To put it together, just for Hamas to fire some rockets and ruin the entire event, or prevent people from coming. For example, last Lag B’Omer, they killed a Hamas leader around 2:00 AM. We were battered with constant rockets the rest of the day. No one could come to the event we’d so painstakingly planned.
For erev Yom Kippur of this year, we planned an elaborate event, investing thousands of shekel to book performers, a venue, food, decor, and security. That morning, Hamas fired five rockets into Sderot. Instead of the 500 guests we were expecting, only 20 came in the end.
A few days later, on the 10th, the sirens began to ring again, as a new shower of rockets rained down on our beleaguered town. Many of the rockets hit homes of families that had fled for safer areas, causing thousands of dollars of damage.
While the sirens are scary and give you only a moment’s warning to seek safety, sometimes, you can hear the rocket’s whine before the siren ever rings. When that happens, you have no more than 20 seconds to find shelter.
I was almost at the Chabad house when I heard a rocket descending. I sprinted to the nearest building - which was a miracle in and of itself - just in time. I felt the earth shudder and heard the loudest boom I’ve ever heard in my life as the rocket buried itself in the ground close by. I waited a few beats until the silence assured me it was safe to come out.
The rocket had embedded itself right in front of the Chabad house, where I’d been standing only a few seconds before. The shrapnel had flown into the bathroom and destroyed it.
I thanked Hashem for so miraculously saving me from this brush with death.
Family Decisions and Emunas Tzaddikim
My brother, Chananel, was torn. He has young children for whom it was incredibly dangerous to stay, but, on the other hand, he felt his place was at my side, helping the community that needed us so desperately.
Unsure of what to do, he wrote a letter to the Rebbe, placing it in a random volume of the Igros, a collection of letters from the Rebbe. The letter to which he opened advised him to “consult with the rav of your city, as is your custom.”
Chananel approached me with his dilemma, and asked for my advice.
“Your wife and children need to leave. It’s dangerous! If they have a chance to leave this Gehenom, let them take it! But as for you - I need you to stay and help me!”
Chananel returned home and told his wife, Tzivia, what I had said.
“The Rebbe told us to listen to the advice of the city’s rav. He said to leave - we’re leaving. Now,” she stated, firmly.
“But it’s already getting dark!” Chananel protested. “Why don’t you leave tomorrow morning?”
Tzivia insisted. She quickly packed a few bags, gathered the children, and left.
The next morning, Chananel left his house early in the morning. Minutes later, a rocket made a direct hit, decimating the entire building.
It does not bear thinking of what could’ve happened had Tzivia not had such strong emunas tzaddikim...
Inspiration at the Kinus Hashluchim
One of the highlights of this year’s annual kinus hashluchim was the moving speech my 9-year-old son made. He spoke about the challenges of living in Sderot, and how the Rebbe inspires us with the strength to carry on.
A fellow shliach approached me after the banquet. “I recently made the decision to leave shlichus. The pressures, hardships, and challenges were all becoming too much to handle, and I thought it would be easier to just find a regular job. Your son’s speech changed everything. If a young boy can shoulder such challenges and still stand strong, then so can I!”
His brow furrowed for a moment. “Now I just need to get my wife on board, too.”
As it turned out, she’d been watching the kinus live, and had also been inspired by my son’s speech. She called her husband, determined to convince him to carry on with their shlichus. Together, they resolved not only to continue, but to expend even more effort to grow and expand their shlichus.
Memories and the Power of Shema
Years ago, we would hold a communal seder in a sports center here in Sderot. Cleaning up the arena in preparation was always a full-family event.
One time, we were walking to the sports center when a man stopped my father and asked where we were going.
“We’re going to clean the sports center!” my father answered.
The man offered to come help, but my father told him not to worry.
“What?” the man asked my father. “You don’t want me to be Chabad?”
My father shrugged. “If washing the floors will make you Chabad, then come along!”
“I was here as a kid,” the man told us, after we arrived. “At one of your events. But the truth is, I never really related to anything you were saying. The only thing that stuck with me was Shema.
“Years later, I went on a trip to India. I got caught up by everything going on there, visiting different places and experiencing different cultures and eventually, I started considering changing my religion. I was so serious about it, I set up a time to meet with the religious leader to start the process. But when I got there, the Shema Yisrael from when I was a kid started playing in my head. It played until I couldn’t go through with it, and I turned around and left.”
Today, this man is a religious Jew, married and raising children in the path of Torah and mitzvos.
Children of Sderot: Soldiers in Hashem’s Army
One day, a katzin, a combat officer, entered our Chabad house, finding a hive of activity. A young boy was helping pack food for soldiers and survivors. The officer stared at him for a moment, nonplussed to see an unfazed child working so close to the frontlines.
“What are you doing here?” he asked the boy.
“What are you doing here?” the boy countered, with typical Israeli chutzpah.
“Well, I’m a soldier,” the katzin explained, confused.
“Me too!” the boy responded, proudly. “I’m a soldier in Tzivos Hashem - Hashem’s army!”
