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.)  

Chanukah of 1775

A difficult winter. Terrible cold. We are sitting in Valley Forge and waiting. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps for better days than these. I am the only Jew here. Perhaps there are other Jews among us, but I haven’t seen any. We hunger for bread. We have no warm clothing or shoes to protect our feet. Most of the soldiers curse George Washington for going to war against Britain.

There are those who hope for his downfall, but I believe that his cause is just. We must expel Britain from America. She wants to put her hands in everything her eyes see. Although we are suffering here terribly, I am loyal with all my heart to George Washington. More than once I see him at night, passing through the camp, between the rows of sleeping soldiers. He gazes with compassion upon the soldiers who are suffering from the cold. And sometimes he approaches one of the sleeping soldiers and covers him, as a father would cover his son.

There are times when the hunger and the freezing cold torture me to death. But I don’t curse General Washington who is fighting for the freedom of America. At moments like this I think of my father in Poland. I think about all that he suffers at the hand of the cruel "Poritz". I remember: I was a child then and I saw my father dancing before the Poritz. What an awful thing to see! My father was wearing the skin of a Polar bear - and danced like a bear before the Poritz and his guests.

What terrible pain! What great shame! My father dancing like a bear - and the "Poritzim" laughing and rejoicing at the sight. I decided then and there that I will never dance like my father before the Poritz. Afterwards, I escaped to America.

And now I am lying in Valley Forge and shivering from cold. They say that Washington is losing and that he can’t win this war. But I don’t believe all that. I lie at night and pray for him.

The first night of Chanukah arrives. On this night, years ago, I left my father’s house. My father gave us this Chanukah menorah and said to me, "My son, when you light the Chanukah candles, they will illuminate the way for you".

Since then, the Menorah has been like a charm for me. Wherever I go, I take it with me. I didn’t know what to do - to light the Chanukahcandles here, among the goyim, or not. I decided to wait until they were all asleep, and then I took out my father’s Menorah. I made the brocha and lit the first candle. I gazed at the light and remembered my parents’ home. I saw my father dancing like a bear before the Poritz and I saw my mother’s eyes filled with tears. My heart was filled with pain and I burst out crying like a small child. And I decided then in my heart, that for the sake of my father and mother, for my brothers and sisters in Poland. I must help George Washington make America a free country, a land of refuge for my parents and brothers who are subjected to the cruelty of the Poritz.

Suddenly I felt a gentle hand touching my head. I lifted my eyes and it was he - he himself was standing over me and he asked, "Why are you crying, soldier? Are you cold? ".

Pain and compassion were in his voice. I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. I jumped up, forgot that I was a soldier standing before a General, and said what came from my heart, like a son speaking to his father:

"General Washington," I said, "I am crying and praying for your victory. And I know that with the help of G-d we will win. Today they are strong, but tomorrow they will fall because justice is with us. We want to be free in this land. We want to build a home here for all those who flee from the hands of "Poritzim", for all who suffer across the ocean. The "Poritzim" will not rule over us! They will fall and you will rise!" General Washington pressed my hand.
"Thank you, soldier," he said. He sat next to me on the ground, in front of the Menorah.
"What is this candlestick?", he asked.

I told him, "I brought it from my father’s house. The Jews all over the world light candles tonight, on Chanukah, the holiday of the great miracle".

The Chanukah candles lit up Washington’s eyes, and he asked joyfully, "You are a Jew from the nation of Prophets and you say we will be victorious?!"

"Yes sir," I answered with conviction. "We will win just like the Maccabees won, for ourselves and for all those who come here after us to build a new land and new lives."

The General got up and his face was shining. He shook my hand and disappeared in the darkness.

My faith prevailed. Washington’s victory was complete. The land was quiet. My General became the first President of the United States and I was one of its citizens. I soon forgot the terrible days and nights in Valley Forge. But I kept the memory of that first night ofChanukah in my heart like a precious dream. I did not relate it to anyone because I said to myself: Who will believe me? I was certain that the General forgot it completely. But that was not the case. He didn’t forget.

The first night of Chanukah (1776) 5538.

I was sitting in my apartment in New York, on Broome Street, and the Chanukah candles were burning in my window. Suddenly, I heard a knock at my door. I opened the door and was shocked: my General, President George Washington, was standing in the doorway (there himself), in all his glory. "Behold the wonderful candle. The candle of hope of the Jewish People," he proclaimed joyously when he saw the Chanukah candles in my window.

He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "This candle and your beautiful words ignited a light in my heart that night. Soon you will receive a Medal of Honor from the United States of America, together with all of the brave men of Valley Forge. But tonight, please accept this token from me."

He hung a golden medallion on my chest and shook my hand. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t speak. The President shook my hand again and departed.…

I came to, as if from a wonderful dream, then I looked at the medallion and saw an etching of a beautiful Chanukah Menorah. Under it was written: "A token of gratitude for the light of your candle - George Washington".

This is a true story. (http://www.neveh.org/chanukah/chanwash.html)