An uplifting Shabbos, a terrorist attack, devastating loss, and unspeakable pain laced with Divine mercy brought two men together in an unlikely, heartrending reunion

On a winter Motzaei Shabbos in 2002, the fate of Reb Oren Levy, a counselor at a yeshivah that was hosting families for a bar mitzvah, became forever linked to a begrudging guest whom Oren convinced to stay for Shabbos, despite the “too chareidi” look of the neighborhood. Twenty-six hours later, their lives joined in pain and devastation as a terrorist detonated a bomb and blew himself up, causing death and destruction as celebrants were taking leave of the holy day. Today, close to two decades later, Oren is still on site at the Machaneh Yisrael yeshivah in Jerusalem’s Beis Yisrael neighborhood, a place that witnessed unimaginable pain together with heart-stopping miracles, and which has become a magnet for Selichos during these days of mercy.

Friday, March 1/17 Adar, 2002.

Oren Levy, a young married man and father of a six-month-old son, was a kiruv activist, counselor for at-risk youth, and an avreich at the Machaneh Yisrael yeshivah on the outskirts of Meah Shearim. The primarily baal teshuvah yeshivah also operated a guesthouse, hosting families who wanted to experience a genuine Shabbos in the heart of the chareidi neighborhood, and Reb Oren was in charge of organizing these weekends. He was on hand to give each guest family the keys to their room, took care of providing abundant meals, and even took them on tours of the neighborhood.

That Shabbos was a packed double affair, as two families — the Chazans and the Habajis — would be celebrating bar mitzvahs for their children. Both families were becoming more observant, and they wanted their relatives to be introduced to the type of Judaism they’d discovered.

The guests arrived one after the other, some not observant, some more traditional, but they came with a willingness to respect their relatives and participate in their celebration. For some, it was the first Shabbos they would be fully observing.

Reb Oren understood firsthand the substantial challenge this Shabbos posed. Twenty families were expected for Shabbos — twelve for one event and eight for the other. He himself had experienced the teshuvah process, from serving in the IDF’s elite naval unit to joining a yeshivah and finding his way back to a life of Torah and mitzvos.

Reb Oren flashes back to the beginning of that Shabbos, to a conversation that would change his life. “About 15 minutes before candle-lighting, one of the families that was supposed to stay with us arrived. They knew they were coming to a religious neighborhood, but this was a bit too much for them. They felt like they’d been kidnapped and dropped in Meah Shearim — so many shuls, so many chassidim and shtreimels! Not exactly what they’d had in mind. This is not where Shimon Ilan wanted to spend Shabbos. He decided to turn around and leave.”

Oren was watching this unfold. He glanced at his watch and saw that the Shabbat siren would sound in just a few moments (in Jerusalem candle-lighting is 40 minutes before shkiah, so he had a bit of extra time). Shimon had already gotten into the driver’s seat of his car, and without too much deliberation, Oren opened the door of the passenger seat and sat down too.

“I’m going with you,” he announced.

“But I’m going home,” Shimon explained.

“I understand,” Oren replied, as he clicked his seatbelt. “Listen, do you know what kind of wonderful, uplifting Shabbos we have planned for you? Your sister-in-law worked so hard for this Shabbos. What’s the matter? Won’t you respect her and dedicate 24 hours to your Creator, whether or not you’ve decided if you really believe in Him?”

Shimon had just about reached the Bar Ilan intersection, when he raised his arms in resignation. He turned around, drove back to the yeshivah and cut the engine.

“All right, you convinced me,” he told Reb Oren as they got out of the car and went inside to greet the Shabbat Queen.