Rav Yitzchak Fishman shlit”a relates:
Hashem was mezakeh me to be able to learn how to be a mohel, and for many years I have been performing brisos for the children of Am Yisrael. In contrast to other mohelim, I see it as my unique mission to help out in more complex situations as well, baruch Hashem. I thank Hashem for standing at my side and supporting me all the time.
One day in the afternoon, a well-known mohel called me with an urgent request: “A few hours ago I did a bris for a baby, and now they called and told me that he’s bleeding. I could probably take care of it, but the baby lives in your neighborhood, and it is a half-hour ride away from my house.”
“I’ll go right away!” I told the mohel. I took down the name and address of the family, took my bag with my tools from its regular place and went down to the parking lot near my home. Then it dawned on me that my car was at the mechanic.
In my head there were only two words: Pikuach nefesh! There was no time. I went out to the sidewalk and stopped a car that happened to be passing by. The driver — a precious Yid, stopped for me, and I asked him to quickly take me to the specific address for an urgent matter of pikuach nefesh.
He did not ask questions. He was totally focused on the road, to bring me to where I had to go as quickly as possible. Just before I left his car, I took out a booklet that deals with preparations for a bris milah. This is a booklet that was published and distributed throughout the country.
“Take it,” I told him, “and in the zechus of the mitzvah you just did, you too will see to’eles from it.”
Baruch Hashem, I arrived in time. The baby received treatment, his life was saved, and his situation improved rapidly. May his parents be zocheh to raise him to Torah, chuppah, and maasim tovim.
A month passed, and I was zocheh to perform many more brisos, and in the midst of my regular schedule a Yid called me. His baby was eight days old. He’d had his bris that morning, but something seemed wrong, and he was very concerned. The bandage had fallen off, and based on what he told me on the phone, I understood that I had better go to his house as quickly as possible.
I went, this time in my own car, which was long since returned from the mechanic, and baruch Hashem, I was zocheh to be the right person at the right time.
“Do you remember me?” the baby’s father asked. “A month ago I drove you to an urgent matter of pikuach nefesh, and you left a booklet in my car.”
I remembered. Yes, it was him, the tzaddik who drove me then without asking questions.
“When I saw the problem with my baby I called the mohel, but they told me he was in kollel, and there was no way to reach him before 7:15. I didn’t know what to do; I was at a loss, but then I remembered the booklet you left me. I took it out of the car and found your number there.”
During those moments, a month ago, when I hurried to that baby to save his life, it seemed to me that the fact that my car was at the mechanic was a problem and a hindrance to my holy work, but in truth, it was just the opposite. Hakadosh Baruch Hu arranged the cure before the problem. My ride with this person brought this story to its happy conclusion.
