Yet aside from his national presence and high-impact initiatives, Steve Savitsky, always attuned to the everyday struggles of those people who his myriad organizations serve, noticed that the most profound impact isn’t necessary large, institutional moves, “but by stepping up to the plate when Hashem grants us ‘ordinary’ encounters,” he says. “In every situation we find ourselves in, we can ask ourselves, ‘Why did Hashem put me in this very place at this very time? What chesed does Hashem expect me to do at this exact moment?’ ”

He calls these opportunities “kan tzipor moments,” based on the specific language of the mitzvah of shiluach hakein, shooing away the mother bird before taking her eggs or nestlings. The pasuk teaches that this mitzvah cannot be orchestrated, but just happens, as it says, “Ki yikarei kan tzipor lefanecha baderech” (Devarim 22:6) — unexpectedly, when we go about our normal daily activities.

Savitsky relates his own moment, which came about when was traveling for a short business flight from La Guardia airport to Columbus, Ohio, with a non-Jewish business colleague named Gregg Petit, and was in the airport where he overheard a young woman named Mary McGuire trying to get her huge dress bag, containing her wedding gown, onto the plane. The airline had originally let her bring it on and put it overhead, but there was a plane switch last minute and due to space constraints, the airline personnel were making her check the bag. The bride was devastated — there was no way she would check the dress and risk damage or loss, as her wedding was in Columbus just two days later.

While nearly all the waiting-to-board passengers looked away from the uncomfortable scene, Steve Savitsky thought to himself, “There must be a reason why this is happening in front of me.” The healthcare exec marched over to the attendant and offered their seats to three people in the front row — and he, his colleague, and the bride would sit together and lay the gown across their laps. The ticket agent wasn’t sure, but after checking with the pilot, she came back with a yes! For Savitsky, it wasn’t only a good deed to help out the hapless bride — with his yarmulke in full view, it was also a kiddush Hashem. And he wasn’t the only one who realized it: Gregg, his non-Jewish colleague, agreed to the plan on one condition — that Savitsky would give him an extra yarmulke to wear as well. “I also want to do something good and give credit to the Jewish people,” he told his Jewish associate. And so, the two yarmulke-clad men sat through the flight with the wedding dress spread across their laps. By this time, most of the passengers were aware of the drama, and as seatbelts were fastened, the pilot’s voice boomed over the sound system, “Congratulations for Mary McGuire on her forthcoming wedding! On behalf of United Airlines, we’re happy we could accommodate her and her wedding gown on board, and special thanks to Rabbi Petit and Rabbi Savitsky for their wonderful act of kindness that allowed this to happen.”

As the crowd deplaned, many approached the threesome, still holding the gown, and gave their congratulations. One woman then approached Savitsky and told him, “Today you made me proud to be a Jew, to see two kippah-wearing men help this woman out, when no one else even noticed. You restored my faith in being a Jew.”

Savitsky shared the story in his next address, which prompted people to share with him their own stories of what happened when Hashem brought them to their “moments.” The stories began to add up, and it was clear that people from all walks of life, in different locations and circumstances, reacted to such “magic moments” of opportunity to do chesed in the most unexpected places — at a wedding, in a shopping mall, at a shivah house, in a supermarket, riding in a taxi, and in so many other venues.

And so, in classic Steve Savitsky style, he decided to launch a movement.

“I want people to think, ‘Why did Hashem put me in this very place at this very time? What chesed does Hashem expect me to do at this exact moment?’ In short, be more of an ‘observant Jew’ — someone constantly on the alert for these moments of opportunity.”

Three years ago, he compiled these real-life stories of sudden, unplanned opportunity what was to be the first volume of Kan Tzipor. The second volume, with hundreds of pages of additional stories Savitsky has heard since, has just been released.

“Everyone has their own kan tzipor moment,” says Savitsky. “And believe it or not, Hashem might present you with your greatest opportunities to do an act of chesed when you’re least prepared — will you seize the moment or will be lost forever?

Some excerpts that will inspire you:

What Goes Around

This account was told to me by Miriam Stein*, who was personally involved in the following two stories.

MIRIAM:

I worked for a major organization in a thriving frum community before direct deposit was how most people received their paychecks. At that time, due to my being a single mom, I counted on the salary payment I received every two weeks to allow me to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Like many of my coworkers, I would visit a nearby bank branch each payday to cash my check.

On one particular payday, I was very busy finishing a time-sensitive project at work and simply could not take the time to go to the bank. Our employer made the organization’s van available to those of us who needed to cash our checks at the bank, so I asked a coworker to do me a favor. We’ll call her Rachel, and I was extremely close with her, so I asked her to take my check — along with a letter I wrote authorizing her to cash it for me — and bring back my pay. The fact that I was comfortable with her knowing the amount of my salary attests to how much I trusted her. This wasn’t the first time I had asked her to do this favor for me. From time to time, I’d buy her a small gift, which I’d give her along with a card, thanking her for “having my back” when I simply could not leave the office before the bank closed.

Not long after my coworkers left, all of those who had gone to the bank with Rachel returned to their desks. When I asked one of them why Rachel wasn’t among them, I was told that she took a bit more time off to take care of something important. This had never happened before, since we were all on our boss’s time. But since I was not her supervisor, I simply relied on her to handle her unusual absence with our boss. Meanwhile, I returned to the project that I needed to complete before I left for the day.

It was only when Rachel returned to the office a while later, looking as if the sky had crashed down on her shoulders, that I learned what she “had to take care of” before returning to work. Standing to my left, stiff as a board and with bloodshot eyes, she whispered, “Miriam, I am terribly sorry, but I… don’t… have your pay envelope. I cashed your check without any trouble at all thanks to the notarized letter you gave me, and I remember stuffing your envelope into my purse, but when we got off the elevator and I reached into my handbag to pull out the envelope with your cash so I’d have it handy when I passed your desk on the way to mine, it… it simply had disappeared.”

I was too stunned to utter one word — but I didn’t have to, because Rachel couldn’t stop talking. “I searched high and low. I ran all the way back to the bank, I retraced my steps, I ran to the garage and searched the van thoroughly, but it’s gone. G.O.N.E. It’s like the Satan whisked your money away, leaving me to have to face you and tell you something that is unbelievable but true.”

Rachel was utterly distraught. “I can’t ask our boss to issue you a new check, because there’s no way he’s going to pay you twice, so it’s not his problem! It’s mine! Mine alone!” She was absolutely beside herself.

RACHEL:

Understandably, although after I confessed to Miriam what had happened, and I dragged myself to my desk, I couldn’t concentrate on any of my work. I knew that nothing happens without Hashem willing it — but that didn’t mean I was guiltless. Miriam was a single mother struggling to support her children, and she lived from hand to mouth. She desperately needed the money I had lost, and I felt obligated to replace it. I couldn’t ask my parents to bail me out, and my kollel husband and I had no savings.

By nature, I am shy, and back then I lacked the self-confidence of most of my coworkers. I was also terribly ashamed to have been such a klutz to lose so much money. But I needed to right the wrong, so I knocked on the door of our boss’s office. When he buzzed me in, I told him that I had a personal emergency that I needed to take care of, and asked his permission to do so while in the office. “I’ll make up the time,” I assured him, so he agreed.

Then I swallowed my pride, sat down at my desk, and phoned every employee in our company. I recapped to each one what had just happened — over 30 times — and asked each one of my coworkers to find it in their hearts to contribute tzedakah money so that I could replace Miriam’s two-weeks’ worth of salary. Every one of them — possibly out of pity for her, and maybe because they felt so bad for me — dug deep into their pockets and donated generously. As each one made his or her way to my desk, one at a time and in a way that Miriam would not suspect what I had undertaken, they put themselves into both her shoes and mine, thinking how they’d feel if this would have happened to them, and they handed me as much as they could afford to spare for this mitzvah.

Before the end of the day, I walked over to Miriam’s desk and gave her an envelope stuffed with the full amount of her paycheck. When she stood up and hugged me, we both cried, this time tears of joy. She, for being able to live with dignity for the next two weeks, and I, for having overcome my weakest character trait and done something terribly difficult that was the right thing to do. Miriam asked me where I got the money, and I told her that the same Hashem Who had orchestrated its loss, had orchestrated what was in the envelope. She was so strapped for funds that she accepted what I told her without one more question.

It was only months later that I shared with Miriam what I had done — not to shame her but so that she would know in what esteem she was held by her coworkers, and so that she would realize mi k’amcha Yisrael, and thank Hashem that despite her challenges, she and I were very fortunate to be part of Klal Yisrael. After thanking me profusely she said, “Rachel, I could never have done what you did! I’m sure Hashem will repay you tenfold!”

MIRIAM:

A few years after Rachel fulfilled the incredible mitzvah of collecting two weeks’ worth of my salary to replace what she had lost, I was still working at that company, although she had left the company to raise her growing family. At that time, I was quite friendly with a coworker in my department who we’ll call Toby, a twice-married single mother with children from each of her short-lived marriages. Toby earned barely enough to support herself and her children, and neither of her previous husbands contributed child support. But her outlook on life was so positive that it was a pleasure working with her and being her friend.

That’s why I was shocked when, toward the end of one wintry day, when everyone else had already left the office, I found her in our office’s break room, sobbing brokenheartedly. Could someone close to her have suddenly passed away? Had she been evicted from her basement apartment?

Biting my tongue to prevent my impetuous self from asking intrusive questions, I led Toby to a table and assured her that if she felt comfortable sharing her pain with me, I was willing to listen.

Having been no stranger to feeling utterly alone and being overwhelmed by hopelessness, I allowed Toby to cry herself out, and that’s when she shared that after two years of begging her second husband to free her so that she could find a life partner as well as a father-figure for the five children she was raising on her own, he had finally agreed. “But… he refuses to spend even one red cent on this, so it will happen only if I can somehow raise enough money for the beis din to arrange the get and the legal divorce. I am so afraid that if I don’t do this quickly, he might change his mind or skip town and I’ll never be able to find him. But what can I do, Miriam?”

I dug back to the time when Rachel had lost my paycheck and, overcoming her inborn shyness, got everyone in the company to extend themselves for me. Was Hashem testing me to see if I would do the same for Toby? Although I was impetuous by nature, fundraising was something I had never done before. What if I assured her that everything would be taken care of and then failed? Could I handle failure? I had failed at several important relationships in my life, leaving me with deep emotional scars. Who was I fooling?

As Toby sipped her coffee and dabbed her eyes with a wad of soggy tissues, I again thought back to what shy, self-effacing Rachel had done for me, and I challenged myself to step up to the plate as she had.

It was getting late; it was already dark outside. I had to get home and so did Toby. I did my best to comfort her as we both donned our coats, gloves and boots. I would discuss what I wanted to do with my supervisor before stepping out on a limb. I figured that his encouragement, as well as his respectable first donation, would give me the courage to undertake what needed to be done for Toby and her children.

But the next day, I was totally deflated by my supervisor’s reaction. He told me to forget it, and that I would never be able to gather the amount needed because no one would donate any substantial amount, “…and from the fives and tens they’ll throw your way, you’ll get nowhere.” Because he was so much older and wiser than I was, I wouldn’t feel guilty abandoning my too-hasty undertaking. But once again remembering the effort Rachel had invested in helping me back then, my heart rejected every word he said.

I imagined myself experiencing this poor woman’s plight — being legally chained to a controlling, abusive man. That gave me all the backbone I needed to start. When some of the people I approached told me that unfortunately they couldn’t participate in this mitzvah, instead of throwing in the towel I allowed myself to feel the pain my supervisor had caused by telling me that I would surely fail, and it was that, plus the ever-present memory of Rachel’s success, that led me to persevere until I had collected the full amount of money Toby needed in order to free herself from her pain-filled past. I managed to get a charitable organization to accept all the donations so the donors were able to get tax-exempt receipts and, also, so Toby would never know how the money had been collected and by whom.

In the end, the organization paid the beis din and legal fees directly, after notifying Toby that they were assuming responsibility for all costs. After she had her get and secular divorce, there was even some money left over to enroll all her children in day camp for the upcoming summer season. This made her especially happy. Before that time, only her sons had received full day camp scholarships, while her daughters had languished at home.

Quick Thinking

This story was told to me by my dear friend Dr. Robert Van Amerongen a”h, pediatric emergency expert and medical director of Camp Simcha Special, who shared it with me before he passed away after a short and fierce battle with cancer.

MY

story happened probably forty or more years ago when I was a college student. I had traveled down to Florida for a vacation with a group of my good friends. As was the custom at that time with young men in my age group, in the evenings we went from one hotel to the next, enjoying the entertainment offered by each, and looking to meet a variety of like-minded people from all over the country. Back then, Miami was a happening place, and many young men met their life partners in one of the many kosher hotels that flourished in those days.

One night, my friends and I found ourselves in Miami Beach’s Fontainebleau Hotel. As the hour got later and later, one by one, my friends called it a night and left. And that’s how, totally unplanned, at 2 a.m. I found myself the only one of my group still in the lower-level lobby of the hotel.

By then, all the boutique-type stores located on that floor were closed, and I was getting ready to leave and grab a cab back to the hotel in which my friends and I had all booked much less-expensive rooms. At the far end of that long corridor in which I was standing, I noticed near the elevators a group of quite vocal non-Jewish high school guys who I assumed must have been in Miami on a class trip. In the almost deafening way of such teenagers, they appeared to be trying to figure out which elevator to take to their particular section of the hotel.

Those young fellows seemed to have pressed the buttons of a few elevators, because at that moment the doors of several of them opened simultaneously, and that entire raucous group jostled and shoved their way into all of them and disappeared behind their closing doors.

Except for one skinny fellow who, from afar, looked to me to be somewhat dazed.

At precisely that moment — while that lone guy, who I surmised might have been slightly tipsy and who was simply too “out of it” to press one of the buttons that would open an available elevator door — another elevator opened and a very intimidating man emerged.

The guy was extremely tall and muscular, dressed so that most of his well-worked-out and suntanned body, almost fully covered with tattoos, was visible through his open, garishly green silk shirt, and heavy gold chains jangled with his every move.

I was standing at quite a distance down the hall from them, but that lone high school guy, who had frozen at the sight of that man, was still trying to figure out which elevator to summon that would take him to where his friends had gone.

And although the two of them had no idea anyone else was nearby, because it was very dim and totally silent in that almost empty lobby, I could hear every word that was being uttered.

That’s how I was able to hear that man demand in a most menacing tone that the boy hand over the large, gold wristwatch he was wearing.

“Get away from me,” the fellow called out in a frightened, somewhat shaky voice. “My granddad gave me this watch before he died, and it’s mine, not yours!”

The man stepped even closer to the that quaking teen, extracted a switchblade from his pocket, and said in a voice loud enough for me to hear clearly, although I was still hidden in the shadows of that hallway, “Rah, rah, rah! You had a lovin’ grandpa and you ain’t gonna let go of the timepiece he gave you! Well, I never knew my grandpa but when I’s gonna wear that timepiece I’ll tell everyone it belonged to him! So, either hand it over or I’ll cut your hand off with this knife and end up with it anyway!”

I was appalled at what I was seeing and hearing, and terribly frightened for that unknown teen’s safety. And obviously, so was he, because he started to cry, while calling out in a shaky voice, “Get away from me! Don’t block me! I need… I need to take an elevator back up to my friends. I promised Grandpa I’d guard his watch! He promised me that as long as I kept my promise he’d watch over me from Heaven! So you can’t hurt me! Get out of my way!”

The man didn’t budge.

I looked around and realized that on that level of the hotel, right then, there was no one else except for the three of us: a predator, a helpless teen, and me.

I didn’t know what to do, but as the danger level to that boy, who by then was quaking, rose by the minute, I realized that I had to do something, anything, to rescue him.

I too was scared by that giant, muscled menace, but I knew that if I didn’t do something, that teen would end up not only without a hand, but possibly dead, and that I would never forgive myself for allowing that to happen. Physically I was no match for Mr. Trouble, so if I wanted to save the youngster, I’d have to use some other tactic.

There was no time for me to be afraid for my own safety, as I would never forgive myself for keeping out of danger if that young man were to lose both his precious watch, his hand, and possibly his life to this evil person. Calling on every bit of wit I possessed, I began walking purposefully down that long corridor toward the elevators, hoping against hope that Mr. Trouble would not sense my utter fear, but instead would recognize how determined I was to get that boy to safety.

As soon as I was about ten feet from them, I called out angrily, “Josh, where have you been? What on earth are you doing here? Do you realize that every one of our group has been scouring this hotel and its grounds looking for you? As a matter of fact, we called the Miami police, and they’re on their way and will be in this hotel in less than a minute!”

Then I stepped even closer to them, stretched out my hand to Mr. Trouble, and said, “How are you, sir? My name is Robert Van Amerongen, and I’m the counselor in charge of this group of kids who came down with me to Miami on a high school trip. Thank you so much for finding Josh for us! We were really nervous when he went missing, and now, thanks to you, our search is over.”

I then turned to the now-shaking kid and barked, “Josh, don’t you ever dare to do this again! Now you come with me so we can tell the police that our emergency is over, and that they can leave the hotel instead of looking for someone who might have wanted to harm you!”

And to Mr. Trouble I said, “Once again, sir, thank you! Excuse me for running off, but I don’t want the police to find the three of us down here!”

With that, I motioned to the speechless, trembling boy to follow me, which he did slowly, because by then he could hardly walk a straight line. I pressed the button of the nearest elevator, which thankfully was at our level so the doors swooshed open, we both entered it, I hit the button to close the doors, and I took him up to the main floor. When we emerged into the still populated lobby, he turned to me and in a little boy’s voice asked, “Who… who are you? Are you an angel? Where did you come from?”

That’s when he noticed my kippah, and said, “Wow! You’re… you’re a Jew. Figures! I don’t know who you are but thanks to your quick thinking…. Thanks for saving my life! I mean, Grandpa’s watch! I mean my hand! But you should know that my name isn’t Josh… it’s Justin.”

I walked the still-shaking teen to the front desk and requested that someone escort him to the room he was sharing with friends, which, after taking one look at his age and surmising the level of alcohol that must be coursing through his veins, they graciously agreed to do.

And although I was gratified to have saved him from ending up as a headline in the next day’s newspaper, I had no idea that back then I had lived through a genuine kan tzipor moment.

Crash Landing

I heard this story from Rabbi Shay Schachter of the Young Israel of Woodmere where I often daven, told to him by his brother Yummy, who lives in Toronto. I called Yummy to corroborate the account.

A

good friend of mine owns a large property in Toronto, which he had rented to a fine family that included several teenagers. When those tenants moved out, some of those teenagers, being privy to the code that opened the front door, decided that until new tenants moved in, their former home could serve as a great clubhouse for some of their friends. To be dan l’chaf zechus, it’s very possible that these teenage former tenants had every intention to do what they did for a very short time, with a limited number of their friends whom they trusted while the house was between tenants. Yet what happened next simply got out of hand.

My friend, who gave me permission to publicize this story, did so with one condition: that he remain anonymous, so I’ll refer to him as Mr. Landlord. Mr. Landlord lives a considerable distance from what he was sure was his empty property, really a mini-mansion, so while he interviewed prospective new tenants, it didn’t occur to him that it was important to check out the building from time to time.

When the tenants informed Mr. Landlord that they had purchased a home of their own and would be moving, he was sure that new, suitable tenants would be easy to find. Before they moved out, these former tenants informed him that they had employed a cleaning crew to leave it in pristine condition. Mr. Landlord assumed that there was no reason for him to make the long trip to his empty property until Hashem would send him new responsible tenants.

Months later, just such a family contacted him. Thankful that he hadn’t rushed into a less-than-optimum lease agreement, Mr. Landlord invited me to join him as he drove over to his property to ascertain whether it could be shown as is, or if it might need some extra sprucing up.

As we pulled into the driveway, I immediately noticed that many of the house’s windows were lit up. In answer to my surprise, my friend explained that he had set up timers to illuminate the rooms at random times so that passersby wouldn’t think the house was empty. You can imagine our joint, profound shock when he punched in the front door’s code and we walked into a scene from a horror movie.

A bunch of high school boys were all over the place. From the condition of what had once been a large, pristine home, we could tell that they had been squatting there for quite a while. As the two of us went from room to room, utterly silenced by shock, our noses were assaulted by the stench of smoke and alcohol. Many of the teenagers who were lolling about were clearly hung over, there was garbage strewn all over the floors and vomit on the beds, and as we made our way over and around this nightmare, teenaged boys kept popping in and out of all the rooms.

I was about to explode. I wanted to announce that I was summoning the local police to arrest the entire gang of criminal trespassers. I wanted to make sure that their parents would be fined tens of thousands of dollars, and that these juvenile delinquents would be denied acceptance into any institution of higher learning.

But Mr. Landlord, my chassidish friend whose house had been trashed, did none of the above. He physically held me back from uttering even one word.

To me, the way in which he reacted was nothing short of inspiring. In fact, it’s an experience I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life.

Mr. Landlord walked into the basement recreation room where many of the kids were hanging out. In a gentle voice, he apologized to the stunned teenaged squatters for intruding on what they had planned as a fun-filled adventure. He introduced himself as the owner of the house and asked if everyone was safe and feeling okay. He then asked if any one of them needed something they didn’t have at hand, and explained to them that, as Jews, we’re all responsible for each other, and that he was on their team.

Mr. Landlord assured those now-silent, stunned teens that he had no interest in getting any of them into trouble. He would not be calling any of their parents or reporting the incident to the police. As they stared at him in open-mouthed shock, he told them that while he looked and dressed very different than they do, underneath he was very much the same: one of Hashem’s children trying to make the best of what he had been given, so he felt a responsibility to care for them. He spoke with each kid patiently and softly, to make sure that they had a safe home to return to, and he invited any of them to “crash” at his own house if they didn’t.

My friend begged them to jot down his phone number and reach out to him if they ever needed anything, or if they wanted to spend a Shabbos with his family.

Then he took out his cell phone, punched in some numbers, and ordered pizza, fries, drinks, and dessert for these boys. He also ordered Ubers for some of them who would have no other way to get back to their parental homes, and he even drove one of those squatting teenagers home when we left.

My friend took charge for over three hours, during which the kids got sober enough to leave. After that, I finally had a chance to ask him how he had the strength to react the way in which he did.

He explained that when he opened the door, he had a split-second to make a decision about how to behave in front of these kids. In that split second, he had the clarity of mind to understand that those kids were in trouble and in need of help, or they never would have behaved this way. He also told me that somehow, he understood that his reaction would leave a lasting impression on those teens, and it was completely up to him to ensure that it was a positive one.

Later, we locked up the property and drove away, with the one kid my friend was escorting home fast asleep on the back seat. Then my friend further explained that one never knows what such kids have been through, what they’re currently going through, or what they may have dealt with earlier in life. But, he said, surely someday they’ll have their own decisions to make, and they’ll remember that once, they had met up with an Orthodox, chassidic man who was very kind to them and showered them with love, respect, sensitivity, and compassion.

Postscript: Since that night, Mr. Landlord has kept in touch with his “squatters,” for whom he has become a beloved, devoted mentor.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1069)