[vc_row][vc_column][vc_tta_accordion active_section=”-1″ collapsible_all=”true”][vc_tta_section title=”A Successful Delay” tab_id=”1624966232619-d34fa254-bfdc”][vc_column_text]“I cannot understand why I still have not received the Rebbe King Moshiach Shlita’s blessing for this trip,” Rabbi Yitzchak Nemes mused to himself nervously. Rabbi Nemes is a stamp dealer whose trades often bring him into contact with postal authorities and private collectors in Central America. He would regularly visit Nicaragua in the winter and had already scheduled his appointments for this year’s trip. As always, before finalizing his journey, he wrote to the King Moshiach Shlita for a blessing. But instead of receiving an immediate answer, this time he had to wait for a reply.
As the date of his departure drew near, Rabbi Nemes asked one of Moshiach’s secretaries to help him. After speaking with Moshiach, the secretary asked Rabbi Nemes for a detailed itinerary of the trip. When Rabbi Nemes forwarded the information to Moshiach, Moshiach responded: “Make the trip but not at present.”
Rabbi Nemes found it difficult to comprehend Moshiach’s advice. ‘This is the most profitable season for purchasing stamps,’ he thought. ‘Moreover, I have already arranged meetings with prominent dealers. And postponing this trip will complicate the other journeys I had planned. I cannot understand this; Moshiach has never suggested a change in my plans before.’
Nevertheless, Moshiach’s followers are not deterred simply because they don’t comprehend his advice. Rabbi Nemes postponed his trip and canceled his appointments.
One need not be a devout believer in Divine Providence to appreciate the immense sense of relief felt by Rabbi Nemes and his family when they heard the shocking news that weekend. A severe earthquake had struck Managua, Nicaragua’s capital, causing thousands of casualties and tremendous damage. “And I had been booked in a downtown hotel there,” Rabbi Nemes thought with a shudder.
As time passed and the airport at Managua opened again to commercial traffic, Rabbi Nemes considered making his journey. His family was apprehensive. “The city is still plagued with widespread theft and plundering,” they argued. But Rabbi Nemes felt optimistic. “Moshiach did not disapprove of the trip entirely,” he told them. “He merely suggested that I postpone it.” Rabbi Nemes was further encouraged by Moshiach’s prompt blessing to reschedule the trip.
Rabbi Nemes was not prepared for the vast destruction in the streets of Managua. Collapsed buildings and mounds of rubble littered the city. Countless homeless wandered aimlessly, making its familiar districts seem foreign even to a frequent visitor.
With great difficulty and anxiety, Rabbi Nemes made his way to the Central Post Office. In contrast to his somber expectations, he was astounded to find the huge building standing erect, almost untouched by the earthquake. Quickening his step, he proceeded to the room of an official with whom he often did business.
As he opened the door, the official jumped up with a start. “Goodness! What a surprise!” he exclaimed with delight. “I hadn’t expected any stamp dealer to come here now!”
After a friendly exchange, Rabbi Nemes began to talk business. However, the local man stopped him. “As you see, the city is in a state of upheaval. It will be some time until it is rebuilt. The stamp business is obviously not an immediate priority. You are a trustworthy dealer and we’ve always worked well together. Help yourself to any stamps you require. We’ll be in touch about the price and payment schedule at a future date.”
“That trip to Nicaragua was the most profitable I have ever made,” concluded Rabbi Nemes.[/vc_column_text][/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”Change Your Flight!” tab_id=”1624966232628-da408ac8-677e”][vc_column_text]From childhood, Yitzchak Tzvi Leichtman dreamed of working in publishing. When he reached high school age, his father sought a religious environment where he could learn this trade and enrolled his son in the Chabad Trade School in Kfar Chabad, Israel.
Yitzchak Tzvi studied in Kfar Chabad for four years. In that time, in addition to learning the skills he needed for a job, he also absorbed religious values and fear of Heaven, and a strong respect for the Lubavitcher Rebbe King Moshiach Shlita.
After completing his studies, Yitzchak Tzvi married and found work in Petach Tikvah, Israel. He kept in close contact with his teachers and mentors from Kfar Chabad, and consulted them on major life decisions.
Once a year he would go to Kfar Chabad for the annual reunion. He enjoyed returning to the environment where he had spent his formative years and forged many deep and lasting relationships.
During these events, a lottery would be held and the winner would win a free ticket to New York, to see the Lubavitcher Rebbe King Moshiach Shlita. One year, in the 1970s, Yitzchak Tzvi was the lucky winner. Finally, after years of hearing and studying about the Rebbe King Moshiach Shlita, he would meet this great Jewish leader face to face.
A side benefit of his lucky win was that he would have the opportunity to visit relatives of his who lived in New York. However, these plans almost did not materialize, because once Yitzchak Tzvi set eyes on the King Moshiach Shlita for the first time he found it hard to tear himself away. He wanted to spend every moment soaking up the special atmosphere in Moshiach’s shul.
When he first came to New York, Yitzchak Tzvi went in for a private audience with Moshiach. As was customary among Chassidim, he first immersed in the Mikvah, studied Chassidus and recited chapters of Psalms.
In honor of the occasion, Yitzchak Tzvi dressed in the standard “uniform” of Chassidim, a black hat and jacket, although this was not his usual manner of dress. He composed a letter to Moshiach with his requests for blessings. The first was for the health of his mother, who was critically ill at the time. Because of her condition, he originally wanted to push off the flight, but his mother insisted that he travel as planned.
Moments before he entered Moshiach’s office, Yitzchak Tzvi was approached by Moshiach’s secretary, who asked if he had written a letter.
When Yitzchak Tzvi showed the secretary the long letter he had written, the secretary shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not,” he said. Instead, he took out of his pocket a small notepad, tore off one page and handed it to Yitzchak Tzvi. “Write down the language that you would like Moshiach to address you in, and the names of the people you wish Moshiach to pray for.” Yitzchak obeyed without protest.
When Yitzchak Tzvi entered Moshiach’s room, Moshiach began to bless him, but Yitzchak Tzvi could not catch most of what Moshiach said. Within a moment, Moshiach’s secretary opened the door to signify that his appointment had come to an end. But Moshiach motioned to him to stay.
Suddenly Moshiach asked, “Did you write a longer letter than this?”
In surprise, Yitzchak Tzvi drew out of his pocket the original letter that he had written. Moshiach leafed through it in one glance, and began to bless Yitzchak Tzvi according to all his requests in the letter. Mainly Moshiach gave blessings for his mother, that she should be completely healed and live a long life.
When the audience ended, Moshiach took thirty dollars out of his drawer and handed them to Yitzchak Tzvi. “Give ten of these to charity, use ten for a Chassidic gathering in Kfar Chabad, and the rest will be for your family.”
When it was time for Yitzchak Tzvi to return to Israel, he wanted to see Moshiach privately one last time. He received an appointment for the day of his flight. Moshiach asked him the time of his flight. When Yitzchak Tzvi told him, Moshiach suggested that he push off the flight for several days, without offering an explanation. Yitzchak Tzvi agreed to honor Moshiach’s request.
Several days later Yitzchak Tzvi boarded a plane to Israel. In the meantime, he was glad to hear that his mother’s condition had improved, to the surprise of the doctors. She went on to live 11 more years, against all expectations.
A short while later, the Israeli media publicized a miracle that Ariel Sharon had had with Moshiach. Palestinian terrorists had hijacked a plane from New York and forced it to land in Algiers, believing that Sharon was a passenger. However, it turned out that Sharon had missed his flight, also on the suggestion of Moshiach that he should fly at a different time.
Hearing this story, Yitzchak Tzvi decided to check the exact time of his own original flight. He saw that he had also been scheduled to fly on the same flight… the one Moshiach had asked him to postpone.[/vc_column_text][/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”Yom Kippur, 1973″ tab_id=”1624972362054-6695a372-c2ec”][vc_column_text]Yom Kippur, 1973. The Egyptian and Syrian armies struck Israel in a sneak attack. All Israeli reserve soldiers were called up to duty, some still clad in their prayer shawls. Among them was Elazar Ben Yishai, a member of Kibbutz Kineret.
At first, Elazar and his buddies were euphoric. The miracles of the Six-Day War would repeat themselves and the war would quickly end in a massive victory. However, they soon had to face the bitter truth as many of their comrades fell in battle. This war would impose a horrible toll.
Elazar served in the infantry in the 18th brigade and fought on the northern front, on the Syrian border. The 18th brigade was stationed in front of the Arik Bridge and tasked with halting the advance of the Syrians. The situation looked bleak. The brigade commander intercepted a message sent by a Syrian officer to his headquarters in Syria, stating, “The time has come to rush to Tel Aviv.” However, the officer apparently received word to stay in place. Why? Only G-d knows.
The Israeli soldiers fought bravely and desperately. They faced heavily armored Syrian tanks that inflicted heavy casualties upon them. Dozens of Israeli tanks went up in flames with the soldiers inside them, may G-d avenge their blood. What’s more, when the IDF soldiers heard about the losses on the southern front and about all the aircraft that were shot down, they lost whatever morale they had in them. Still, they continued to hit the Syrians as much as they could, and together with the Golani Brigade they forced the Syrians into retreat.
On night, in an improvised camp, all the battle-damaged tanks were herded into one place. Golani soldiers came and went, bringing in more and more wounded soldiers. Many of the wounded said their lives were saved by pretending to be dead as Syrian tanks rolled by. The casualty numbers were dismal. Out of a hundred tanks, only five remained, some without starters. The soldiers were afraid to go into battle with them.
Elazar was put in charge of a team of mechanics to try to revive the damaged tanks. Meanwhile, a senior officer approached him and ordered him to empty his tractor of all mechanical equipment. “You are now taking wounded soldiers to Ziv [Medical Center in Safed].”
With army discipline, Elazar obeyed. He quickly cleared his tractor and loaded it with injured soldiers. He didn’t know the way to Safed, so an IDF Jeep led the way. After driving a few miles, Elazar’s blood suddenly froze. The Jeep driver called out, “Syrian tank!” and disappeared from the scene.
The tank approached and stopped a meter in front of Elazar’s tractor. It seemed that they had only seconds before the tractor would be crushed by a shell.
“Bring grenades!” Elazar called to his comrades behind him. He hoped to throw them in the direction of the tank, hoping it would accomplish something. But the soldiers in the tractor with him had already leaped to safety. The ones remaining were too injured to move.
In those moments that seemed like eternity, when Elazar realized that he was facing an enemy tank completely unarmed, he remembered what his father taught him. If he would scream out the verse “Shma Yisroel” seven times, G-d would come to his aid.
And that’s what he did. There was nothing else he could do. He put his hand over his eyes, as he’d been taught as a small child, and cried, “Hear O Israel, the L-rd our G-d, the L-rd is one.” He heard explosions all around him and thought that these were his final moments on earth.
The seconds passed and Elazar didn’t know if he was in this world or the next. He opened his eyes and saw the Syrian tank turning on its wheels. Abruptly it changed direction and headed back towards Syria.
A cold sweat covered his body. He had been saved from certain death. His heart filled with gratitude to G-d. The Syrian soldiers were traveling with a closed turret and viewed him through infrared light, and probably mistook him for a Syrian tractor. If Elazar had succeeded in throwing a grenade, they would have realized that he was an Israeli soldier and destroyed the tractor.
As Elazar caught his breath, he heard the sounds of another Syrian tank approaching on the horizon. This one barrelled right past him without stopping at all.
The rest of his journey proceeded smoothly. He headed towards Safed and met an ambulance. He stopped the driver and asked him to take the injured soldiers to the hospital. The casualties were transferred and Elazar returned to the front.
In the weeks that followed Elazar witnessed many very difficult moments. But his experiences that day had strengthened his resolve. His life had meaning and purpose. As soon as he returned from battle, he’d enroll in a yeshiva for beginners.
His decision was bolstered by the friendly Chabad chassidim who would appear at the army bases to sing chassidic melodies and lift the spirits of the soldiers.
Today Elazar Ben Yishai counts himself as a proud member of the Chabad community in Beitar Ilit, Israel.[/vc_column_text][/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”In Merit of Mishloach Manot” tab_id=”1624972398639-1cb46a7b-f735″][vc_column_text]By Chen-Li Benjamin
It was 1996. I was 29, and my daughter Shirel Rachel was six months old. I had invited a friend, Aliza, and her 10-year-old son, Adir, from Israel, to spend Purim with us.
Before they arrived from Israel, I told Aliza on the phone, in casual conversation, that maintenance people would be there to work on the bathrooms.
On Taanit Esther, the day before Purim, I got up at 6 a.m. I had bought lots of food to give out for Mishloach Manos. Our building was full of lonely people and older people; Holocaust survivors; widows and widowers. I figured that bringing them all Mishloach Manos would be a good Mitzvah to do on Purim.
Aliza was in the kitchen making herself a cup of coffee. Adir was asleep on the carpet in my bedroom.
The doorbell rang. Aliza went to the door and asked, “Who’s there?” A man’s voice replied, “Plumber!”
Aliza assumed this was the guy fixing the bathrooms, as I had told her. She opened the door.
Too late, I called out, “Don’t open!”
I saw a tall, enormous man wearing a leather jacket. He did not look like a plumber. I knew we were in trouble. Baby Shirel felt my body language; she tensed up and began to screech hysterically.
He came in and closed the door. Aliza began to scream. He hit Aliza with his gun to quiet her down. I knew our building was filled with old people and nobody would come to our rescue.
He took his gun and aimed at my forehead. As he pulled the trigger, I ducked. The bullet flew over my head. Then he handcuffed Aliza.
He dragged me and my baby into my bedroom and returned to the living room. I was afraid for Aliza, who had enraged him already. I called to him, “Leave her alone! I’m the one who lives here!” but he did not respond; in fact, he never responded to anything I said.
He threw the handcuffed, beaten Aliza onto the bed next to my baby, who had still not stopped screaming.
Then he said to me, “Where’s the money? Where’s the jewelry?” and he began opening drawers.
We had a big safe with old stamps in it, which might have been valuable. I had lost the combination. He knew about the safe. He dragged me to it and took my head and banged it against the safe, yelling, “Open it!” But I really did not know the combination. He went to the bed and picked up my baby. He said, “Open the safe by the count of three or I’ll shoot her.”
I said, “Okay, okay, I’m going to open it.” I said this knowing full well I had no way to open it. He threw the baby on the floor.
I began turning the dial and trying to open the safe. He lost patience with my playing with the dial on the safe and threw me down on all fours, like a dog. Holding my head down, he said, “Now I am going to kill you, at the count of three. One…”
I said my last prayers.
Shema Yisrael…
All of a sudden, I felt strong. I got up on my feet. Hashem gave me a tremendous amount of strength. With superhuman strength, I pushed this huge man away from me and stood up.
With the gun pressing against my head, he pulled the trigger at point-blank range, for the second time. At that moment, I pushed the gun away. Instead of the bullet going into my brain, it went into my elbow. (I only found out later that there was a bullet lodged in my elbow.)
I was not seriously hurt, but I deliberately threw myself down on the floor and played dead. He stood over me, looking at me intently. He wanted to make sure I was dead. I found out later that he was also out of bullets. He only had two.
I said to Adir, “Reach the phone under the bed.” Adir handed me the phone. It was hard for me to dial because I was beaten so badly, but I called my rabbi and told him quickly, in Hebrew, “Somebody shot me!” My rabbi called the police and ran over himself. I also called my mother, who was at work nearby.
I started to lose consciousness. My mother, my rabbi, and the police all arrived a few minutes later. By then the intruder was gone.
We were taken to the hospital to deal with the bullet in my elbow and all our injuries. After I was discharged, we moved into my mother’s house. I would not live in that apartment again, ever. The police warned me to go into the apartment only with security guards with me. The crime was classified as attempted murder.
Six months after the event, we were still living at my mother’s house. I still suffered from terrible fears and nightmares.
As Rosh Hashanah came near, I wanted to go and get the machzor that my grandfather had given me a year earlier. I went into the apartment with the security guards. I picked up the machzor and that’s when I saw the first bullet that had been aimed straight at me. When I ducked, it entered the machzor. I called the police. They wanted to see it, of course.
A week later I got a call from the detectives. I came down to the station and they handed me back my machzor. They said, “Because you are religious and you believe in G-d, and you called for G-d to help you – that is why G-d saved you. We are returning this book to you. We suggest you frame it and put it by your door. Whoever walks into your house, show them the miracle of this bullet.”[/vc_column_text][/vc_tta_section][/vc_tta_accordion][/vc_column][/vc_row]