Gavriel was eighteen years old when World War II broke out on 17 Elul 5699. Having been orphaned of his parents at a young age, he was raised in the home of his mother’s brother in Lomza, Poland.
Gavriel was one of the brilliant talmidim in his yeshivah, known for his sharp mind and diligence in learning. At night, he was among the last to close his Gemara, and in the morning, he was among the first in the beis medrash.
When World War II broke out, Nazi Germany’s massive army began to march towards Polish cities, with impressive air superiority in the form of incessant bombings on cities and residents.
Lomza also suffered from constant bombardment, that led to unbearable losses. Many of the city’s residents perished in the bombings, including many Jews.
News about the German army’s impending capture of the city sowed panic among the Jewish residents. The younger residents hurriedly packed a few things and began to flee to the east, near the Russian border, in the hope that the Nazis would not dare get close to there.
Gavriel was among those who fled. With the blessing of his uncle, he headed to the town of Baranowitz, where he had relatives and where he hoped to be able to continue learning until the storm passed.
As part of the deal signed between the Russians and the Germans at the beginning of the war, known as the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact, they divided up Poland’s territory amongst themselves, and Baranowitz, which was in Poland at the war’s outbreak, was now annexed along with Eastern Poland to soviet Russia. The Russian annexation was greeted with mixed feelings by the Jews of Baranowitz.
On the one hand, they were happy that their city was not annexed to Nazi Germany, which was out to annihilate the Jewish people. On the other hand, the Jews were afraid of the religious persecution that the Communist regime was notorious for.
The yeshivah students, Gavriel among them, decided that even if the authorities would persecute them, they would not desist in their adherence to Torah and mitzvos. Indeed, even under the heretic Russian rule, they continue to learn and daven underground. They were not deterred even when Gavriel and some of his friends were detained for questioning and released with a warning that if they’d continue learning Torah and doing mitzvos they’d be sent to exile.
In the winter of 1942, the Russian rule in Baranowitz came to an end. The Germans violated the agreement they had signed, and launched a surprise assault on Russia. The waves of war engulfed eastern Europe all at once. The German bombers began systematically bombarding Baranowitz, and as a result, hundreds of people died. The Russian government authorities were taken by surprise, and they fled deep into Russia, which meant that most of the city’s residents followed them in panic. Thousands of people gathered at the train station with bundles in their arms. Those in the know related that very soon, the Russians would be bombing the tracks to make it difficult for the German army to move further into Russia. These thousands of people wanted to be among the lucky ones to board the last train, their only hope for survival.
Early that morning, Gavriel was woken up by his friends screaming: “Pikuach nefesh! Get up Gavriel! We have to flee and it’s our last chance to do so!” Gavriel got up quickly and listened to his friends’ panicked explanation: “In the next hour, the last train to Russia is going to be leaving Baranowitz. The Germans are closing in on all sides, and this is our final chance to be saved.”
But an internal voice told Gavriel that he had to daven Shacharis first. With determination in his tone, Gavriel replied to his friends: “I won’t leave before I daven Shacharis. There, on the packed train, there’s no way I can do it before the zman tefillah passes.”
The friend tried to persuade him that the pikuach nefesh involved could certainly defer the davening, but Gavriel was resolute: “My heart tells me that I will have no benefit from hurrying to leave and missing out on davening on time. I’ve never missed out davening on time, and in a time of distress, how much more so will I not do it! I’ll daven first and then I’ll find a way to try and get to Russia.”
No cajoling could change his mind and his friend had no choice. He left Gavriel and raced to the train station, where he managed to cram into the packed train car at the last second before it pulled out of the station.
Meanwhile, in his little hut, Gavriel donned his holy tefillin. The serious situation worried him deeply, and fear of the unknown filled his heart. He immersed himself emotionally in his tefillah.
At the end of davening, Gavriel kissed his tefillin, stuck them into his satchel and also hurried to the station. Deep down, he hoped that the last train had not yet left and that he could flee with it to Russia.
When he arrived at the station and saw the frightened, dejected expressions on dozens of faces of people that had been left behind, he realized that the train had departed. Gavriel was about to trudge back out of the station when the unbelievable occurred. They heard the loud whistle of an arriving train, sowing a seed of hope within many hearts. It was a train that happened to be passing through, and when the driver saw the passengers, he stopped, and urged them to board quickly. The passengers quickly boarded and the train picked up speed as it headed deep into Soviet Russia.
Gavriel sat down on the train and after thanking Hashem for the rescue train that He had ordained for him, continued with an emotional tefillas haderech in which he asked Hashem to watch over him on his unknown path forward.
Just a few hours later the magnitude of the miracle became clear: The earlier train, which Gavriel had missed because of his insistence to daven, was bombed by the German army as it passed over a bridge that ran over a wide river. The bridge collapsed and the train and all the passengers fell into the river. Most of the passengers perished – some from the bombings and some from drowning. Few survived.
After the war, for many years after, Gavriel made sure to gather his children and grandchildren each year for a seudas hoda’ah on the day when he refrained from boarding the death train. He would stand up and tearfully recount the miraculous rescue, as he used the opportunity to instruct his offspring to always be strict to daven before the zman, a strictness that saved him from near certain death.
Shabbos Supplement, Beha’alosecha 5758 p. 10
