Miracles on the Mountain

The following is an article I wrote about the miracles which occurred during the course of the war six months ago in the north of Israel. As you may know, I was there during the outbreak of it, and this article is some of my outlook, and some of the things I heard and experienced. My article was published in the N'shei Chabad Newsletter, in time for Tishrei, along with a photo, but when I was writing it, I distinctly remember doubting whether or not it would actually be published- I was sure Moshiach would be here before Tishrei... Perhaps we did not do enough. My intent is not to document every experience, nor is it to explain the reasons and the causes for what happened in Eretz Yisroel those five weeks. As it is taught in Chassidus, sometimes our perceptions of things in this world as limited and finite beings are quite jaded and we can not comprehend the impressions and vastness of the situation. We can only trust in the Creator and Sustainer Who Sees All that this seeming bad really has a higher source in the ultimate of goodness. He runs the show, He knows how it is suppposed to run, and runs it in the best way possible.

Miracles on the Mountain- my story of the Second Lebanese War, Summer 5766
by Esther Yetta Grayson
Everyone agrees the seventeenth of Tamuz carries a peculiar energy, and on that Thursday in Tzfat, I felt it: It was a strange feeling, nothing I have ever experienced before. I woke up, davened (prayed), and ran to the Machon Alte (seminary) campus, only to find that I was late and the teacher I'd expected was not teaching. Quite unusual. After class ended, the "English speakers" were going down together to the Kever (gravesite) of the AriZal (R' Issac Luria, the great Kabbalist)- what a good idea! Before I went down the mountain to the old graveyard, I went out of my way and stopped at my friend's house and picked up my Chitas (prayerbook containing the 5 books of the Torah, Psalms, and Tanya), which I had left there a couple days before. I didn't know why, but I suddenly felt an urge to hold it with me.

I met my friend Miriam lower down in the old city, and we went down the dirt path over the wooden planks to the blue painted tombs of the AriZal, R' Shlomo Alkabetz, and R' Moshe Cordovero, our local Tzfat tzaddikim (Holy Sages). It was the first time I remember no one was there. 'Strange,' I thought, as I went down right next to their tombs, 'why is no one here- surely people want to daven here and ask for Moshiach (Messiah) at the start of the 3 Weeks (this fast day begins the period of the destruction of the Temples, culminating 3 weeks later).' We davened extra hard that day, and although we could see across the valley to Mt. Meron, smoke billowing out from its side where a bomb had hit the previous day, I didn't pay it too much attention. I called my mom to wish her a good day and ask for my grandfather's name so I could daven for him, and continued my requests, utilizing the special time.

After snapping some photos, Miriam and I decided to go back up the hill towards the main street. Although I wanted to split up and meet later at our apartment, we decided to go to the Machon to return her Siddur (prayerbook) together, and then each go separate ways. Before reaching the main street, as we passed by our friend's house near the main Kikar (square), I remembered my Machzorim (holiday prayerbooks) which Miriam had brought me from America and left at her house. We stopped in and picked them up, but odly, it took longer than usual. It was strange that our friend's door wasn't open- she had to get the key... Miriam and I peeked into the health food store in the Kikar, but left quickly as they were closing for the midday 'rest period.' Just as we were turning towards the Machon, we heard a very loud noise: It sounded like a high- pitched scream was whizzing over our heads, and then, a second later we heard an even louder BOOM very close by. Never in my life have I heard such a sound, but I instantly knew what it was and what it meant. I think my brain stopped working for a couple seconds, and I froze. Miriam pulled me to the Sofer (scribe) next door, and we just stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. The elderly Sofer started explaining about how he lived through this war and that war, and this was nothing new... but I didn't hear it. The only thing which started working my brain was looking at the mezuzah scroll, the words of the Shema, and a picture of the Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson. Suddenly, I recalled my teacher's wife and good friend Roni telling me about a Miklat (bomb shelter) in the Kikar (In what context and for what reason she shared this information, I still do not know). I started looking around, and asked out loud where it was. Just then a group of people ran past us through the square and went down some steps nearby. I realized they knew where the shelter was located, and we followed them... but the door was locked. 'How could the door be locked,' I thought, and as we waited for someone to find the key, I started saying Tehillim (Psalms) from my Chitas. As I said Perek Chof (chapter 20, said in times of distress) over and over, I realized my entire body was shaking. 'Why are you shaking?' I thought to myself, 'everything is going to be okay.' I think I said that Perek ten times until I was sufficiently calm enough to wonder where was the key and what about my other friends still at the AriZal and other places in the city. While the key was being retrieved from the nearby yeshiva, Miriam and I started calling people- teachers, students, principals but no one answered. As they attempted to unlock the door, we determined it was smart to make a run to the Machon, only a short block away, since things were quiet.

When we arrived, we were greeted by an interesting sight: The vast majority of the girls were in the kitchen, accompanied by a large stack of Sidurim, Chumashim (Bibles), and Tanyas, fervently saying Tehillim. One of the old- timers of Machon Alte, an Israeli named Yaffa, was splitting up the Sefer (book) numerous times, so I took a portion and sat down. Some of the girls were crying. Our history teacher Rabbi Mordechai was attempting to calm them, explaining that the Machon was also a shelter, a Ma'mad, and had been designated by the government as a citywide safe place during the war in ' 73. I felt so unsure of myself, not really knowing what to do or where to go, and so I began the journey of the words of Tehillim. In his great work, King David expands on the comfort he finds in G-d in the trying times, and reciting these sacred words over and over calmed my racing nerves.

A count of the Americans (English speakers) was made, and we attempted to contact the other girls who were elsewhere. We went through another round of booms, all of us saying Tehillim together out loud. I really felt the power of a community at that time. As the time passed and things calmed down some, Rabbi Rosenfeld, sh'liach (emissary) of the Rebbe and dean of the Machon, appeared and completely calmed us down. We were informed of the details of what happened- the hotel near our apartment was hit, as well the college nearby. Apparently some other places in the area were damaged, as well. The rabbi advised us to stay at the Machon overnight as an extra safety measure. As he went outside, I followed him and asked if it was safe enough to go up to our apartment to get some clothes and supplies, since there seemed a relative break, or end of the commotion. With a big smile and certain voice, he said, "Sure, you can go! But not officially." I later learned that the government would come around with a megaphone and tell the citizens when they could come out. This announcement only occurred about five weeks later.

Some of the girls came with me to our apartment, but we ended up in the Ma'amad (secured room) in our neighbor's house, joining the girls who were in the apartment at the time of the attack. There we had the opportunity to share stories and reflect. As my friends related their experiences, I realized that each one was another miracle story- this one went to walk her friend with a baby home and the missile hit her house where she outght to have been; that one decided to take the time to give tzedakah (charity) before coming up from the AriZal, and made it just in time. Wow, I thought, Hashem directs the steps of man-- literally-- and each mitzvah steered each one to exactly the right place.

After getting some overnight necessities, we descended the 80 steps to the Machon (very quickly, next to the wall), and finally broke our fast. The girls were singing songs of encouragement and triumph (Napoleon's victory march, sung by his army before battle), and we turned on the radio for the news. Unfortunately for me (or maybe fortunately), no one translated into English. During dinner, another round of missiles fell, and everyone in the room panicked. I found myself being pushed under the table- like in a mob- and surrounded by hysterical girls. Some of my friends were reciting the Shema. I just wanted to get away from the large glass windows.

Eventually, the missiles stopped falling, and our principal visited us and discussed the sleeping arrangements. Once it was decided the English speakers would sleep in the kitchen, we went on a mattress- hunt. We brought the mattresses down from the upper floors and moved them into our new Ma'amad, brought down bedding and linen, and 'made home' there. Some of the girls insisted in removing the utensils hanging from hooks on the walls and moving them to a safer place, and we cleaned the countertops off on anything which might fall down, G-d forbid. We settled down, everyone very close to each other, and one girl even slept under the heavy kitchen table for an extra-safe feeling.

We awoke too early Friday morning rubbing our eyes, necks and backs, removed the mattresses, cleaned up, and then moved on to our service of Hashem. The beautiful thing about Chabad Chassidim is that no matter how many obstacles are in the way, regardless of the amount of time in a given place, we "set up our Mishkan," erect our Tabernacle, and make the place into a G-dly space, a home where G-d would be comfortable dwelling. This perseverance and dedication is something which was very much revealed throughout the coming days, especially when each person chose whether or not to stay.

Groups of twos and threes began leaving before Shabbos, and it came down to five of us left. That was to be my family for the next four days. We ate together, slept next to each other, and each of us kept our eyes out for one another. This harmony meant so much to me- as an only child, these truly are my sisters.

It is explained in Chassidus that what is the highest in the begining ends up falling the farthest. When we see things in life which appear terrible, we must look upon it with positive eyes, knowing its' source is higher than what we percieve as good. They say a Chossid internalizes, therefore this concept should be applied to the days of pain and suffering. The main thing to remember is that although we do not always see the Hand of Hashem, nor do we see the outward expression of goodness, we know that there will come a time when the world will see the bad was really good. Over the course of those five weeks, I certainly experienced moments of intense good, and still laugh about the 'good times' during the war.

Us five "sisters" went to the Chabad area of town for Shabbos, and stayed at a teacher's home in the Kiryat Chabad, a huge thirteen-floor apartment building. On Friday night, I chose to go to the big shul nearby and daven with the congregation, along with two of the others. Soon we started davening, and we lost ourselves in the chapters of Tehillim praising Hashem and speaking of the future redemption and His strength. All of a sudden, in the middle of davening, we heard a very loud BOOM. A bomb just landed closeby. My initial instinct drove me on the floor next to one of the ceiling beams nearby, and I just continued my davening by rote for a few seconds, until my Chassidishe mind (or Neshama, soul) piped up: " Why are you sitting on the floor? You're in the middle of praising the Creator of the world, the One who controls these booms! Of course He's not going to direct a bomb into this beautiful shul, a place which is referred to as a Mikdash Mi'at, a microcosm of the Beis HaMikdash! So there's no point in worrying- get up and daven like you mean it!" So I did. And as I was saying Lecha Dodi (the prayer welcoming the Shabbos), hearing the booms outside, I knew I was in the safest place in the world- G-d's Hands. In His Temple. As we sang Shlomo Alkabetz's strong words (who I had visited two days prior) greeting Shabbos, I concentrated on the meaning and the striking significance- 'Get up from your downtrodden state,' 'put on your fancy clothes,' 'do not worry or fear,' 'the city will be rebuilt on the ruins.' As the tune changed to be quicker and more upbeat, and the men downstairs encircled the Bimah singing, I thought about the astounding beauty of the Jewish people and our determination, fortitude, and trust. Someone once remarked, "I don't know what other peoples do- I would go crazy if I didn't trust in Hashem." I realized it was true, that although the wind blows, the rain comes down in torrents and every nation in the world tries to blow it out, the candle of a Jew's soul will never be extinguished; On the contrary- all the opposition only brings out our innner strength and pushes the flame to burn stronger.

The next day, we went to the Rosenfeld's house, and the minute we entered their home, I again felt like we wlaked into the safest place in the world. The house shone with the light of Shabbos, and a mouthwatering aroma filled the tiny apartment. As usual, many guests bustled around, and even after we started the meal, the door kept opening, bringing new arrivals. Their daughters pointed out the smoke accross the hill, which was probably the result of a loud thud we heard again in shul. But it didn't move me too much- I was inside, in the warm arms of the Rosenfelds and the holy Shabbos.

Most of the bombs which fell on Tzfat were aimed at the main northern army base near the tomb of Yonatan ben Uziel closeby, but every bomb which fell was miraculously diverted a bit to the right or the left, and did minimal damage.The amount of bombs which actually hit something (not just trees and grass) was probably about one out of every 500 or so! One astounding story which occurred that Shabbos was told over and over: There is a family living in the nereby area of Giv'at Shoshana, and the wife is very involved in the community. She organizes woman's learning groups and gatherings, and her family lives in a two story apartment. They had agreed upon a room in the house which they felt was safest, something most families had done, and the children had slept in that room on Friday night. On Shabbos day, while the boys were in shul, the missiles started raining down. One missile fell, but not down in the normal way like rain falls from the sky. The missile appeared to have come down, curved around like an "L," went through the wall on the lower level into their safe room, and did not explode. The police who came to investigate and extract the bomb said they had never seen anything like this. What's more although the glass everywhere shattered, the picture of the Rebbe Rashab (the fifth Chabad Rebbe) under the bed was perfectly intact.

Another miracle: A boy in the middle of Shacharis (morning prayers), still in his Tefillin, went outside to talk on his phone, and after debating whether or not to take them off, kept his Tefillin on. A natural wanderer, he paced up and down the cobblestone street of the Old City, when suddenly three big rockets whizzed by and exploded just thirty feet in front of him. He returned home shaking, but completely unharmed. He said if he had taken off the Tefillin, he doubted he would be alive to tell the story.

Hashem watches over His loved ones in an incomparable manner. Throughout our history we have read of the defeats of the few against the many, and of the unbelievable nature of the Jewish people, but to experience it firsthand is mind blowing. I have learned that life is full of miracles, and we only have to open our eyes and tune into them. Even though the Hizbollah may deal with Israel in manner according to nature, G-d does not deal with His chosen people and their promised land in a way of nature: Every bomb which falls is another miracle, and the perseverance and determination of the Jewish people is astounding.

We stayed at our teacher's house on Sunday and Monday, as well, and the teachers came up to give us classes. I had spoken several times to my parents, and they advised me to stay with the girls. Rabbi Rosenfeld came and discussed the situation with us, and we came to a conclusion that we should relocate for the advantage of the others not in Tzfat. We knew that many would leave the country if we did not have classes, and that for the meantime, they were scattered in various places, not really learning Torah. Plans were made, and the others agreed to join us in our new location. Fortunately it was the summer time and schools were closed, because we were able to stay in a different seminary's dorm and utilize their campus. There is also a special summer program in the Machon, with Rabbi Rosenfeld's son-in-law and daughter who come in from America as the teachers. Luckily for us, they agreed to come with us on our journey and teach us.

It was a very long five weeks, and I would not say I would have chosen it, but G-d knows me better than I know myself. Those five weeks were a growing process which opened my eyes to appreciate small pleasures in life, such as having hot water and more than two skirts. I laugh as I look back, and I am thankful for the gifts I am blessed with. I will always treasure the time I was in exile from my city, although it was painful, for it was during that time that I truly saw G-d's Hand and saw real miracles.