A friend of Reb Shiya Rubin was delivering a speech in Eretz Yisrael. After finishing his presentation, one of the participants relayed something in conjunction with what he said. During the shiur, he relayed how we must reflect on the nissim that Hashem did — and does — for us. He made a special emphasis on reflecting what happened during the Yom Kippur War. “During the war,” he said, “we experienced nissim parallel to those of Yetzias Mitzrayim, and we must not forget them. We must take them along with us and use them to mechazek our reliance on Hashem.”
The participant went on to narrate a personal story that he witnessed. As the war broke out, he was sent out to the frontline of the battlefield. While traveling through barren deserts, the tank in front of them malfunctioned and was brought to a standstill. Now, there was no way the soldiers in that broken tank could just stay there and wait. Fighting the battle was dangerous enough in its own right, but having no way to escape would only intensify it even more.
So, the tank following behind welcomed them aboard. The four-seater tank would host those six more soldiers. Though the tank felt full even before the visitors came, when the guests came aboard, they felt as though there was plenty of room. Their hearts expanded, and the tank expanded, as they say: “When there’s room in the heart, there’s room in the tank!”
As they were traveling in their “spacious” vehicle, they saw an Arab tank making its way toward them. And they knew why. Fear filled the cabin. The commander asked if any of the soldiers knew how to daven. In the foxhole, even the non-believing sought assistance from the Creator. But they all responded in the negative.
“Anything?” asked the commander. “Does anyone know any sort of tefillah? We need something!” The soldiers didn’t know even the basics. Nothing. Not even Shema.
One of the soldiers recalled something from his childhood. He remembered how his grandfather would say the brachah of Shehakol. He knew that this was not a tefillah, yet it was something. Something is better than nothing. That was the only religious phrase they could get their “hands” on. While appointing that soldier to lead the group, the commander announced “When we count to three, everyone should enunciate word-by-word what the leader is going to say. He is going to teach us something holy, and we must pay full attention and show proper respect.” Pointing to the leader, the commander instructed the leader to begin.
The soldier dictated: “Baruch!” and the other soldiers repeated after him “Baruch.” “Atah!” he announced, and they complied with that too. “Hashem!” he proclaimed. But now, it took the warriors a moment to respond; they started to get emotional. They were, for the very first time in their lives, talking to their Maker, Hashem. After they caught their bearings, they responded “Hashem!”.
He continued narrating the brachah, word-for-word, and they were filled with passion over the first brachah they were articulating. When they finished, the commander fired off a bomb, and B”H, the Arab tank blew up. The Israeli soldiers were relieved of the imminent threat that was resolved.
The soldiers joyously thanked the brachah-leader for being the catalyst to bring about their salvation. Amidst war, they were exhilarated — but it was short-lasting.
Shortly after, they got intelligence that there was another tank coming their way. They weren’t coming to say hello; they were coming to say goodbye. Panic befell them again. But this time, it was with mixed emotions. They had just learned about the tool with which they could — and hopefully would — get their salvation. As the tank was approaching, the commander reappointed that soldier to lead their “tefillah,” and they once again released a heartful Shekahol. As they finished their makeshift tefillah, they set off their bomb, and the Arab tank exploded. By now, their joy intensified even greater.
This repeated itself several times. Every time they saw a tank coming forth, it was mixed with a bit more serenity. By the time the seventh tank came, and they’d witnessed Hashem’s hands so clearly, they were able to daven calmly. In total, they took out 13 tanks. Thirteen times they repeated this. Each time it happened, it left them with a deeper impression.
“This everlasting impression left a deep dent on me,” continued the participant of the shiur. “From then on, I began researching my heritage. Such a story is one for the books, and I couldn’t let myself fall back to my bad habits. The truth is the truth, and I wasn’t going to let myself rejoin my friends. I held on to that decisive moment, and as soon as the war was over, I searched my way around until I found the truth. And that’s why I’m here in shul. I finished my term in the army, headed right to a rebbi who would enlighten me to the inner light of Torah, and ever since then, I’ve been living a Torah’dike — and a meaningful — life. A life that’s worth living.”
