Rabbi Yechiel Zucker of Yeshivas Torah B’Tiferes shared an extraordinary story — one that reminds us that when a person does all that is within his ability, Hashem sends exceptional siyata d’Shmaya to complete the rest.
For over fifty years, Reb Shmulik Yungreis has served as the devoted gabbai of a central beis haknesses in Bnei Brak. Besides his gabbai responsibilities, he volunteers for Ezer Mizion. Every Rosh Hashanah, immediately after his brief yom tov seudah, he heads straight to Beilinson Hospital to blow shofar for those confined to their beds.
To appreciate what he does, picture this: The hospital has eight floors. Each floor has two wings, each wing has two sections, and each section holds nine rooms. That’s rows upon rows of cholim waiting, hoping, and yearning to fulfill the mitzvah of shofar.
By the time Reb Shmulik arrives, some patients have not heard a single kol. Others may have heard nine and long to complete thirty. And so, with patience, warmth, and superhuman stamina, Reb Shmulik goes from room to room until the entire building resonates with the shofar’s ancient cry.
His son, Asher Tuvia, would accompany him on this sacred mission, helping him cover half the hospital. By the time they returned home each year, they had blown an astonishing average of 5,000 kolos!
To manage such a task, Reb Shmulik required many shofaros. But unlike what most people would do, he never reused a shofar from previous years. Instead, he purchased ten new ones annually — and not just ordinary shofaros, but ones chosen with care and kedushah. After using each shofar for several sets of tekios, he would place it in a bag and after yom tov gift them to bachurim as a bar mitzvah present.
“This shofar,” he would tell the young bar mitzvah bachur, “has absorbed countless cups of tears. Keep it for the day when Mashiach comes — and blow it before him.”
Five years ago, Reb Shmulik fell ill. His strength waned, and he could no longer make the rounds as he once had. His son was determined to continue his father’s holy mission. He tried to cover what his father had done — but he knew it was impossible.
He asked his rav for guidance.
“Try your best,” the rav advised gently. “If in the past you covered half the hospital, then aim for half. Do what you can.” As Rosh Hashanah approached, Reb Shmulik remained weak, unable to lift a shofar. Asher Tuvia begged Hashem for help. “Please show me that You are pleased with the work we’re doing,” he whispered. “That will give me the stamina — the strength and resolve — to continue this holy mission.”
When the day arrived, he began moving through the building, floor by floor. But halfway through the third floor, he collapsed onto a chair, drained and trembling — no koach left.
He whispered a quiet tefillah: “Ribono Shel Olam, I’m doing this for You. Please help me!”
Remembering the words of his rav, he pushed himself to attempt at least “half.” He forced himself toward the end of the fourth floor, mustering whatever energy he had left.
When he pushed open the heavy iron doors of the fourth floor, ready to return home, he froze.
Two teenage boys were standing there — each holding a shofar.
They looked somewhat lost and unsure.
Asher Tuvia stared at them. “Who are you? Where are you coming from?”
The boys exchanged a glance and answered simply, “Our grandfather told us that since we received these shofaros from Reb Shmulik Yungreis, and since he used to come here every year to blow for the hospital patients, and now he can’t, so...we should come do it instead of him.”
The words struck him like lightning.
These were bar mitzvah boys who had received one of Reb Shmulik’s tear-soaked shofaros — and they had come without his knowledge, wanting to repay the kindness and continue the legacy of the man who had given them the mitzvah of a lifetime.
With tears in his eyes, Asher Tuvia led them through the remaining floors. Together, they completed what Reb Shmulik had done for so many years. Every patient heard shofar — not only because of Reb Shmulik’s legacy, but with the very shofaros he himself had used.
To Asher Tuvia, the message was unmistakable: When a Yid does all he can, Hashem Himself steps in to finish the rest.
