would be separated. "Whatever you do," Isidore, my eldest brother,
whispered
to me, "don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen." I was tall for
a boy
of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as
a
worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the
cobblestones. He
looked me up and down, then asked my age.
"Sixteen," I said. He directed me to the left, where my three
brothers
and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right-with the other women,
children,
sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, "Why?" He didn't
answer. I
ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. "No," she said
sternly. "Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers." She
had
never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting
me. She
loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was
the last
I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany .
We
arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later
and were
led into a crowded barracks. The next day, we were issued uniforms
and
identification numbers. "Don't call me Herman anymore," I said to my
brothers. "Call me 94983." I was put to work in the camp's
crematorium,
loading the dead onto a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead.
Hardened.
I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to
Schlieben, one
of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin . One morning I thought I heard
my
mother's voice. Son, she said softly but clearly, I am sending you an
angel.
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place
there
could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, behind
the
barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not
easily see.
I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone -a
young girl
with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch
tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly
in
German, "Do you have something to eat?" She didn't understand. I
inched
closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped
forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but
the
girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple
from her
woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and,
as I
started to run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you
tomorrow."
I didn't believe she would come back. It was much too
dangerous. But I
returned anyway, the same time the next day. And there she was. The
same
girl. She moved tentatively from behind the tree, and once again
threw
something over the fence. This time, a small hunk of bread wrapped
around a
stone. I ate the bread, gratefully and ravenously, wishing there had
been
enough to share with my brothers. When I looked up the girl was gone.
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every
day.
She was always there with something for me to eat-a hunk of bread or,
better
yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would
mean death
for us both. I didn't know anything about her-just a kind farm
girl-except
that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking
her life
for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other
side of
the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and
apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into
a coal
car and shipped to the Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . "Don't
return," I told the girl that day. "We're leaving." I turned toward
the
barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the girl
whose
name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were at Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding
down
and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May
10,
1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 A.M. In the
quiet
of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready
to
claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my
parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. At 8:00 A.M.,
there was a
commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way
through
camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the
camp!
The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly,
all of
my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl
with
the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil
seemed
triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me
hope in a
place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an
angel, and
the angel had come.
Eventually, I made my way to England , where I was sponsored
by a
Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived
the
Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where
my
brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U.S. Army during the
Korean
War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957
I'd
opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid-whom I knew from England-called me.
"I've got a
date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date."
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering
me, and
a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and
her
friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad.
Roma was a
nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too,
with
swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with
life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to
talk to,
easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were
both
just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk,
enjoying
the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I
couldn't
remember having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.
As
European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had
been
left unsaid between us. She broached the subject. "Where were you,"
she
asked softly, "during the war?"
"The camps," I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the
irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you never forget.
She nodded. "My family was hiding on a farm in Germany , not
far from
Berlin ," she told me. "My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan
papers."
I imagined how she must have suffered too-fear, a constant companion.
And
yet here we were, both survivors, in a new world. "There was a camp
next to
the farm," Roma continued. "I saw a boy there, and I would throw him
apples
every day."
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy.
"What
did he look like?" I asked.
"He was tall. Skinny. Hungry. I must have seen him every day
for six
months."
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.this couldn't be..
"Did he
tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?"
Roma looked at me in amazement. "Yes."
"That was me!" I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded
with
emotions. I couldn't believe it. My angel. "I'm not letting you go,"
I said
to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to
her. I
didn't want to wait.
"You're crazy!" she said. But she invited me to meet her
parents for
Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward
to
learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her
steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of
circumstances,
she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her
again, I
could never let her go. That day, she said yes. And I kept my word:
After
nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I
have
never let her go.
Stolen Tefillin
By: Simcha Stern
Cedarhurst, NY
The following is a remarkable story of Hashgacha Pratis that happened
to me just last week:
On Wednesday October 25, 2006 someone broke into my car, which
was parked in a parking garage in downtown Baltimore, and stole my
Tallis and Tefillin that were sitting in a black Tallis bag on the front
passenger seat of my car.
Assuming the chances for recovery were minimal at best, I paid
a visit to a local Sofer on Thursday evening to purchase new Tefillin.
After choosing the Tefillin and having them fit to my specifications
the Sofer handed me a card. He explained to me that on this card there
was a Tefilla that was common to say in the hope of recovering lost
objects. The Tefilla is to be accompanied by a pledge of tzedaka in the
name of the great Tana, Rabbi Meir Bal Haaness. The origin of this is a
Gemara in Avoda Zara (18b) that relates a story in which R’ Meir Baal
Haness proves to a Roman soldier that by stating the phrase “Eloka
D’Meir Anainu” – The G-D of Meir answer me, one can be saved from
dangerous situations. The minhag has evolved to also say a Tefilla that
includes this phrase in order to recover lost objects.
While I had previously heard of this method of attempting to
recover lost objects, I have never been one to pay much attention to
these things.
After arriving home from the Sofer I said the Tefilla 3 times
and pledged tzedaka to an organization in the name of Rabbi Meir Baal
Haness. I then went about my regular routine without placing much hope
into this actually working.
Until I received a phone call the following day at around 2
pm…….
There is an orthodox person that lives in Baltimore named Meir
Kleiner (name used with permission) that does some business with local
pawnshops. I happen to know Meir as his in-laws live in Monsey and
daven in the same shul as my in-laws. On Friday morning he received a
phone call from a person named David Glazer who owns a pawnshop in downtown
Baltimore named “Easy Pawn” (about 5 blocks from where my car was
parked). That morning a regular customer of Mr. Glazers’ walked into
his pawnshop and dropped a Tallis bag on his desk stating that he found
it in an alley a few blocks away and thought it looked “Jewish.”
Knowing that Mr. Glazer was Jewish he figured he may know what to do
with it. Although Mr. Glazer is not Orthodox, he recognized the item as
Tallis and Tefillin and decided to call the only Orthodox Jew he knows
to see if he can help locate the owner. So after placing a call to Meir
and explaining the story, he drove downtown to pick them up. And as
they say, the rest is history. Meir recognized my name and called to say
that he had my Tallis and Tefillin. B’H everything was there and
intact!
Just to highlight some of the amazing hashgacha pratis involved
in this story:
* After realizing that they were of no value to him the
thief decides to drop them in an alley rather than throw them in the
trash.
* Of all people to find them in the alley, it was a
regular customer of a Jewish owned pawnshop in downtown Baltimore (how many
of those do you think exist!)
* The owner of the pawnshop does business regularly with
an Orthodox Jew.
* I happen to personally know this person after meeting
him in a shul in Monsey.
On a side note, when the Sofer handed me the card with the
Tefilla of R’ Meir Baal Haness I sarcastically told him that if this
works I’d give the new ones to Tzedaka! While I’m sure I could somehow
find a heter to not follow through on that promise, I’ve decided that
in light of this amazing story I will donate the new pair of Tefillin.
There is now a Bal Tshuvah in Aish Hatorah’s new yeshiva in Pasaic,
NJ that will receive a brand new pair of Tefillin! Amazing how things
work!
Oh, one more thing….the name of the sofer that I bought the
new Tefillin from……
Rabbi Sion Baal Haness!!!
Returning The Dresses
By: Rochy Fried
Far Rockaway, NY
After my daughter's recent beautiful chasunah,
following the last of the Sheva Brachos, it was time to return the
bridal gown to the Gemach from which we had rented it, as well as the two
bridesmaid dresses which we obtained elsewhere.
Though the weather had been nasty all day today, we decided it HAD to
be today. Meanwhile, I had been perusing the Five Towns Shuls website,
as I am often wont to do, and found a request for a ride to Brooklyn
this early evening. I immediately contacted the person who posted the ad,
and offered her a ride, since we were going anyway to the general area
that she had mentioned. She lived right on the way to Brooklyn, even
though we were prepared to pick her up anywhere in the Five Towns or
Rockaways. Imagine our great surprise, when we asked her the exact address
where she needed to go and it turned out to be directly across the
street from our own destination! Talk about Hashgocha Protis!
I truly believe that when we run to do a chessed, that Ha-Shem makes it easier for us.
Eight Is Enough
By: Rochy Fried
Far Rockaway, NY
My father, O"H, was in the Intelligence Corps of the Unites States Army. Because he was fluent in many foreign languages, including Hebrew, French, German, and Russian among others, he was often chosen to collect army intelligence by going undercover and passing himself off as one of the locals, in whatever town in which he was stationed.
Through this activity, on one occasion, he was able to ascertain the location of a Nazi war criminal who had fled his town and squirreled himself away in his private villa. He was given orders to take a group of his men to capture and interrogate this Nazi, a man named Otto Schmidt, who had given the orders to begin Krystallnacht in his town.
My father, who was a lieutenant at the time, brought with him a small group of soldiers, among them a burly Irish sergeant, who detested the Nazis. When they arrived at the villa where Schmidt was hiding, my father knocked loudly on the door until a German housekeeper answered it fearfully. The war was just about over at this point, and she knew things were not going to be good for the Germans.
Dad demanded that she produce Otto Schmidt and she reluctantly pointed to the door of the library, where he was holed up. Dad and his men shoved open the door to find a defiant Herr Schmidt standing there.
The library was a typical room filled with books, as well as a number of pastoral paintings on the walls, portraits of Otto Schmidt and his family. There were three such paintings on his wall. My dad began interrogating Schmidt, then noticed out of the corner of his eye that his Irish sergeant was smashing the paintings. He immediately went over to him to stop him, and the sergeant said that he wanted to give the Nazi a taste of his own Krystallnact. But something puzzled him. He had tried to smash one of the paintings, and though the glass broke readily, the painting itself remained intact.
My dad was an artist, among his many talents, and this piqued his curiosity. So he removed the backing from the smashed picture frame, and almost had a heart attack when he realized the portrait of this Nazi had been painted on a klaf of an actual Sefer Torah. Then he saw something even more distressing to him personally - the Parsha from which this Klaf was taken, was Parshas Shemini, his own Bar-Mitzvah Parsha!
I will not go into the details of what followed, but he had to be restrained by his men to keep from attacking Shmidt. Anyone who knew my father, also knew that he couldn't hurt a fly, but this provocation was more than even a gentle person like him could bear.
He checked all the paintings in that villa and found two more
klafim which had been defiled and painted over. Each of the three paintings had been taken from a different Sefer Torah. The Parshios in the other two paintings were respectively Pekudei and Acharei Mos. Each of these Parshios are significant to our family.
As I mentioned, my dad became a Bar Mitzvah on Shabbos Shemini, which is in and of itself wholly appropriate, as my dad was a Kohein and this Parsha is dedicated to the Kohanim. Likewise, my mother O"H was nifteres on Shabbos Shemini. My youngest daughter Ahuva became a Bat-Mitzvah during the week of Parshat Shemini.
My mother was born during the week of Parshat Pekudei, and all the grandsons in the family who have a grandparent on the other side of the family, who was a Holocaust survivor, were either born or became
Bar Mitzvah on Shabbos Pekudei or Acharei Mos (because it was a Jewish leap year).
My father's entire life was one of Hashgacha Protis, but that would take up another few pages here, and the stories will keep for another time, perhaps.
Faint of Fate
By: Herskovich
Brooklyn, NY
Last week I was traveling to N.Y. on my way back from Israel. The plane was scheduled to leave at 11:00 pm. Consistent with this time of year, most of the people on my flight were Jewish. Five minutes before take-off a man got ill and fainted. He was taken off the plane immediately, which caused the flight to be delayed for half an hour.
Finally the calm was restored and we were ready to depart. Suddenly a different man had a heart attack. Thankfully we had not taken off yet and the sick man could be rushed off the plane to the hospital. It was true Hashgacha Pratis that the first man fainted otherwise the plane would have been in the air during the heart attack and the man would not have been saved.
Chaverim Col Yisrael
By: Ahuva Fried
Far Rockaway, NY
Having your car break down on you while
driving is annoying enough, but having it konk out in the middle of an
intersection in the pouring rain...well that's when things start to get a
little scary.
I was making a turn onto Central Avenue in Cedarhurst
during one of the heaviest rains that we had this summer. Mid-turn the car
stoppes. I was barely able to see but all I could hear were other cars
honking me. Apparently they thought that I had chosen to be in this
wonderful situation that I was in. I called my sister and she contacted
Chaverim (sort of like the Jewish AAA) who said that they would
probably be a while due to the weather. I figured that I'll just try to wait
and hope that everything will be ok.
Within minutes a man drove by me, came to my window, and asked if I needed help. I informed him that
Chaverim was on their way and that I would be fine, so he drove away. After some time I finally get the car to complete the
turn. Baruch Hashem I was able to get myself out of the
interesction but once again the car died.
The next thing I see was not Chaverim, rather it was that same man who I had turned away. He had turned his car around and
decided to help me eventhough I had told him not to. He told me that he once
had my exact car and knew exactly what had to be done to get it
working once again. I followed his directions and poof the car was
running like nothing had happened to it just a few minutes prior. He then went on to tell me
that he used to be a member of Chaverim and when he saw
me stuck he thought that he would know what to do. I felt so lucky
to have been there at the same moment that he had driven by. I thanked
him and went on my way. I'll never forget the feeling that Hashem
really was watching over me that day when he sent me that one man.
Coincedental Return
By: Anonymous
US
I borrowed this book about two months ago and
didnt really have a chance to read it just yet. Rosh Hashana came around
and I thought to myself wow! I really need to return this book before
the new year begins. It so happens that at the same time I wanted to
return the book I also was having trouble with some chemistry. The person
I borrowed the book from is great with Chem and so when I called him I
was able to wish him a shana tova and figure out with him how I could
return the book. He told me to keep it and I really wanted to return it,
so I put it in my bag and hoped that I would see him or someone who
knew him in school. It was a fast day and so I decided to head to the
Student Union for mincha, maybe to catch a few 'ameins' and brighten up my
new year, on the way there I hear someone yell - Hey _ _! and there he
was, the very person I needed to return my book to- it truly was
Hashgacha that I went to the student union because as I returned the book and
then ran upstairs for Mincha, I found out there was no Mincha today. Oh
well, its a good thing girls aren't required to daaven with a minyan.
Blessing is in the Eye of the Beholder
By: Anonymous
US
"Gosh! I'm such an idiot!," Thought Shim as he
sat there, frozen on the cold subway bench, digging his fingernails
into his forehead.
"I mean seriously, who brings a briefcase with
$30,0000 in cash onto a crowded train...".
As Shim began to prepare the speech that would
probably end his short lived business career, he
thought about what his wife would say when he would
suggest selling their humble house and moving into her
parents' basement.
"Honey- you always wanted to live close to your
parents anyways..."!
No...he realized. He would have to stay, right where he was,
sitting like the five-foot-four junior varsity bench-warmer he was, freshman year in M.T.A., for the rest of his life.
"Ess'cuse me Rabbi, but did yous happen to
lothe you a' bag..?'" Came a booming voice several
feet over Shim's head.
Shim quickly stood up and soon found himself face-to-chest
with the biggest blackest black man he had yet to fully see.
Seconds later Shim was staring in disbelief at his own
brown leather Louis Vuitton briefcase which, although
opened, still held the $30,000 in hard cold cash.
After a few minutes of intense handshakes and a steady stream of
relieved gratitude, Shim finally mustered up the the
courage, and asked his new and only dark-skinned friend-
Jamal Wills a.k.a. 'lil Willy'- a very Jewish question.
"Are you crazy? You found $30,000 in cash in a bag,
and decided to return it to its rightful owner!?"
Jamal didn't
hesitate for a second, "Well call me
crazy.. but along wit yo' money i found your picture i.d.- Rabbi",
"...and?" Shim wasn't sure where the big guy was going.
"...And my Daddy told me along time ago... dat a
blessing from a Jew is worth more than all the money
in da whole wide world."
Shim, with chills running down his spine and
thanks to Hashem Yisborach, put on his best Rabbi impersonation and
gave Jamal Wills the
most sincere, heartfelt
bracha (blessing) he had ever given anybody.
But wait... there's more.
That night Jamal Wills told his wife, Ashante Shakweela, about
the wonderful blessing he had received from a Jew-
and how it had only cost $30,000.
After many droppings of the certain slurs and other
assorted expletives, Ashante Wills told her
Jack-'n-the-Bean-Stalk-actin husband to sleep on
the couch while she locked herself and a bottle of
Greygoose vodka in the bedroom.
The next morning Jamal couldn't move.
It wasn't his aching back, which had an indent from
his two-year-old daughter Lashonda's hard palstic
toy thingy....
it was his stomach.
Cramps.
...The killing kind.
"Look how your (expletive) blessing is helping
you now!" yelled Ashante as she smacked her husband in
the gut sending him back to the couch as he yelped in agony.
Jamal called in sick, drank a bottle of thick
something, and flipped on the t.v.
Lying there he wondered if it had been worth it
all. Maybe he should've just kept the money. His dad was
a good man but had been wrong about many things...
...But then he saw the tall building where he worked as custodian
come on the screen. ...Only something was very wrong.
...And as he watched in horror as the towers came
tumbling down...he realized that $30,000
was practically nothing
for the blessing from a Jew.
A Miracle for an Agnostic Jew
By: Daniel Itzhaky
New York, US
I was born with a terrible case of insomnia. Now I mean it was really bad! I tried everything including modern medicine, excersize, yoga, meditation, herbal medicines, and anything else Im forgetting to mention. Long story short- While I'm in Israel, I'm introduced to a Rabbi from Geula, Jerusalem. Apparently this is Rabbi Basri, a very big kabalistic rabbi who blesses people with illnesses that cant be treated by modern medicines. I met him 2 weeks before Passover.
He says to me "you should learn some Torah and daven everyday for the next 2 weeks, and you should be fine". (Honestly, when I heard him say that I should be fine after 2 weeks, I was already expecting it not to work) Anyway, I went home and davened a little. Afterwards, I picked up a book of Torah and started learning by myself. I fell asleep with the book in my hands. After that, my insomnia seemed to gradually disappear. For me, this was an eyeopening experience that will connect me to Hashem forever.
Pure Motives Pay Big
By: David Dome
Edgware, England
I am a Baal Teshuva and have been for about14 years. Before I became observant, I lived a typical life of a non observant, social Jew. As life progreesed I needed to find meaning and I was guided to a wonderful Rabbi in Golders Green who was experienced in reaching out to Jews on the threshold. I would attend shiurim and learn about Kashrut...easy...go Vegetarian....then step it up a bit...find out Veggie is also a no no and keep to Kosher Restaurants and Stores. I got a pair of Tefilin and put them on everyday. Also....easy. I learned to read and pray in Hebrew and in time this became easy...so what's so hard. Then I started learning about the importance of Shabbat....no working....Oy Veh ! You see at the time I was 24 yrs old...I had gone back to school to train to be an Optometrist having been a maker of Jewellery since leaving school at 16. In order to pay for expenses at college I was working on Saturday and getting £50 as a jeweller.
When the Rabbi would speak about the laws of Shabbat and I would cringe. One Saturday afternoon my neshama got through to me and told me to keep the Shabbat ! So I went to my boss....a Jew...and told him that my time had come and I was leaving to be Shomer Shabbat. I sacrificed the £50 unsure of how I was going to make ends meet. After keeping the first Shabbat to the best of my ability and with only a few quid in my pocket I arrived at college. A fellow student saw me and informed me that at 1 pm there was a meeting with a government official in order for students to claim an " employment training benefit" of £10....which was £10 more than I was getting at the time....so I went. He asked me a number of questions and informed me that I was eligible for the £10....." but hold on " he said "you are 24 and have been paying income tax for a number of years....and due to the number of hours per week your course needs ....you are entitled to "income support". " How much is that " I asked. " Another £40 "..........he said. £40 plus £10 is £50....GULP. And so my story ends....I received what I needed to continue and the Almighty allowed me to continue.....Baruch Hash-m !If your motive is correct you will be helped.
Laining "Luck"
By: Aharon Chaim Larson
Miami Beach, FL
I wasn't nervous before or at my wedding; I was secure with the decision and had waited too long! However, I was very nervous for Shabbos sheva Berachos. My father-in-law has a minhag to read the next week's Torah portion after Shabbos morning davening. All the men in the family convene in the living room, and they take turns reading one Aliah per person. Even after three years in Yeshiva, my reading was still rough, and especially when I'm nervous. There was no way for me to prepare because it was impossible to know which Aliah I'd be reading. Worse, it wouldn't be just my father and brothers-in-law, the entire extended family was coming for the Seuda. Oy, I was not looking forward to looking like an imbecile in front of everyone.
When it came to my turn, I cleared the lump in my throat and decided to try my best. As I began reading, I realized that I knew this Aliah. No, it wasn't my Bar Mitzvah portion; in fact I didn't read the Torah at my Bar Mitzvah. It was the pesukim that deal with the Karbon Tamid, the daily offering in the Bais Hamikdash. I had started coming to davening early several months before to learn how to say Karbanos. It had been like pulling teeth- grinding through all the unfamiliar words. Luckily, I'd learned at Derech never to give up, because that hard work, along with some MAJOR Hashgach Pratis, I was saved from a great deal of embarrassment.
Morning Mitzvah
By: Anonymous
West Hempstead, NY
I was in shul the other morning and as I was wraping my teffilin and preparing to go home someone anounced that a person was having surgery at that moment and asked for people to say tehilim. I said along said som chapters along with everyone else. As I was going to leave I suddenly said to myself, " Im not in any rush, I can say a little more." As I finished my extra tehilim a man came up to me and informed me that there was an old man in shul who needed a ride home. This was because the person who usually takes him was not able to today. I happily offered to drive him home eager to get the mitzva. As I dropped the man off at his house and said goodbye I smiled. I realized that because I had taken a second of my time to say a little extra tehilim, Hashem had given me the opportunity to do this mitzvah of taking the man home.
Visiting Lithuania
By: Anthony Woolfson
London, Engand
A few months ago my family decided to take a trip to Lithuania to visit my grandfathers shtetel. We had arranged to go for only two days; the first to see Vilna and the second to take the 5 hour trip to the shtetl. Arriving at the shtetle we discovered that there was Jewish remnant left so after much dissapointment we turned around and left. We arrived back in Vilna just in time to catch mincha at the last operating shul in the country.
While in the shul someone came up to us trying to sell us something, we declined but started shmoozing. We told him our dissapointment about our days travails. When we mentioned the name of the town nearest the shtetl he pointed out someone in the shul who was originally from that area. We struck up a conversation with this new fellow and it turns out he grew up in the particular shtetl that we had visited. When he heard my grandfathers name we were both shocked to discover that he was best friends with my grandfather befroe he moved to Engand at the age of 10! He also told us that at the time war broke out there were 20 Jewish families living there, and we "happened" to meet one of the handful of surviors.
With the shuls (Lubavitch) rabbi translating from yiddish, we were able to find out a lot about our family. Then while he was going through some names of family members, a second, younger man came up because he recognized one of the names as his uncle! In one afternoon we met an old friend and a distant realtion.
V'haya Lachem L'tzitzis
By: Anonymous
Silver Spring, MD
One morning as I was just beginning my drive to work, I suddenly got the idea in my head to stop and get a cup of coffee to drink in the car - something I never ever do, I always wait until I get to work to have my coffee. When I continued on my way, I had barely driven for a minute before the coffee spilled all over my white shirt. I had no choice but to turn around and drive home to change into another shirt.
When I took off my coffee-soaked shirt, I discovered to my great shock, that I had forgotten to wear my tallis katan - something I had never forgotten. What a perfect case of "Gam Zu L'tovah" - I certainly wouldn't want to be out all day without tzitzis. The hashgacha pratis was so abundandly clear that I had to laugh as I thanked Hashem!
The Real Winner
By: Yitz Parzen
Unknown
I recently participated in a race called the JPMorganChase Corporate Challenge. The weather in New York had just become unseasonably hot and humid, 95+ degrees...in the shade. Anyway, despite the discomfort, this race took place in Central Park at 7:00pm, and there were thousands of participants. I chugged my way through the 3.5 mile route, sights set on the finish line...and a nice cold bottle of water that usually awaits each finisher. (Trust me, at that moment medals, etc. are useless!)
Finally, vindication arrives, and in the distance I can already hear the volunteers screaming out "Water, cold water, get your water!" When I finally arrived at the water table, I graciously accepted the bottle of water. To my dismay, however, I noticed something unusual. This was not ordinary water, but rather one of those flavored, nutrient enhanced drinks that looks like water.
Well, needless to say, as the runners passed down the line, I just followed them down the "corral" towards the exit of the park, totally oblivious to the fact that I was still holding the unopened bottle of non-kosher "water". Suddenly, about 10 feet from the park's exit a poor, ragged women (probably not Jewish, but who really knows?) approached me and asked If I had received any "extra" bottles of water. My only bottle was "extra" so that tzedakah could be practiced to any and all of Hashem's children and creations. Needless to say, her smile made me feel like a winner that day!
Missed Flight
By: Anonymous
Brooklyn, NY
A friend I know in Petach Tikva told me a true story that happened to a mutual friend of ours who works in the diamond industry. To keep his identity anonymous, I'll call him Shimon.
Shimon until recently, used to fly to the states on business approximately two to three times a month. For years, he had the same driver pick him up and return him to JFK Airport.
Once, on his return to the airport, the driver took a wrong turn and got hopelessly lost. The ensuing delay caused Shimon to miss his flight. Needless to say, the driver was mortified. He could not understand how he could have got lost on a journey that he'd made hundreds of times before.
Only a few hours later did he understand. Shimon had missed the flight that Rachmono Litzlan blew up over Lockerbie, Scotland.
Diversify Your Portfolio
By: Anonymous
Brooklyn, NY
When my wife was a little girl, her mother wanted to send her to a yeshiva. Although her family was not religious, her mother wanted her to have a Jewish education. Not knowing of any other yeshivas in the area, her mother decided to send her to Bais Yaakov. The problem was that her family did not have enough money to pay and Bais Yaakov did not want to give a scholarship to a girl who isn't religious and chances are would never become.
In despair, her mother was told of a man who might be able to help her because he was very involved in the Jewish community. This man called Bais Yaakov and made them a deal. He would pay for her first year of school. If they felt that she was a good girl and had potential, they would give her a scholarship for the years to follow. They agreed!
So my wife went to Bais Yaakov, became religious and is now married to me and we are leading a wonderful religious life together.
I was curious as to whom this wonderful man was who did this incredible thing for a total stranger, but my wife and her family had no clue. But then I finally found out who that man was...MY FATHER. For all those who missed that, MY FATHER paid for a stranger to go to yeshiva, in yeshiva she became frum, and now I am married to her. And neither of us knew about this until after we were already engaged.
This is a perfect example of Hashem putting everything in motion and setting things up the way it was meant to be. You do a good thing, and it comes back to you, eventually, whether you know it or not, but surely.
Lights, Cuban, Action
By: Anonymous
Jerusalem, Israel
As part of my staying-fit-routine, I usually do a few walks a week from Har Nof to Rechavia, ending with some late night shopping in the supermarket next to the Plaza. Occasionally, I take along a good Cuban cigar to make the walk more enjoyable. One Tuesday night, I decided to take the opposite route from town to Har Nof. I stopped in the smoke shop (with the wooden Indian in the window) next to Café Rimon and then set along on my walk.
Those of you who are not cigar aficionados, may not know that a cigar needs to be stored at 65%-70% humidity. If it is too humid, the cigar is somewhat soggy, can get moldy, and is hard on the draw. If it is too dry, it can be sharp and very harsh. That Tuesday night, the humidifier had not been working properly, and the cigar I purchased was not in premium condition. To say the least, it was quite dry. But I had spent the money and wasn't going to throw it out.
I always walk on Motzei Shabbos. That next Motzei Shabbos was no different. I was walking up King George past the corner of Ben Yehudah at 11:35pm. Having planned to go downtown to pick up a cigar, I changed my mind as I had spent good money on a dry cigar earlier that week. Instead, I proceeded to Rechavia.
A minute after I entered the supermarket, I noticed everyone on the phone, and realized that something had happened...The triple bomb outside Café Rimon at 11:45pm. The cigar store was shattered. So were my nerves. I realized that had the cigar been fresh that week, I would have gone down to get another cigar that night, and I would not have been writing this story for you.
Hungry For Hashgacha
By: Benjy Soffer
Jerusalem, Israel
Many yeshiva students and other singles would agree that arranging Shabbos meals is a challenge. It is not as if they are hard to come by. There are always countless offers. Rather the difficulty lies elsewhere. Since every Shabbos is another opportunity for an experience, I don’t like to set up meal plans until the last minute, for fear of limiting my options. To accept an invitation on Sunday-Tuesday is unheard of because there is always the fear that something better will come up. To make matters worse, this issue arises week in and week out so out of frustration of always having to decide these very important decisions, I tend to procrastinate. "It’s only Wednesday, there’s still time to find a place," has become a common justification lately. The outcome is always the same. I’m forced to scramble last minute and set up meals with the same people I could’ve just as easily asked on Monday, yet I continue to act in this precarious fashion.
Last week was no exception. Wednesday came and went without an offer to stay in the Hilton with five friends of my choice. Late Thursday night and still no Shabbos lunch meal. It dawned on me that Friday morning is a little late to ask most people for a meal for the next day. Thoughts started running through my head, "This can always be a Machlis Shabbos," until I remembered Rabbi B-. Rabbi and Rebbetzin B- are one of those unusually nice families that would host me (and many others for that matter) even if I turned up at their door five minute before the meal. So together with my friend Yoel, I devised a strategic plan of action. It would score me a meal, and at the same time minimize some of the embarrassment of having to ask the B-s once again at the last minute. It was decided that instead of calling, I would walk over to the B-’s house on Friday morning to talk about the forthcoming Derech tiyul to Tzfat. Then I’d inconspicuously invite myself over.
On Friday morning I walked over to the B-s only to find that Rabbi B- wasn’t home but in Yeshiva. "That’s funny," I thought, "I didn’t see him there," On my trek back to Yeshiva I bumped into Nachum. After recounting the incident to him, he asked me to do him a favor and give Rabbi B- his office keys, if I found him. I readily obliged and continued back to Yeshiva. Arriving in Yeshiva, I continued my pursuit of Rabbi B-, but to no avail. I gave up and decided to go somewhere else for lunch. Machlis was beginning to look like a reality.
At that point I had to leave Yeshiva to do some shopping. I started down the path when I noticed Rabbi B- climbing the stairs towards me. He saw me and asked, " Benjy, do you need a place for Shabbos lunch?!" I immediately replied, "Yes!" but in my mind I was thinking "Wow," Hashem spared me the discomfort of having to ask for an invitation, and the exact meal that I needed was offered to me.
There’s more! I went on to tell Rabbi B- that I’d just met Nachum and he had given me the keys. "Really," was his response, "I need them to get into my office. Perfect timing!"
A Yiddishe T-Shirt
By: Jacob Goodman
Unknown
After World War II, many European Jews who had come to America stopped speaking Yiddish, considering it to be a dead language. They started to assimilate into the modern culture. While abandoning many of their old traditions, they also began to throw out the Yiddish newspapers, books and plays that they had accumulated in Europe. Every day, boxes of books would be put out on the street for the garbage collection.
A fellow who was living in one particular neighborhood watched as this material was being thrown out daily. He could not stand the tremendous loss of Jewish culture, so he resolved to do something. He began by picking up and taking home what he found lying on the curb. Soon he had accumulated a small library of Yiddish literature. Over time he became more and more organized, until he eventually had a business devoted to collecting and salvaging all Yiddish writings. After many years he established the International Yiddish Book Library in Boston, MA.
I was born in Massachusetts in 1983. At that time my family was mostly traditional, and had little knowledge of what Orthodox Judaism was all about. Seeking a Judaic afternoon outing, my parents went to visit a book fair hosted by this Yiddish library. I was a toddler at the time, and as a souvenir they bought me a t-shirt with the library’s name and logo imprinted on it in Yiddish.
A few years later we moved out of Massachusetts and came to Columbia, Maryland. At that time I was either in kindergarten or 1st grade. My parents, wishing to instill me with some sort of knowledge of my Jewish heritage, enrolled me in a Sunday morning Conservative Hebrew School. Unbeknownst to my parents, the particular class I attended was taught by the Rebbetzin of the local Orthodox Shul. For many weeks I begrudgingly attended this school on Sunday mornings.
One morning I wore the t-shirt that my parents had bought for me at the book fair a few years back. Growing up in New York and being fluent in Yiddish, my Sunday school teacher immediately noticed my t-shirt. Through her attempts to understand why I would be wearing such a shirt, she got to know my parents. Not long afterward, our family began attending the Orthodox Shul. After many years, under the guidance of this Rebbetzin and her husband, our family became frum ballei teshuva.
As a result of one man’s desire to save Yiddish books, a random t-shirt, the careful eye of a religious teacher, and of course Hashem, I and my family are where we are today.
Blackout
By: Anonymous
Jerusalem, Israel
Upon moving to Yerushalayim, a couple was invited to eat a Shabbos meal at the home of a friend. A number of others were invited as well, and the couple was privileged to meet a few of the locals. One of the guests was an electrician who happened to live in their building. The group enjoyed a delicious meal and parted ways, only later to find out the hashgacha involved in their “chance” meeting.
Just about a month later, the couple had a Saturday night flight out of Ben Gurion and had little time to get to the airport after Shabbos. As soon as Shabbos was over, they rushed to pack up their belongings. The couple was not only leaving the country, but also moving out of that particular apartment.
The action began shortly after havdalah. Suddenly, the entire electricity blew in the house. This had happened before, but on this particular occasion the problem could not easily be fixed. A few neighbors came and attempted to find a solution, all to no avail. Naturally, the couple was quite nervous and had no idea how they would be able to get out of the apartment in time to catch their flight. And then it hit them. Where did that electrician live? After a brief inquiry, the electrician was quickly located and he was able to save the day.
Saved From Sbarros
By: Moshe Mernick
Toronto, Canada
Less than two years ago, on a bright summer afternoon, I went to town with a friend of mine to eat lunch. Before I got to the restaurant, I bumped into Adam, one of my brother’s friends from Toronto. He asked if I could give him directions to Ethiopia Street. I didn’t know how to get there, so I instructed him to go to the intersection of Yaffo and King George, to ask someone over there.
After finishing lunch, my friend and I walked up to King George Street, about half a block away from Sbarros, to hail a cab. We had intended to go down Yaffo Street towards the Old City, but every cab going in that direction was full. A cabbie going the opposite way signaled for us to come into his cab. I told him to make a U-turn and go toward Sbarros and then make a right turn onto Yaffo. He answered that he’d take us around the block because the Sbarros intersection was "too crowded." We then headed up the street, away from Sbarros towards my destination point.
We were stopped at the corner of Ben Yehuda and King George Street, approximately two blocks away from Yaffo, when I heard the most horrific sound I had ever experienced in my entire life. It sounded like a short thunder. My friend and I looked at each other in absolute and utter shock. A tear slowly rolled down my cheek as I realized that it wasn’t thunder that I had just heard, as there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
I turned to the cab driver and asked him what had happened. He claimed that the sound had come from Ben Gurion Airport, which to this very day makes no sense to me. As we watched the ambulances and T.V. crews rush down the street, I asked him to turn on the radio to hear any news. The reporter was speaking Hebrew, which I couldn’t understand, but about 30 seconds later our cab driver turned to us and said, "My Gosh! We were right there!"
It didn’t hit me as to exactly what had happened until I arrived at my destination, and saw everyone watching T.V. and crying. I peeked in to see the T.V. to try and find out what was going on. I saw a restuarant, Sbarros, which I had passed only half an hour before, totally ripped apart. Unfortunately there were even dead bodies strewn about outside.
Only a few hours later did I remember Adam, my brother’s friend, who I’d told to go to the intersection for directions. I panicked completely. I had no way of getting in touch with him while I searched CNN for his picture along with the other deceased. Thank G-D I didn’t find it, yet I still had no idea what became of him. I’d sent him there about fifteen minutes before it blew up!
A few days later I bumped into Adam again. I was thoroughly overwhelmed to see him. He told me that I must sit down and hear his story. He recounted how he’d been walking towards the intersection where Sbarros is located, when he decided that he was hungry so he’d pick up a slice of pizza. He approached the store when... right in front of him the restaurant just blew up! He looked at me straight in the eye and said, "Another 5 or 10 seconds and I would’ve been in that store with the bomb!" He continued to relay all the details. "Glass was shattered everywhere and even into my sandals. Before I came to Israel people had warned me about the situation, but I never thought it would happen to me."
So what do we learn from this story? I dare not think about what would’ve happened had my cab driver made that U-turn. Instead of being down King George Street by the time the bomb went off, I would have been right in front of the restaurant! It scares me also when I think about what if the bomb blew up 10 seconds later, and Adam, who I’d sent there, was inside Sbarros! We clearly see how mere seconds, or a cab driver’s strange behavior can help save lives. That is undoubtedly the "Yad of Hashem."
Baseball Madness
By: Bentzi Siouni
Unknown
As I look back at the details of the story I'm shocked to see how the insignificant or unnoticed events in life can be the gateway and the beginning of a deep recognition of the hand of G-d.
My road to Yiddishkeit really began when I was nine years old growing up in a traditional home with little true understanding of Torah. Although I kept Shabbos and Kashrus on a minimal level, it was without any understanding of my actions. No more than a family custom upheld by my grandfather. If someone would have asked me, what is Shabbos? My mind would have gone blank. I was into enjoying life and having fun with minute comprehension of what it was about. I was in a coed Modern-Orthodox school, but I never really paid attention in class, so not much was gained there.
When the school stopped accepting girls I decided it was not for me any longer. My parents decided to send me to a Conservative school. I had planned to stay in this school throughout my high school career, but because of the snobby attitude of the students I decided to leave. There was only one school left for me to attend, that my parents knew about. Had I attended that school, my chances of being religious would have been significantly reduced. Thanks to an amazing sequence of events going to this school never became a reality.
It was a hot summer afternoon. As I passed a parking lot near my home, I saw a couple of cool kids playing baseball. They were my age and really good players. Normally, I wouldn't approach such strangers for fear of embarrassment. I am not that good of a baseball player, yet something inside me became fearless. I found the guts to ask those guys if I could play. They reluctantly agreed. I was placed at the end of the lineup. When my turn came to bat I feared for the worst. Suddenly, to my amazement, the bat connected to the ball with a loud ‘crack’ and the ball soared over the outfielders head for a homerun. Instantly I became one of the guys, so I invited them over to my house for a basketball game. We became good friends and spent the next few weeks together. During that time I found out they were all going to attend Ezra Academy the next year. I had my parents cancel my registration at the other school and applied to Ezra Academy instead. Ezra is a coed school that focuses on teaching its students about Judaism. Today I am living in Israel, learning in Kollel, and enjoying a completely frum lifestyle. I owe all my thanks to those seemingly unimportant events in my life that all just ‘happened’ to work out in the right sequence.
Stop That Cab
By: Anonymous
Jerusalem, Israel
I have a habit of checking my pockets whenever I exit a cab, to be sure that I haven’t forgotten anything. Today, as I departed from the cab I patted down my pockets and sent the cab on his way thinking all was well. A moment later I decided to make a phone call (I just happened to decide that I needed to make a phone call at that moment?). I reached into my pants pocket and ‘lo and behold’ NO PHONE. I looked up the road and saw that the cab was stuck at a red light about 200 feet ahead. (It just happened to be red?) I dashed over to the cab, opened the door, retrieved my phone, and thanked G-d!
Dina or Bina
By: Nochum Feintuch
FarRockaway, NY
I was at a Bar Mitzvah a couple of months ago, where I met a ten-year-old boy who’d been paralyzed in an ATV accident at age five. After getting to know he and his family, I wrote down his full name, so that I’d be able to daven for him. I was at the Kotel soon after that, when someone approached me, requesting a small donation, and in return he would daven for forty consecutive days at the Kotel. I immediately grabbed the opportunity. I gave him the boy’s name and took down this man’s number for future reference.
Later I e-mailed the father to let him know that someone would be going to the Kotel for forty straight days to daven for his son, Eliyahu Shmuel Ben Chaya Dina. I received an e-mail back, thanking me for thinking of his son, Eliyahu Shmuel Ben Chaya Bina. As I read the father’s reply, I began feeling this terrible knot in my stomach. Here it was, fourteen days into the forty days of davening at the Kotel, and I had given over the wrong name to that man. I quickly phoned the guy to have him correct the name that I’d given him from "Ben Chaya Dina" to "Ben Chaya Bina." He opened his notebook and said, "There’s no need to make any corrections. I have had Bina written here all along. " I was amazed! I had heard the name Dina, and I had told him that it was Dina, but he had written down Bina. Incredible!
A Meal To Die For
By: Phil Nicholas
Jerusalem, Israel
In the realm of hashgocha pratis stories, those that entail life or death scenarios, generally have the most eye-opening effects. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I've been zoche to be involved in two such scenarios.
On a Motzei Shabbos in early December of last year, a friend and I decided to eat out in Café Rimon. A seemingly simple decision with no apparent ramifications is choosing a place to sit. Due to the company on one particular side of the restaurant, we picked our seats and ordered. Before the food even reached our table we heard an ear-piercing explosion. Upon realizing it was a bomb, we proceeded back to yeshiva, taking a route much different from our usual one. This too, at the time, was something that didn't seem like a life or death decision. It was not until after reflection upon the events that transpired did we realize the true Divine Intervention.
The side of the café that we’d decided to sit on was to the far right of the restaurant. Those dining on the far left were injured in the explosion. Had we taken our normal route back to yeshiva, we would've walked past a car bomb that detonated minutes after the first bomb. We would have been right next to there when it exploded! These two seemingly simple decisions with no apparent ramifications clearly demonstrate the ultimate control that Hashem has in our lives and on the world.
Part II
Within the next month, on the small chance that I had perhaps forgotten who is in charge, I was fortunate to have been woken from my self-centered slumber once again.
My father and I were eating lunch at Holy Bagel on Jaffa Street. After finishing our meal, rather than taking a cab back to the hotel we opted to walk. We began heading up Jaffa. When we reached Kikar Zion, my father said that he wanted to stop into the bookstore we'd just passed. We turned around and went back into the bookstore.
As soon as we entered the bookstore, we heard shots being fired outside. After the shots had stopped we proceeded on our way back to the hotel. Taking a different route, we noticed the shooting had been in the direction we would have been walking.
It wasn't until the evening that we realized that the shooting had been exactly equal distance from where we'd been standing to the bookstore. Had we continued at the pace we’d been walking, we would have reached the exact spot of the shooting at precisely the time that the shots were fired. Once again the simple choice of turning around and going back to the bookstore ended up being a life saving decision.
How I Got To Israel...and Stayed
By: Anonymous
Jerusalem, Israel
I was in need of a specific grade, in order to be accepted into a very sought after college course. I was not concerned whatsoever as I had the full confidence that I would receive an even higher grade than the one that I needed. Upon the return of the test results however, I was shocked to discover that I was one point shy of the necessary grade. My parents and teachers advised me to re-sit the exams to try for a better score. Yet I had been thinking about going to Israel for the year, and I strongly felt that this was an opportunity that I shouldn't pass up. Otherwise I may never have had another chance to go to Israel.
Having enjoyed my first year so immensely, I had little pressure to return to college. I didn’t have the position in the program that I'd originally intended to get into. So I remained in Israel for a second year...and a third...and G-d willing a fourth!
Miracle at Massada
By: Anonymous
Jerusalem, Israel
I was visiting Massada with a few friends. Since we had done the snake-path up to the top many times before, my friends and I decided to make our own tiyul on the mountains surrounding Massada. The dips, curves, narrow pathways, and meager footholds presented quite the challenge for us.
On one particular part of the mountain there was a very dangerous stretch and we had to walk slowly around the path with our backs braced against the face of the mountain. Slowly and carefully we proceeded, with warnings to all not to look down because of the 40-foot drop. One misstep would mean an instant painful death on the jagged rocks below.
We were continuing around the bend, when sudden a scream of "Nooooooo!!!" made us stop short. We looked up and saw a group of people shouting down to us from the top of Massada. We carefully peeked around the edge of the mountain. We then realized to our utter dismay, that they were warning us to stop immediately and retrace our tracks. The path had abruptly ended at a 40-foot cliff. We hurried down, all the time, with the keen awareness that we had been one step away from certain death. Fortunately, those people had seen us just in time to save us.
Upon our return to the base of the mountain, we located the group that had called down to us. Running over to them, we expressed our sheer gratitude of how they had prevented our inevitable doom. With all this thanks being showered upon them, they appeared confused, in fact utterly clueless as to what we were thanking them for.
"Didn't you warn us to turn around?" we asked. "What are you talking about?" was their puzzled response. Now it was our turn to be baffled. So we told them what had happened. Their eyes lit up. "It was us!" one of them exclaimed, "Only we weren't warning you. We were merely responding to a question posed to us by our tour guide. He had asked, ' Will Massada ever fall?' To which we'd all yelled "Noooooooooo!!!!"
Hey Taxi!
By: Anonymous
Jerusalem, Israel
There were two taxis approaching me. I decided (or so I thought) to take the first one. I told the driver where I was headed, but he said he was going in the other direction, so I had to get out and find someone else who would take me. I waited a few minutes for another taxi to appear, trying to figure out some comprehensive reason for this inconvenience. Another taxi finally showed up.
After telling the driver where I was going, I took out some cookies and began to munch away. Upon noticing the driver’s expression, it occurred to me that perhaps he wanted some. I then took off my kippa, placed it on his head, and handed him a couple of cookies. He started to make a bracha, and although he broke his teeth stuttering, he appreciated the gesture, and it hopefully made a Kiddush Hashem.
The Little Bus That Could
By: Anonymous
Edgeware, UK
I always took the 7:30am bus to school in order to get to minyan at 8am. The number of the big red double decker bus that I took was the 240. It could come anywhere between 7:28 and 7:35 on a given morning. Being so unpredictable, I always made sure to get there early. That particular morning however, I did not. After walking the 7 minutes from my house to the stop, I saw my bus fade into the distance. As I stood there appreciating my terrible luck that morning I saw over the horizon the 221, another bus that goes about halfway to my destination. I got onto it with the hope that I would be able to catch up with the 240 at one of the later stops.
Everything was going according to plan, until a young girl got onto the bus and failed to show an ID enabling her to be eligible for the child's fare. The child fare is 40p and the adult fare is 80p. She didn't have the 80p she needed for the adult fare. She stood there arguing with the driver for a few minutes. I sat there thinking, "There goes minyan, and being in school on time." I decided that I would stay on the bus as far as it would take me and then walk the rest of the way. It didn't really matter anymore. I was late and that was that.
Being an English school of the highest stature, Hasmonean High School requires all students from year 7 through 11 to wear a school uniform, which includes a kippah of unique design. The black and maroon combination makes a Hasmo boy stick out like a sore thumb, quite literally.
I was trudging along pondering my inevitable fate. Just then I heard the distinct sound of 'honk honk' and 'beep beep' behind me. A minibus that the Hasmo boys took from Ilford (as Ilford is quite a distance from the school) pulled up beside me, and the lovely Sfardi chap driving it offered me a lift to school- wicked.
Now the 221 bus route differs from the 240, so when I said that it goes halfway to my destination, I meant half the distance not half the route. However, it just so happens to be the route that the minibus takes from Ilford to school. When our minibus dropped us off at school I saw a bus pull up right behind us. It was the 240! I raced down the corridor and into the Bais Medrash... I was the Minyan Man!
Coin - Cidence
By: Rabbi Uri Abrams
Jerusalem, Israel
Some people would want to say that the following story is merely a mighty fine coincidence. However, the timing involved was so exact and the event so unplanned, that it was obviously divine intervention, Hashgacha Pratis. I had just finished saying my shiur in Gemara, Meseches Megillah 8a. The gemara deals with a concept called k'sav ivri, ancient Hebrew script. In order to illustrate this concept for my students, I took out of my pocket a modern day ten-shekel coin and showed them the ancient Hebrew script minted onto the coin.
After the shiur was over, Ben Fishman, one of my students, went into the Bais Hamedrash to get his R' Hirsch commentary to learn with his chavrusa, as per his routine. Today, however, was to be different. When he pulled his R' Hirsch commentary off the shelf, a paper that had been wedged between his book and the others, fell out. Noticing this, Ben glanced at the paper. It was the weekly daf yomi sheet from a few weeks before. It was expounding the Gemara Sanhedrin 17a-24b. As Ben skimmed through it, he immediately noticed that it was addressing the same topic as the Megillah shiur he had just left - k'sav ivri! Not only did the paper reveal great depths of information regarding this topic, it also mentioned the fact that this script appears on the ten-shekel coin! Thank you Hashem, for showing us that you are here guiding us. Please continue to guide us always, that we may forever find favor in your eyes.
Crash Of Luck
By: Anonymous
Silverspring, MD
My parents divorced when I was one. My mother became less religious and married a secular Jew in Chicago. I grew up in the secular environment of my mother and stepfather. I played on a hockey team, acting in plays and commercials, and hung out with friends, just like a normal teenager. During my freshman year in high school my mother divorced for the second time and my life started to change.
Slowly my mom started to become a little bit more religious due to the kiruv efforts of the Posners in Chicago. During my mothers transition she started to date a very rich, influential, and religious Jew in Chicago. He wanted me to become more religious, and with the help of a Rabbi in Skokie, Rabbi S-, I began to learn about Judaism. The first goal of Rabbi S- was to teach me Aleph-Bais and perform my Bar Mitzvah (by the age of 14, I still had not had a formal Bar Mitzvah). We spent the summer after my freshman year perfecting my reading and learning my Bar Mitzvah Haftorah. After accomplishing this feat it was suggested that I go to a yeshiva the following year. I didn't mind learning a bit of Judaism, but going to yeshiva was a little too much. With the pushing of my mother, the influence of her boyfriend, and the love of my Rebbe I was forced to go to Yeshiva of Greater Washington in Silver Spring, Maryland.
Going from public high school to a Yeshiva wasn't the prettiest of adjustments. I absolutely despised yeshiva and hated having to keep all the rules of the school and the religion. I agreed with the basic ideas of Judaism but I just wanted to have unrestricted fun. Out of this horrible situation there was a glimmer of light, Rabbi L-. The Rav was down-to-earth, funny, Sephardic, and showed that he actually cared. This bond that I made with Rabbi L- would ultimately help me to become religious. I returned to Chicago no longer wanting to go to Yeshiva, turned off from religion.
Even though my mother broke up with her boyfriend, she still wanted me to go to Jewish school and enrolled me in Ida Crown Jewish Academy. I was getting along with neither the school nor my mother, and I wanted to move out. My mother suggested that I go to a family friend in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, where I would complete my high school term. I would work, and my grandmother would help pay for the room and board. As a secular teenager I agreed to the plan, and moved to Colorado to start my junior year at public high school.
As I started to adjust to the new school and hockey team, I began to enjoy my new life in Colorado. With the direction of the family friend, I began straightening my life and making goals: to finish high school, work for a year, play hockey, and then go to college (hopefully with a hockey scholarship).
All the plans were running smoothly until I suddenly began to think. As I came back from the usual "everyone-gets-drunk" party, my thinking began. I climbed up on top of the jeep in front of the house, and lay there thinking. It was at this moment that I had my life-changing talk with the Almighty. I believed in the religion, and felt that life actually did have a purpose, but I was too lazy to do anything about it. I told G-d that I would get around to becoming religious, but right now I just wanted to have fun.
Hashem didn't like this plan, and decided to send me a message. My friend and I worked at the same restaurant together, and I always used to borrow his car (even though I had no license). One night, I finished working for him, and told him I would take the car home, and then return to pick him up an hour later. Returning to pick him up, I attempted a 30-MPH turn at 65 MPH. The physics of this maneuver did not work properly; I spun out of control into a ditch on the side of the road. Thank G-d I was ok, but the car was absolutely totaled. Just my luck, the cops happened to roll by, and quickly figured out what happened. I was charged for driving without a license and insurance in my friend's rental car. This was the worst moment of my entire life. Later, I worked out a deal with the insurance company to pay the damage of $6,000.
After this incident, I received a letter inviting me to fulfill my life's dream. It was an invitation to tryouts for a semi-professional hockey league. Even though I was working 6 days a week to pay the insurance company, I managed to get the weekend off to attend the tryouts. Many teams scouted me, but one team was particularly interested, and requested my attendance at their private tryout, the following week. I would surely get accepted, and all I would have to do was show up. Unfortunately, my boss denied me another weekend off, threatening to fire me. I couldn't risk losing my job because of the debt, so I missed the opportunity of a lifetime.
Despite these speed bumps, my goals continued and I received the best job ever - working for a bar in Aspen, Colorado. I had an apartment across from the best skiing mountains in America, $25/hour cash, a fake ID, and I was playing on the Aspen hockey team, preparing for college hockey. Even though I had everything, I really had nothing.
During this period, I received a phone call from my father. Ever since my parents had divorced, my father had continually tried to influence me to embrace my heritage, and become orthodox. He would always pray for this and never gave up in his attempts. One week, he suggested that I go visit Rabbi L-, in Maryland, for Rosh Hashana. I agreed because I liked Rabbi L-, but also because my father was paying for the trip. The whole time I was there, the Rabbi argued about the direction in which my life was heading. I finally gave in, and said I would do something. I returned to Colorado, closed my bank accounts, quit my job and my position on the hockey team, and left for Israel, subsequently enrolling in the Derech Institute for Torah Studies.
Hashem knew that the only way that I would become religious was if I would stop my hockey career and my pursuit of fun. Even though the car accident was the worst day of my life, I have no doubt that if I had made the hockey team, I would not be religious today. So perhaps, that day was better than I thought it was; it was a day of Hashgacha Pratis. To curb my pursuit of fun, Hashem had inundated me with so much fun, that I needed to change my life. That's when I went to Rabbi L-'s house and realized where my life was heading.
I would like to thank G-d for helping me find the right path. If you would ask me if the horrible crash, missing the hockey career, and giving up the pursuit of fun was worth it, I would unhesitatingly respond, Boruch Hashem YES!
Booze For Jewz
By: Yitzy Kolodny
Quuens, NY
It had been a while since I’d spoken to Tuvia. I had run into him while in New York over Pesach, and he told me that he was back in Israel. We decided that we were going to get together when I came to Tzfat for shabbos. We exchanged phone numbers and I said I’d get in touch.
On my third motzei Shabbos back in Israel, my chavrusa called me up, saying that he had a present for me from my friend Tuvia. He had gotten it when he was in Tzfat for Shabbos. When I returned to yeshiva, I was surprised to find a bottle of Johnny Walker on my bed, with a letter telling me to enjoy it. The reason for my surprise, other than the fact that I just got a nice bottle of whiskey from a friend, is that I never drink.
There I was wondering what to do with the bottle. I knew it wouldn’t be hard to get rid of, being in a yeshiva, but as a matter of principle I don’t give away gifts.
That Tuesday night R’ B- called me franticly. He was worried that the engagement party for one of the guys planned that night, was without any alcoholic beverages. "Do you know anyone who has extra alcohol they would like to donate lekavod the chosson?" He asked me.
I replied that I would love to donate my bottle of Johnny Walker for the occasion.
When I next spoke with my friend Tuvia I asked him why he sent me that bottle, knowing that I don’t drink scotch- only bourbon! He answered that he had bought way too much alcohol and he figured that I could make better use of it. I most certainly did.
Feeding Frenzy
By: Yoel Schmell
Woodmere, NY
I am quite fortunate of having the distinct honor and privilege to be Nachum's chavrusah every weekday from 3:05 until roughly around 3:45. As part of our adopted learning technique, we've incorporated into our study session about a 15 minute grace period which we devote solely to shmoozing. i.e. catching up on any breaking news and attempting to solve the world's problems. We can always easily spare these few minutes, as we undoubtedly have started on time, if not early.
On one particular occasion, we actually hit upon a serious issue. We discussed at length the idea that, unfortunately, in our modern and well-to -do society there is so much food that goes to waste. Whether it be the leftovers from a wedding, bar-mitzvah, or almost any catered affair, there is so much food being thrown out daily, that could easily be distributed to those in need of it. Why not salvage all that extra Kasha and prune juice from Great Aunt Minerva's 88th birthday party, and feed hungry people?
We spent the remainder of our session spewing forth numerous theoretical solutions to this dilemma and devising a complex plan of action. Probably none of our ideas would ever manifest into reality, yet it made us feel better to believe that we'd somehow improved the quality of life for mankind as a whole. We continued on in this manner, until my afternoon chavrusah paid us a little visit. He dropped us back into consciousness, bringing to our attention the facts that we had effectively neglected our entire seder, as well as cut into twenty minutes of the next.
That evening, I decided that I'd like to attend a particular shiur, which is given by Chacham Hillel in Me'a She'arim (almost) every week. I like to go whenever I can, and as I didn't have much to prepare during night seder, this was an ideal opportunity. A few guys and I piled into a cab, arriving at the Chacham's yeshivah just as he was scheduled to begin. Before we entered inside however, his shammos intercepted us to relay the message that there would be no shiur that night. Usually someone calls to inform us when the class is cancelled, but for some reason, we'd been overlooked this time.
Already being in Me'a She'arim, with nothing to do, we decided to conduct ourselves like all typical Jewish boys. We went out to eat. We stopped into a restaurant tucked away somewhere in a corner, a place I'd never been to before. We were about to sit down and order, but at that point (I'm not exactly sure why) I determined that the restaurant wasn't exactly my speed. I wanted to try somewhere else instead. We trudged out onto the street in search of another fine establishment. We eventually chose a place.
Having had pleasant exchanges with the manager as well as a decent meal, we were preparing to leave the joint and head back to yeshivah. At that point, the bored employee swaggered over to our table and began making small talk with us. Somewhere amidst the conversation, he presented an interesting proposal to us. In his store he had large amounts of prepared food that he'd intended to sell before shabbos. For whatever the reason, his calculations had not gone as planned, providing him with tons of leftovers. He told us that he would no longer sell it, as it wasn't freshly made. Yet it was still perfectly good and there was no need for it to go to waste. He asked us to take it off his hands and give it out to whomever we deemed worthy. So we loaded up a few hundred(!) shekels worth of delicacies, and pranced our way down Rechov Me'a She'arim.
That night was Lag B'omer. There were lots of people around. As we continued along, we handed out care packages to any poor people who wanted them. There was one old lady who was so delighted to be receiving such a fantastic treasure. She repeatedly asked for more and more, to be able to feed her large family of six children and seven dwarves. In return for the handouts, we received an elated toothless smile.
We completed our rounds, and distributed as much as we were able. Heading back to yeshivah, I felt a gentle calm wash over me. G-D had definitely been sending me a message. I reviewed the events of the last few hours in my ever-pacing mind. First of all, the ‘coincidental’ topic of my invigorating conversation with N- just that very day! Then the lack of material to prepare for night seder. The idea to go to the shiur that was planted in my brain (which still remains). The case of the missing Chacham, which led to our decision to dine out in style. The last minute switching of the restaurant followed by that rare and unique suggestion to take the food. I was awed by the play-out of events, and the obvious existence of the Grand Chess Master sitting up there, moving around all those little pieces.
Patience: More Than A Virtue
By: Rabbi Tzvi Wainstein
Jerusalem, NY
The Ramban dealing with the dream of Yakov elaborates on the special Hashgachah that Eretz Yisroel enjoys; and indeed many that live here sense it in a tangible way. I would like to share a story that happened to me while I was learning in Kolel.
One of the delights of Yerushalayim, which is off limits for the while, is Machaneh Yehudah- the Jerusalem market. Not only are the prices unbelievable, but the selection and quality is a constant display of the abundance that Hashem has blessed Eretz Yisroel with. A trip to the Shuk always leaves me inspired.
When I was in Kolel there was a Tzadik who always ensured that the Avreichim were never short of their needs. I recall that whenever the paychecks were late, he would put up a sign saying that whoever needed the money until the checks came in, should come and get the money from him upfront, as a loan.
Once, right before Shavuos, I needed to go to Machaneh Yehudah. I realized that my wallet was not quite as healthy as it needed to be before a Yom Tov shopping spree. I approached Uri, the Avreich who always lent out money. He replied that he did not have cash on him, but would gladly get me the money He was in the middle of a Sugya, but left it up to me: If I wanted to go mamash now, he would draw me the money now. If not, he would be done in half an hour. I didn’t entertain the thought of having him get up from his Gemara, so I gladly waited the 30 minutes until he was done. (This was prior to the era of the cellphone so the danger of my list growing even larger, wasn’t there.)
After the half hour passed, I took the money and walked to Machaneh Yehudah. Upon arrival I discovered that I would not be able to shop at Machaneh Yehudah that day- it had just been blocked off with police tape after a bomb, which had gone off right next to my favorite pickle and cheese store. May Hashem avenge the blood of the innocent victims who did not make it home for Chag that year.