South Korean UN Ambassador

Mr. Sol Werdiger, CEO of Outerstuff, a company that produces sports apparel, received a phone call from Mr. Oh Joon, the South Korean UN Ambassador, asking to meet him for lunch at a kosher restaurant in Manhattan.

Although Sol did not know the purpose of the meeting, he agreed to meet with Mr. Joon.

When they met, Mr. Joon told him the following: “I have always heard negative stereotypes about Jews and Israel and I took it at face value. Then, my daughter took an internship working on design in your company. Throughout the year, she has been telling me how wonderful it is to work at your company.”

Mr. Joon continued: “There are four areas which stood out and impressed my daughter.

“1) Every day, at 1:30 p.m., no matter what was going on at the office, all the men, including those from neighboring offices, retreated into a room to pray with sincerity and calm.

“2) Every Friday, the office shuts down early in the afternoon in preparation for your holy Sabbath and is closed on the Sabbath – this includes all workers, no matter which faith or religion they maintain.

“3) My daughter observed that each petitioner for charity – and there were many – were treated with respect and left with a check in hand.

“4) My daughter was treated with the utmost respect and dignity.”

Because of the amazing experience and lessons the company taught his daughter, Mr. Joon took out his checkbook and was ready to write out a check returning all his daughter’s earnings.

Mr. Werdiger wouldn’t hear of it.

“Your daughter worked and earned her salary and rightfully deserves her pay,” he said. “I will not accept any remuneration.”

Then the ambassador relayed the most amazing thing: “As you know, I have voting privileges at the UN. Because of my renewed appreciation of the Jewish people, I abstained from voting on resolutions against Israel on three occasions. At one resolution, I was the ninth vote needed to pass the motion and resolution against Israel, and because I abstained, it did not pass!”

Mr. Werdiger told me that no one at the office had any idea that this girl was the daughter of an ambassador, and no one ever imagined what type of impact their typical conduct at work had on her or how this impacted the votes against Israel.


G-d has entrusted us to follow the example of our forefathers to be trailblazers and to set examples, becoming a light unto all nations by living exemplary lives as outlined by the laws, personalities and experiences of our precious and timeless wisdom

Someone Important

Gary was a boy in a Jewish elementary school in Pittsburgh who was known throughout the school as a big behavior problem. Year after year, teacher after teacher, he was found to be incorrigible. He never applied himself to his studies, his behavior was very disruptive in class. He was disobedient and disrespectful. Gary was the class clown or class terror, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

One day he was sent down to the principal’s office (for about the 50 billionth time) because of a “disciplinary infraction” on his part. Of course the principal was quite familiar with Gary, as he had been seen him in his office many many times over the years for such “occasions”. The principal met with him, spoke to him about proper behavior, values, goals etcetera. It was pretty much the standard lecture.

The very next day, there was a noticeable change in Gary’s attitude. As the days, weeks, and months went by he excelled academically and socially. He became a model student as well as a model citizen. He was studious, courteous, and served as an asset in class because of his excellent insightful participation. He got involved in extra curricular school projects and programs.

All of his teachers, past and present were wondering the same thing. What in the world did the principal say to him at that meeting? No one had the nerve to ask.

At the final staff meeting of the school year, one of the teachers got up the nerve to ask the principal about Gary. Everyone took notice when that name was mentioned and a hush came over the room. Everyone wanted to know what it was that the principal said or did at that meeting that produced such a dramatic amazing turnaround in this boy.

The principal shrugged his shoulders and told everyone there that he didn’t know. “I gave him the same talk I would give to anyone in that situation, the same talk I had given to Gary countless times over the years. I have no idea why this time he was suddenly so remarkably affected.”

By this time, everyone’s curiosity was piqued so they decided to go straight to the horse’s mouth and ask the lad himself. Gary recounted the incident as follows:

“First I was sent to the principal’s office, which was nothing new. I stepped inside the office, sat down, and the principal started speaking and lecturing about stuff. To be honest I couldn’t really tell you what he said because I don’t remember and I wasn’t paying much attention while he was speaking.”

“Then his intercom buzzed. It was his secretary telling him there was a phone call for him. He told his secretary that he couldn’t speak now because he was meeting with someone very important.”

“He kept on going with his lecture but I have no idea what he was saying because all I could think about was that he said I was someone very important. I left his office with that one thought spinning through my head – the principal thinks I’m very important. I went on home but that’s all I could think about for the rest of the day – I am very important.”
 
“The next day, I got up, got dressed, ate breakfast, went to school – all the same things I always did, but it was all different. Now I was someone important. I went to my first class, sat down feeling great, and I guess things kind of just took off from there.”

 [The foregoing true story was told by Rabbi Yitzchak Chinn, McKeesport Pennsylvania.]

Say No to Drugs And All Other Artificially Induced Highs

Rabbi Mendel Futterfas was imprisoned in a Siberian labor camp for the crime of assisting his coreligionists in escaping the USSR in the dark post-World War II days. Many of his fellow inmates were professionals and intellectuals from the upper-crust of society, imprisoned because of the ostensible "threat" they constituted to Soviet ideology.
This group often wondered how Mendel maintained his cheerful demeanor despite the sub-human conditions which pervaded the camp. When they posed the question to him, he instantly replied:
"You are all dejected because your incarceration prevents you from materializing your life's goals. My goal in life is to serve G‑d. And that—I can do wherever I may be!"

---

Aside for the damage caused to the body by illegal or other mind-altering substances and excessive consumption of alcohol, as well as their potential for wreaking damage on relationships and careers, they also invariably disappoint those who turn to them in order to fill a void in their lives. In the end, they solve nothing; they only offer a temporary escape from melancholic feelings and/or one's sense of inadequacy and lack of accomplishment. Indeed, even at the moment one is experiencing an artificial high, the problems don't disappear. Even if one succeeds in momentarily removing all worries from the conscious mind, they always lurk in the sub-conscious—never allowing the person to find complete solace. As a wise person once said, "People imagine they can drown their troubles in drink; little do they know that their troubles float..."
During the High Holidays—and specifically on Yom Kippur—we connect with our innermost core, the essence of the Jewish soul which is eternally and unconditionally connected to G‑d. It is precisely because of this unconditional bond that G‑d annually grants us a full-hearted forgiveness, despite our behavior in the previous year. During Yom Kippur, however, the atmosphere is too somber and intense, and we are too involved in serious repentance, for us to savor and appreciate what transpires during those awesome moments. It takes a few days for our incredible fortune to sink in: Connection to G‑d is who we are! And because this is our very identity, absolutely nothing can alter it—attempting to disconnect a Jew from G‑d would be akin to attempting to transform a cow into a horse!
But "escapism" isn't relegated to the world of hallucinogenics. On a deeper level, most of our supposed sources of happiness are—to a certain extent—a subtle form of escapism. They are an escape from who we are; an attempt to find happiness from without, instead of finding true happiness within. While we chase transient possessions in our pursuit of happiness, we imagine that the reason for our emptiness and lack of happiness is our failure in achieving our goals. Happiness and utopian bliss are certain to wash over our lives once we've earned our first few million... If only we knew that it is all an exercise in futility. I once saw a quote from mega-millionaire Hollywood icon Jim Carrey, saying that he wishes that everyone had what he did—just so that they could see how meaningless it all is!
Happiness comes not from possessions. While one can find a certain measure of happiness in one's accomplishments, such happiness is also incomplete. For our accomplishments will never fully meet our satisfaction. Ultimate happiness is happiness with who we are, contentment with our very identity.
"Fortunate are we! How good is our portion, how pleasant is our lot, and how beautiful our heritage!"
So for seven days we forget about all else. We leave behind our home and possessions—and all other imaginary sources of happiness—and go out into a flimsy non-weatherproof hut. We sing, rejoice and say l'chaim; we're happy because we finally focus and what's really important in life—our own selves!
BY NAFTALI SILBERBERG

Tell me, do you believe in life after birth?

A pair of twins were having a conversation whilst in the womb. With a strong resonance to conversations one might find oneself having with a friend over a hot coffee, it shines an interesting light of perspective.

– Tell me, do you believe in life after birth?

– Of course. After birth comes life. Perhaps we are here to prepare for what comes after birth.

– Forget it! After birth there is nothing! From there, no one has returned! And besides, what would it look like?

– I do not know exactly, but I feel that there are lights everywhere … Perhaps we walk on our own feet, and eat with our mouth.

– This is utterly stupid! Walking isn’t possible! And how can we eat with that ridiculous mouth? Can’t you see the umbilical cord? And for that matter, think about it for a second: postnatal life isn’t possible because the cord is too short.

– Yes, but I think there is definitely something, just in a different way than what we call life.

– You’re stupid. Birth is the end of life and that’s it.

– Look, I do not know exactly what will happen, but Mother will help us…

– The Mother? Do you believe in the Mother? !
– Yes.

– Do not be ridiculous! Have you seen the Mother anywhere? Has anyone seen her at all?

– No, but she is all around us. We live within her. And certainly, it is thanks to her that we exist.

– Well, now leave me alone with this stupidity, right? I’ll believe in Mother when I see her.

– You can not see her, but if you’re quiet, you can hear her song, you can feel her love. If you’re quiet, you can feel her caress and you will feel her protective hands.

Source: Originally written in Hungarian by Útmutató a Léleknek, translated by Miranda Linda Weisz

Our Sages taught that “there are some who can acquire their share in the world to come in the mere span of one hour.” Jewish mystics remind us of a remarkable numerical linkage. The biblical lifespan is 70 years. 70×365 days is 25,550. Multiply the number of our days by 24, and our total number of hours on earth is just a little over 613,000 – a correspondence with the 613 mitzvot, in order to teach us that every hour of our lives should be concerned with fulfilling God’s will a thousandfold!

I do not remember where I saw it but the following story is an amazing metaphor for life.

Imagine there is a bank account that credits your account each morning with $86,400. It carries over no balance from day to day. Every evening the bank deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day. What would you do? Draw out every cent, of course.

Each of us has such a bank. Its name is TIME. Every morning, it credits you with 86,400 seconds – twenty-four hours times sixty minutes time sixty seconds. Every night it writes off as lost whatever of this you have failed to invest to a good purpose. It carries over no balance. It allows no over draft. Each day it opens a new account for you. Each night it erases the remains of the day. If you fail to use the day's deposits, the loss is yours. There is no drawing against "tomorrow." You must live in the present on today's deposits. Invest it so as to get from it the utmost in health, happiness and success.

The clock for every one of us keeps running. The days, the hours, the minutes – and yes, even the seconds quickly move at their unstoppable pace. But we can change the course of our lives even in a small fraction of time as a second. Perhaps that’s why it’s called a “second” – because it gives us a second chance to rectify our mistakes, to redirect our goals, to redefine our values, to become better versions of who we are from the perspective of who we could be.

Just a second, after all, is what the Olympics teach us makes the difference between winning the gold or weeping for what might have been.

By Rabbi Benjamin Blech - The Olympics' Jewish Message

A Special Prayer for a Fallen Soldier

I took our Birthright group to Mt. Herzl, Israel's national cemetery. Little did we know what was awaiting us. 

Monday, May 16th, 2016 was a hot day in Israel. As a guide for Birthright, I reminded everyone about hats and water, and made sure the group wasn’t out in the sun for too long. We were on a tight schedule and went to Mt. Herzl, Israel’s national military cemetery. Little did we know what was awaiting us.

I was guiding a group of students from Penn State organized and led by their beloved Aish Rabbi David Grant and his wife Esther.

Our first stop was near the grave of Theodor Herzl. Who was he? What did he do? Then, we stopped in front of Yitzchak Rabin’s grave and learned lessons from his life and assassination.

My next stops are usually the graves of the missing soldiers, the Old City Memorial and the Dakar submarine monument. Noticing the heat and checking the time, I realized that, unfortunately, we couldn’t do it all today. Instead, I changed course towards more recent graves (Yoni Netanyahu, Michael Levine, Roi Klein and Max Steinberg) that seem to touch American college students’ hearts.

But on the way I made one extra stop. I like to explain what Jewish graves look like and the meaning of the writing on the tombstone. So I randomly stop at an unknown grave to teach a little and show honor to a soldier that may not get many visitors. After all, the cemetery is huge and has almost 4,000 graves, but relatively few are of ‘well-known’ people. And since most of the dead were young and unmarried, few of them have descendants, so as the years go by, they will most likely cease to have any visitors at all.

I stopped at a grave on a path I’d never been on before. The group gathered around. I described what a Jewish grave looks like, in particular a military grave and I read the words in Hebrew out loud.

Something sounded wrong. I read them again and translated into English.

Moshe (Milton) Gavrer
Son of Menucha and Avrohom-Dov
Born in the USA
Made Aliyah (Moved to Israel) in 1947
Died in Battle in Jerusalem on the Eighth of Iyar 1948
27 years old at his death
May His Soul be Bound in the Binding of Life

When I got to the Hebrew date, the eighth of Iyar, my heart stopped. I was speechless.

Everyone looked at me, trying to find out why I stopped talking and why I suddenly looked like I was in shock.

I felt goose bumps as time stood still.

We just had the new month of Iyar last week and Israel’s Independence Day a few days ago… what was the Hebrew date today? I thought to myself, It can’t be… but it is….

I asked Rabbi Grant and our Israeli madricha, Adina what the Hebrew date was, and they confirmed what I already knew. It was the eighth of Iyar.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. I started to cry.

I had never stopped anywhere near this grave before and yet out of almost 4,000 graves God guided us to Moshe (Milton) Gavrer’s grave - on his yahrzeit, - the eighth of Iyar.

Milton was an American boy who served in the American military in WWII, becoming a sergeant, and moved to Israel as soon as he could in order to use his skills to defend Jews. He was killed by a sniper at the Jerusalem Railroad station on May 17, 1948 (8 Iyar 5708). He was 27.

Has anyone visited his grave? It’s hard to know - I found no records of his family. It seems that he wasn’t married and didn’t have any children. He was born in 1921 so it unlikely any siblings are still around and considering how hard travel was then, it isn’t even clear if his parents were even able to visit, or when they passed away.

Did anyone say Kaddish for him?

Yes.

We did. Rabbi Grant led us in one of the most moving prayers I’ve ever experienced. We placed stones on the grave and silently departed.

Sometimes, I think I’m guiding while, in reality, I’m being guided.

Sometimes, we think we’re all alone while, in reality, we’re all together.

by Doron Kornbluth 

http://www.aish.com/jw/id/A-Special-Kaddish-for-a-Fallen-Soldier.html

Mikvah in Tasmania

Of all the miraculous stories that happened in my life, perhaps this one is at the top of the list. This is not because it takes something tremendously big to happen for us to see G-d’s hand choreographing our lives, but because we all need to have that unique experience when we see that G-d is speaking directly to every one of us independently of the other 7 billion people on this planet.

My husband and I are eager travelers of far and remote places of world. Thus, we embarked on the cruise that started in Sidney, Australia and went to Tasmania and New Zealand. Just a few months before the journey I committed myself to the monthly visits to a Mikvah, as I had studied the significance of the concept in Judaism called “Family Purity”. I learned that the importance of building a Mikvah even precedes buying a Torah scroll for the community. And so, with much excitement and caution, I embraced my new identity of a Jewish woman, as a link between biblical heroes and feminists of modern times.

When I first realized that I will need to use a Mikvah during my journey on the ship, I brushed off my worry with an optimistic thought that I could always use the ocean as a natural Mikvah. I was clearly missing some research data about the temperatures of water around the Tasmanian region. Even if I was a penguin I would probably hesitate before taking a plunge. During the day of my still-not-so-planned visit to the Mikvah, we stopped in the city of Melbourne. My husband and I decided to spend our time visiting a local museum, where we ‘coincidentally’ spotted a religious family on a day trip with children. I approached them and inquired if there was a Mikvah close by. I knew from prior research that there is a big Jewish community in Melbourne. The woman told me that there are few Mikvahs close by but they all opened at night. I did not know then that women immerse in the waters of the Mikvah after dark, right before reuniting with their husband. This was a problem since we were dependent on the schedule of our ship and departure from Melbourne was called for 5 o’clock pm.   The lady asked me where we were going next and I informed her that our next port of call was Hobart, Tasmania. This very friendly couple offered to call their Rabbi to see if there was an opportunity for me to use a Mikvah in Tasmania. They explained that I was not allowed to dip before the scheduled night and would have to do it the next day. All this was new to me. I felt rather determined to make it happen and not miss an opportunity to feel the holiness of the immersion, regardless of where I was in the world. Just the opposite, the challenge of this particular situation made it even more desirable for me to perform this mitzvah. What can I say, I am a ‘problem-solver’ at heart!

After almost an hour of following this friendly family through the museum rooms, as they made one call after another, we were finally free to leave them and the cultural facility behind, as it was finalized that a woman named Penina would meet us at the pier in Hobart and take me to a Mikvah. I was at peace. All I needed was a solid plan and it seemed like it was all going to come together. Who could have imagined that this was not just a regular plan but, a custom made one, particularly designed for me.

When we walked off of the ship in Tasmania, we right away spotted a Jewish woman wearing a long skirt and a wig, to cover her hair. She was absolutely ecstatic to see us. She hugged and kissed me as if I was her long lost child. I was both stunned and pleased to be so welcomed in a strange land by a fellow Jew. I was wondering if anyone was ever that happy to see me in my entire life, including my own parent! As I was contemplating that thought, my husband reminded me that we were embraced with greetings for a purpose and need to get going.

We took a taxi to a private home where a non-Jewish family lived. The Mikvah was built as a separate standing shed-looking structure in the backyard of that home. Penina explained that years ago they lived in this house and when they sold it, the new owners agreed to let the Mikvah remain as a functional facility.

As is customary I began my preparation process of taking a bath and a shower before the immersion. As I turned on the water, the pipes made a loud unwelcoming noise and a brown looking liquid burst out of the faucet. I did not at all anticipate that my preparations would turn into a rather complicated ordeal.

We all saw those comical movies when the character is covered in soap and the water just stops coming out. It turns out that being that character is not actually as entertaining as watching one struggle to remain calm. I pretended to smile and turned to Penina, who was reading Tehilim, Psalms, in the corner of the Mikvah. She was completely wrapped up in her prayer and it took her a minute to see me covered in Shampoo and some brown liquid. She told me to ‘hang in there’ and ran to the home of the owner of the house. After a few minutes of contemplating whether to cry in despair or laugh at my ridiculous situation, two women emerged with pots of warm water to wash away the soap from my body. I felt rather vulnerable, thinking of biblical times as two women poured water over my body. This whole experience seemed absolutely surreal.

After a few more trips to fill the buckets with water, I was finally washed and ready to be ‘purified’. As I walked down the steps to the actual Mikvah, I saw Penina’s face completely transformed and illuminated. She prayed and wept as I was saying the blessing. These words have been recited by millions of holy Jewish women of the past and the present after they immersed in Mikvahs around the world. I had no doubt that the future generations will do the same.

I was moved by her reaction. I never saw anyone so profoundly and genuinely happy to see another Jew perform a mitzvah. When I walked out and dried myself, I felt so overwhelmed by emotions and started a ‘normal’ conversation. I asked how long ago this Mikvah was built. Penina informed me that this Mikvah was build 23 years ago. She explained that it was absolutely vital that Tasmania should have a Mikvah of its own in case any visitors would need to use it. I think I must mention that Penina herself was over the age when a woman needs to immerse on a monthly basis and the ‘community’ of the whole island of Tasmania has only 102 Jews, scattered all over. There are no religious Jewish women in the whole island and thus the Mikvah remains empty, waiting for the chance to serve its purpose.

Thus, I asked Penina an obvious and rather logical question.

“How many visitors have used the Mikvah since it was built?”

The answer changed me forever.

Penina smiled and said “You see Sofya, you are the first one.”

And so it was demonstrated to me that in a moment of darkness, one must always remember that you are not alone. The world was specifically designed to carve a unique place just for you to fulfill your needs and potential.

Who could have thought that in a faraway place like Tasmania, literally half way around the world, a Jewish woman was taking care of the Mikvah for 23 years so that I could one day enter its waters and recite an eternal prayer of connection to millions of voices of Jewish destinies.

What a lesson of faith to know that the world is precisely designed with you in mind!

Miracle on Bus #4

It was a very hot day in July 1951. I was in Tel­Aviv and too hot to walk. I boarded Dan bus #4 on the corner of Ben­Yehuda and Gordon streets. The bus was very crowded and there was no available seat. I had to stand next to a Yemenite woman holding a live chicken under her apron. People were chatting, discussing with fervor the day’s news, each one offering a personal description of the political situation, everyone with a different opinion.

As is common in Israel, every person holds himself to be the authentic source of “inside” information. This one said “I have a cousin in the police force and he told me……..”. Another replied, “that doesn’t make any sense. My neighbor’s son is in the army and he was telling us……”. And from the rear of the bus, a passenger shouted “who cares? Nothing will change soon”. At each bus stop some passengers alighted and new passengers boarded. Now there were a few empty seats and I grabbed one in the middle of the bus. As we approached another bus stop (I can’t remember which corner), three or four new passengers boarded. One elderly lady stepped up to the coin box next to the driver and deposited a few coins.

Suddenly, looking at the bus driver she gave a loud shriek. “Moishele, Moishele, my child." The driver jammed on the brakes, looked at the elderly woman and cried, “Mama, Mama, is it you Mama?” Both were Holocaust survivors from Poland and each one thought the other one was dead. Jumping up from his seat, the driver embraced his long lost and presumed dead mother and both hugged and hugged and both wept bitter tears of joy. All the passengers clapped hands. Several were weeping from the joy of seeing mother and son re­-united.

One passenger jumped off the bus and hailed the next approaching bus. He shared the news with the new driver and requested him to notify the Dan bus company to send a relief driver. None of us left the bus. A relief driver appeared about half ­hour later. Passengers sitting in the row behind the driver got up and gave the seats to the mother and son, still clutching one another and weeping with heartrending sobs. At some point, our original driver and his mother left the bus while all of us clapped hands and the Yiddish ­speaking passengers shouted “ Mazal tov. Mazal tov."

I never knew where they were going. Probably to the driver’s home so his mother could meet his wife and her new grandchild. All of us were so filled with emotion that it was difficult to contain ourselves. There was not a dry eye among our passengers. It was a hot July day in 1951. But I will never forget the miracle on bus #4 on that very happy day!

The Purim Miracle

G-d works in wondrous ways. Often, we just have to sit back and watch Him orchestrate His world. What we will see, will strengthen our belief and faith in Him. The following fantastic story, which was sent to me, is an excellent illustration.
The brand new Rabbi and his wife had been newly assigned to their first congregation to reopen a synagogue in suburban Brooklyn. They had arrived in early February excited about their opportunities. However, when they had seen the condition of the premises, they had been deeply disappointed. It was very much run down and needed lots of work. They had set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on the night of Purim, the 13th of the month of Adar. They had worked hard; repairing aged pews, plastering walls, painting, etc, and on the 8th of Adar, 5 days before they were ahead of schedule and had just about finished.
Then the next day four days before the celebration, a terrible snowstorm hit the area and lasted for two days. The next day, the Rabbi went over to inspect the synagogue. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary, just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The Rabbi cleaned up the mess on the floor, and, realizing that he would have to postpone the Purim service, headed for home.
On the way, he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity, so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth, with fine colors and a Mogen Dovid embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the shul. By this time, it had started to snow again. An older woman, running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. But she missed it.
The Rabbi invited her to wait in the warm synagogue for 45 minutes, until the next bus was scheduled to arrive. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the Rabbi while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The Rabbi could hardly believe how beautiful it looked; covering up the entire problem area.
Then the Rabbi noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was as white as a sheet. "Rabbi," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The Rabbi explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials EBG were crocheted into it there. He checked and discovered that they were. The shocked woman told him that they were her initials, and that she had made this tablecloth in Poland, 35 years before.
The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Poland. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. However, he was captured and sent to a camp and she never saw her husband or her home again. The Rabbi wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made him keep it for the synagogue. The Rabbi insisted on driving her home. He felt that that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day, for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on that Purim. The synagogue was almost full and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. At the end of the service, the Rabbi and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. However, one older man, whom the Rabbi recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare. The Rabbi wondered why he wasn't leaving. The man asked him where he had gotten the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they had lived in Poland, before the war. He wondered how there could be two tablecloths so very similar. He told the Rabbi how the Nazis had come, how he had forced his wife to flee for her safety and that he was supposed to follow her. But he had been arrested and placed in a camp. 35 years had passed since then, and he had never seen his wife or his home again.

The Rabbi asked the old man if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island; to the same house where the Rabbi had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door, and was privileged to observe the greatest Purim reunion he could have ever imagined!

The Screaming Woman

One night, during the terrible time of the war, Rabbi Henry and his wife Esther Soille were in their apartment in Paris when they heard a scream. They recognized it as neighbor of theirs - a non-Jewish woman. Feeling the terror in the woman's voice, Mrs. Soille said, “Let’s get dressed and go help her." Rabbi Soille agreed and added, "If we wait that long she may be dead by then." So, they immediately ran outside, dressed only in their pajamas to help.       
 
When they got outside they saw a Nazi car coming toward their building so they dashed out of sight. From their hiding place they could see that the Gestapos were going to none other than their own apartment. Had they not responded with sensitivity and courage to the anguished cries of their neighbor, they would have still been in their apartment for the Nazis to find them and drag them off. Because they engaged in a act of kindness, their own lives had now been spared.
 
Why was the woman screaming? They later learned that the woman neighbor was screaming because the Nazis had come to seize her husband for smuggling. She told them to spare her husband and take the Rabbi next door instead.
 
Her intention was to trade the Rabbi's life for her husband's life. It didn't even help her because they still took her husband. In attempting to betray the Rabbi, she actually saved him... 
(©2016. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)  

Giving Life a Chance

Yoav, a young  IDF (Israeli Defense Force) soldier was stationed in the city of Chevron. Suddenly, he was shot by an Arab sniper and left for dead. As it was four o'clock in the morning, and no imminent attack was expected; no one was awake to hear the shot and rush to his aid. It appeared as though Yoav was doomed to bleed to death before anybody would ever find him. His short life would come to a tragic silent end.
 
One other soldier however, did happen to hear something. Though not totally sure, he suspected it might be a rifle shot so he went to investigate. He spotted Yoav, who was lying on the ground, bleeding to death. He immediately began to stabilize Yoav's wound and arrange for emergency transport to a medical facility. It took time for help to get to the scene, so he needed to apply manual pressure and any other trick he could think of to keep Yoav alive in the interim - he was literally holding Yoav's life in his hands.
 
Eventually, Yoav arrived at a proper medical facility where he was treated by surgeons. Yoav's parents were notified and rushed to the hospital. The doctors told them that had it not been for the immediate and appropriate actions of the other soldier, their son Yoav would definitely not have survived. It was indeed a miracle that the other soldier heard what no one else heard, and managed to locate Yoav as quickly as he did. They went to thank him, but he had already left the hospital.
 
After Yoav was home recuperating, and everyone was settled, they called the army to find out the name of the other soldier so they could thank him personally. Unfortunately, the other soldier's name had not been recorded in the incident report, so they now had no way of ever contacting him.
 
Yoav's parents owned a makolet (grocery store) in Kiryat Malachi, so they put up a poster in their store, describing the miracle that occurred and asking if anyone knew the identity of Yoav's savior. They figured that Israel is a small country and someone might know someone who knows something.
 
Months passed with no response. Finally after a year, a woman entered the store and saw the sign. She was positive that her son Doron had mentioned such an account. She took out her cellphone and called Doron on the spot. Sure enough, he remembered the incident quite well - it was he who had saved Yoav's life.
 
Soon, all the families gathered together for a joyful tearful 'reunion.'  Doron's mother pulled Yoav's mother aside and told her, "There is a specific reason I came to your store today. You don't remember me, but twenty years ago, I was standing in your store feeling lost and forlorn. You and your wonderful husband noticed how sad I looked and asked me what was the matter. I explained that I was pregnant and was overwhelmed. There were so many unbearable difficulties; financially, socially and emotionally. I decided that the only way out was to have an abortion."
 
"You both stopped everything, and calmly and lovingly sat with me. You listened to me. Then you offered so much encouragement and support. Because of you, everything began to look different and I chose to keep my baby. I no longer live around here, but I happened to be passing through and I figured it would be nice to visit your store again to thank you once again for all that you did. The name of that precious baby was Doron."
 
"My beloved Doron, who would not have been born were it not for you, grew up to save your son Yoav's life."
 (©2016. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)