Specialized Memorials - Stories

» Favor for a Neighbor
» Pure Kindness
» Mishnah on the Front
» A Chapter a Day
» The Most Important Weapon
» A Favor Returned
» In Memory of Sima
» A Random Meeting
» A Soldier’s Grave

Favor for a Neighbor

Upon learning all about Chevrah Lomdei Mishnah’s work, Mr. L. was suitably impressed. With his father’s yahrtzeit approaching, Mr. L. sponsored a course of Talmud study in his father’s memory.
The Chevrah Lomdei Mishnah representative who processed the donation was puzzled to find an additional sum of money included in the payment.
“I’d like to make an extra donation,” Mr. L. explained in the accompanying letter, “in the merit of any needy soul who has nobody else to do this kindness for him. Use it to help a fellow Jew in need.”
Just a few days later, the Chevrah Lomdei Mishnah office was apprised of the upcoming yahrtzeit of a young man who had passed away in his early twenties. Just a year earlier, the Jewish world had been rocked with the heartbreaking news of the sudden death of the young man, who had not even reached his twenty-fourth birthday. Due to the tragic circumstances involved, many of the conventional forms of garnering merit for the soul were not performed; as the upcoming yahrtzeit approached, the surviving family members were not financially capable of sponsoring Mishnah study in his merit.
Upon hearing of the story, the Chevrah Lomdei Mishnah representative knew that he had found a perfect recipient for Mr. L.’s donation. Immediately, the money was earmarked for Mishnah study in the merit of the young man.
Glad to have assisted in this meritorious act, the representative contacted Mr. L. to inform him of the turn of events. “We found the perfect recipient for the donation,” the representative said happily. “The money was used to benefit the soul of a young man who passed away under trying circumstances. His first yahrtzeit took place just a few days after you sent your donation.”
Mr. L. was quiet for a moment. It was clear that he was moved. Then he replied slowly, “Yes, it really was a perfect recipient. You don’t even know how perfect. You see, that young man was my next-door neighbor.”
One Jew caring for another; two souls inexplicably intertwined. Through this one meritorious act, the Chevrah Lomdei Mishnah Sponsorship program was born.
(As related by Chevrah Lomdei Mishnah)

Pure Kindness

The great sage Rabbi Chayim Sofer had a strong desire to accomplish the meritorious act of pure kindness with those who had passed on from this world. Rabbi Sofer was greatly disturbed at the thought of the countless Jewish souls who had passed on alone, without anybody to recite Kaddish on their behalf.
“I realized,” Rabbi Sofer writes of himself, “that I would not be able to join the ranks of those who prepare the bodies for burial; my soft nature would not be able to tolerate it. Yet, I always yearned to do kindness with the deceased.
“Finally, the thought came to me that I can do acts of kindness for the departed souls of Jews who were conscripted into the army, or who were imprisoned, or who are lying ill in the hospital. Unfortunately, the majority of these souls pass on without the benefit of having somebody recite the Shema with them at the time of their passing.
“I therefore took upon myself, that each morning, after I recite the blessing, ‘Blessed is He Who returns souls to dead bodies,’ I will study Mishnah in depth, and I will also recite Kaddish each day with a quorum. And my studies will be in honor of the departed, to clothe them in Heavenly garments.”
Each day, Rabbi Sofer would recite the following prayer to accompany his studies:
Master of the World, Master and Creator of all souls! Look down from the Heavens and see how I, a man of flesh and blood, worms and maggots, I am filled with pity for the souls of individuals that I have never seen nor met in their earthly bodies. I have not seen with my eyes of flesh their troubles; rather, I have pitied them their spiritual travails.
You, the holy and pure G-d, You created them and formed them; You know them, and You see their troubles. Please, have pity, have mercy, forgive them, atone for them, on their sins. May the merit of each letter, word, idea, and thought, in each Mishnah whose letters are the same as Neshamah (soul), gather many souls to the Garden of Eden, where they might slake themselves from the richness of Your house, and be sheltered in the shade of Your Wings. Amen and amen.
(Tuv’cha Yabiyu, Vol. I, pp. 252-253)

Mishnah on the Front

A member of Shomer HaTzair related a story of his experiences in the Israeli army during the war of independence, in 1948.
This soldier’s battalion had attacked a strategic position of the enemy based in Beit Dagon. After three attempts, the battalion had still not succeeded in their mission.
One soldier in the group, who had made aliyah from Yemen, recommended that the unit study Mishnah aloud. In this way, hopefully, they would merit Divine assistance to conquer the enemy.
The soldiers of the battalion all agreed to the Yemenite soldier’s idea. The sound of Mishnah study resounded throughout the front lines.
Upon completing their study session, the battalion attempted another attack. This time, they were finally successful.
(Tuv’cha Yabiyu Vol. II, pp. 228-229)

A Chapter a Day

A great sage once related that a dying man requested that the sage study one chapter of Mishnah on a daily basis, for one year following his passing. The Rabbi acceded to his request. One hectic day, the rabbi’s numerous responsibilities caused him to forget his regimen of Mishnah study. Soon before sundown, the deceased man appeared to the sage and said, “Please study the chapter of Mishnah, for the day is almost up!” Of course, the rabbi did so right away.
(L’iluy Neshamah, page 127)

The Most Important Weapon

During a war in the land of Israel, someone asked the Steipler Gaon (Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky) which Tehillim / Psalms would be appropriate to recite. The Steipler responded that the most important thing that one can do is to be involved with Torah study.
(L’iluy Neshamah, page 105)

A Favor Returned

Upon the passing of a supporter of the Volozhin Yeshivah, Rabbi Chayim of Volozhin committed himself to study Mishnah in the merit of the supporter’s departed soul.
One day, Rabbi Chayim thought of a very difficult question regarding the Mishnah he was studying. Try as he might, the rabbi was unable to answer the question. The deceased man then appeared to the rabbi in a vision, and proceeded to expound upon the exact explanation of the Mishnah.
(Avi HaYeshivos Vol. II, pp. 369-370)

In Memory of Sima

I was carrying the financial burden of our kollel in Williamsburg. It was my job to obtain money to support the students, and therefore I spent lots of tome on the road, visiting contributors. One day, on the 9th of Shevat, I went to a friend’s store to discuss a new fundraising idea: to find donors who would support one entire day of learning in the kollel. On that day, learning would be dedicated to the benefactor with prayers, or perhaps success in business or maybe for the iluy neshamah of one of his relatives.

As we spoke, Morris, a Russian Jew I knew, came to the store and walked over to me. He gave me a fifty dollar bill and told me that he too, wanted to contribute to the kollel and have us pray for the soul of his mother, Sima bas Chaim, who had died years before on January 27th.

I thanked Morris for his generous contribution and wished him well. I then explained to him that a Gregorian date was useless for our purposes and that we needed to know the Hebrew date of his mother’s death. Unfortunately, Morris had not merited a Jewish education, so he didn’t really understand what I was asking for. He just kept repeating “January 27, 1980”, and how important it was to him that someone should pray for his mother’s soul.

Then I had a brainstorm. I remembered that one of the kollel members had a computer program with a multi-year Hebrew/English calendar. I found the fellow and we looked up the date – and I could not believe my eyes: The Hebrew date of the yahrtzeit was the 9th of Shevat, that very day!

Nearly thirty years have passed since Morris’ mother had died. Who knew if anyone in all those years had ever said Kaddish for her, if anyone had learned one Mishnah in her memory – and here was our opportunity to do so. We immediately lit a yahrtzeit candle for her memory, and sat down to learn Mishnayos. Her name was announced in the kollel, and we said Kaddish and gave tzedakah in her name.

Who among us can understand Hashem’s ways that ensure that a Jewish soul will never be forgotten.

(There is no such thing as coincidence, Vol. II, pp 12, 13)

A Random Meeting

One Yom Kippur in the Mir Yeshiva in Jerusalem, where I prayed with about eight hundred other worshippers, I was mentally preparing myself to say Yizkor for my father, may he rest in peace, when a thought occurred to me: What happens to all the souls who leave this earth without a living relative to say Yizkor for them? I wondered if there was any way that I can perform this last kindness for others. That reminded me of Moshe, an American yeshiva student who had recently passed away, and was buried in Jerusalem. I knew that he had no immediate relatives, neither wife nor children nor parents. I thought that I would take it upon myself to say Yizkor for Moshe then and there, but I didn’t know the names of his parents.

I looked around at the eight hundred men in the study hall and wondered who among them might know Moshe’s parents’ names. I almost gave up the idea as impossible, when a fellow called Yechezkel walked right by me. Among all the eight hundred in the study hall, Yechezkel, I remembered, had been Moshe’s roommate. He gave me the names I needed, and I said Yizkor in memory of Moshe. However, as time passed, I forgot my good intentions.

A few months later, someone called me from the States and said that had sent me money with a friend of his who lives in Jerusalem and asked me if I could pick it up. He mentioned that he was the executor of Moshe’s will, and this bequest was in appreciation for the fact that I was saying Yizkor for Moshe on the holidays. I was very surprised: the only person in the world who knew that I had said Yizkor for Moshe on Yom Kippur was Yechezkel. Perhaps he would know what this was all about.

“Yes” Yechezkel told me, “I had a call from the executor of Moshe’s will. He explained to me that Moshe had left a bequest that he wanted distributed among relatives and friends who had been kind to him in Eretz Yisrael. I told him that you were doing the ultimate kindness of saying Yizkor for him.”

My head whirled. A financial windfall could not have come at a more opportune time, but I couldn’t accept such a gift under false pretenses. “I have to tell you that the first and only time that I said Yizkor was last Yom Kippur,” I confessed. “You just happened to pass by, I knew that you had been Moshe’s roommate, and I asked you for the names of his parents. It was purely a random spur-of-the-moment act. I don’t think I deserve any money.” Yechezkel however, felt strongly that it was not mere coincidence, but an act of Divine Design.

“There are no coincidences,” he said firmly. “Take the money, and take upon yourself to say Yizkor and Kaddish for Moshe for the rest of your life.” I consulted a Rabbi and again spoke to Moshe executor. The end result was that I received my part of the bequest – a gift from Heaven, to alleviate my heavy financial burden at the time.

But there’s a bit more to the story. Having received the money, I decided to invest most of it in a free-loan fund an acquaintance of mine administered. When he heard the exact amount of the sum that I was investing, he became very excited. It seems that he was obliged to return a fairly large sum within a few days, and had no idea how he would raise the amount.

“I was really at a loss. Then you showed up – a true messenger of Hashem, with exactly – but exactly – the sum I needed!”

(There is no such thing as coincidence, Vol. II, pp 15 - 17)

A Soldier’s Grave

It was a scorching June day and Yehudis and her sister Joanne walked slowly up the steep incline of Har Herzl as they solemnly made their way to their brother’s grave. Their brother, Daniel Haas hy”d a chayal in the Israeli army, had been killed in an ambush in Lebanon in 1982. And today a special memorial was being held to honor the memory of those killed in that battle.

There were two other days when Daniel’s memory was commemorated – the day on which he was killed, Rosh Chodesh Av, and Yom Hazikaron, the day all fallen soldiers are memorialized is a very large ceremony atop this very same mountain. On that day thousands of broken family members come together to cry for their loved ones – children, husbands, brothers, fathers – men who have given their lives for their people. Among the mourners are families that have been shattered, and parents who have offered their own personal akeida – and only through unconditional emunah have remained true to their faith, and strong enough to publicly declare, “Keil Malei Rachamim – G-d, Full of Mercy…”

The gathering on this June day was smaller, more intimate; the war in Lebanon was being commemorated, and those who died in battle in Lebanon were being honored – honored by a Kaddish, a chapter of Tehillim, and an endless flow of tears. And even the intense heat of the chamsin could not keep these two sisters from visiting their brother Daniel’s grave on this day. As they trudged uphill they noticed an elderly Sephardic Jew breathing heavily and sweating as he struggled up the steep climb in the blistering heat. Suddenly, he stumbled and fell. Quickly, the two women ran over to help him and then called to a soldier who was nearby to tend to the elderly man. As the soldier began to help the elderly man, the two sisters continued on their way to their brother’s grave.

Once they reached Daniel’s grave, they began to recite Tehillim. They soon noticed that the elderly man they had just helped was now standing in a nearby row, staring at them. At first they assumed that he was appreciative that they had helped him. However, immediately following the Keil Malei Rachamim and Kaddish, he approached them and asked who they were and why they were standing at this particular chayal’s grave. They told the gentleman their names and explained that they were the soldier’s sisters.

The old man looked bewildered, “But that’s impossible. I know that this chayal was a chayal bodeid, a lone soldier, who had no family members in Israel when he was killed.”

The two sisters responded that when Daniel had been killed there was no family in the country, but soon afterward they had moved to Israel. As the conversation continued, the sisters asked the elderly Sephardic gentleman how he knew Daniel. He explained that his son had been Daniel’s commanding officer in Lebanon. He then pointed to the grave at which he was standing. It was his son’s.

“When Daniel was killed, my son told me that Daniel did not have relatives in Eretz Yisrael, and every year my son used to arrange for a minyan to come and say Kaddish for him.” By now the man was crying. In a tear-chocked voice he asked, “What do you do on your brother’s yahrtzeit?”

Yehudis described the shiur that was delivered, the Torah that was learned, the seudah they would serve, and of course the Kaddish that was recited. When he asked her why had never seen them before at the yearly memorial ceremony, she patiently explained that they would always hold a larger memorial service on Daniel’s actual yahrtzeit.

The elderly compassionate man could not stop crying, “But I never knew –“

By now Yehudis and her sister were overcome with emotion as they listened to this complete stranger describe his yearly ritual. “Ever since my son was killed in battle I have continued the tradition of saying Kaddish on this day for this chayal bodeid. I never knew you were here – I never knew –“

Emotionally drained, he now looked at the two women and pleaded with them, “Do you promise me that you will continue to make sure that Kaddish is said for him? Promise me – Promise me you will continue –“

When the two sisters promised, the simple, elderly Sephardic Jew walked over to the kever, looked up to Heaven and with his arms raised upwards he cried out, “Ribbono Shel Olam, Master of the World, You know how faithful I was to the niftar. Only You know how I arranged for Kaddish to be recited by his kever. Today I am giving this responsibility over to these two sisters. They promised to make sure that Kaddish is said.” And then he looked at them once more and made his way down the hill.

A few months later the man passed away.

The family will never forget the kindness of a simple elderly Jew who cared for a chayal bodeid as if he were his own son.

And – in the Olam HaEmes – neither will Daniel.

(Reproduced from Touched By A Story 3, pp. 180-182, with permission of the copyright holders, ArtScroll / Mesorah Publications, Ltd.)