Rabbi Avrohom Yachnes is an insightful, veteran rebbi, with a wealth of stories to boot, which he shares in his inimitable manner. (He is also the author of A Treasure for Life: Commentary and Insights into Sefer Orchos Tzadikim.)
My family has the great privilege to spend our summers together with Rabbi Yachnes and his wife at Camp Dora Golding. During the rest of the year, the Yachnes family lives in North Miami Beach where Rabbi Yachnes serves as a rebbi.
A few summers ago, Rabbi Yachnes related the following story:
“One of the attendees at my shiur was a snowbird named Irving Miller. Irving lived in Long Branch, New Jersey, and spent the winters in Hollywood, Florida. (His son, Rabbi Tzvi Miller, is the author of the English version of Ohr Yisrael by Targum Press).
“One day, Irving showed me a wedding invitation he’d received. With the invitation, enclosed in the envelope, were two plane tickets to the city where the wedding was taking place. Irving did not recognize any of the names on the invitation and had no idea why they were sending him free tickets.
“It took some time and effort before he found out that the invitation and tickets had been sent at the request of the grandfather of the chasan. Irving ascertained the grandfather’s phone number and called him.
“When Irving explained why he was calling, the grandfather shared that he was only alive because of Irving.
“Decades earlier, Irving had been a soldier in the American Army during World War II. He was in the 42nd Rainbow Division, which liberated the Dachau Concentration Camp in 1945. He was also the only soldier in his unit who spoke Yiddish.
“While walking through the camp shortly after liberation, Irving walked past a pile of dead bodies in a pit and thought he heard a faint moan. He asked the other soldiers in his unit to wait because he thought he heard something. The other soldiers told him there was no way anyone could be alive in the pile.
“Ignoring them, Irving began digging through the dead bodies. As he did so, the moaning became louder. With some effort, he discovered that there indeed was someone still alive. Irving gently pulled him out, called for a medic, and left.
“The grandfather continued, ‘I am the person you pulled out. I contacted the US Army and found out that it was you who saved my life. I am not religious, and neither is my son. But my grandson who is getting married is religious. I asked my children to send you an invitation and I included tickets for airfare. It would be the greatest honor if you could join us at the wedding. If not for you, I wouldn’t be here today, and my grandson wouldn’t be getting married.’”
Part of the beauty of the story is the fact that Irving didn’t listen to the naysayers. It could not have been easy, emotionally or physically, to dig through dead, starved bodies himself. But Irving persevered and generations of a family have lived on.
Although not on such a dramatic level, we all have the ability and the mandate to be like Irving. We invariably encounter people who are downtrodden, broken, and in pain. We can easily pretend we don’t notice, or we can rationalize that there’s not much we can do to help anyway. The challenge is to reach out to do what we can, despite the odds.
In the world of education, there are countless stories of great men and women who didn’t give up on students who had given up on themselves. Those heroic educators save souls, and likely physical lives, as well.
In the second brachah of Sh’moneh Esrei, we praise Hashem, Who resurrects the dead. On its simplest level, this refers to the literal resurrection of the dead during future messianic times. But it also refers to the fact that Hashem constantly resurrects our fallen spirits during challenging ordeals.
That is something we all can emulate. When a friend, child, student, neighbor, or even a stranger looks dejected or downcast, we can perform a modicum of t’chiyas ha’meisim by being empathic and caring.
It’s been said that four words uttered by Yosef HaTzadik changed the course of history. While languishing in prison, Yosef asked the Chief Butler and Chief Baker: “Madua p’neichem ra’im ha’yom – Why do you appear downcast today?” Yosef could have justifiably minded his own business. No one cared about him, why should he care about anyone else? But when he noticed fellow prisoners who looked troubled, he genuinely inquired about their welfare. He gave them the time and patience to hear them out and offer his opinion. That triggered his eventual summons to Pharaoh, which led to his becoming the viceroy.
Though we will, G-d willing, never need to save someone from a pile of corpses, we can revive a spirit buried beneath shattered fragments of his or her soul.
We never know the extent of our efforts.
Rabbi Dani Staum, LMSW, is a popular speaker, columnist, and author. He is a rebbe at Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, NJ. and principal of Mesivta Orchos Yosher in Spring Valley, NY. Rabbi Staum is also a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding. He can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. and at strivinghigher.com.
