The life Jack ultimately saved was none other than his own

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ongregation Rodef Sholom, a 129-year-old Orthodox Jewish synagogue located at the south end of Atlantic City, New Jersey, has withstood the test of time. Since its founding over a century ago, the congregation has managed to ensure a minyan is held three times a day, every day, come what may. Winters in Atlantic City are always challenging — the tourists are scarce, the conventions are limited, and some of the year-round residents are off to Florida to enjoy the sunshine down south — yet through it all, they’ve barely missed a minyan in the past hundred-plus years. But the recent blizzard threatened to upend the congregation’s streak.

The Sunday after the storm, just nine men braved the treacherous weather to go to shul, making them one short for a minyan. Moshe Brayman, a shul member who was in the middle of the shloshim period for his father, called Jack, a friend of his and sporadic shul attendee, and encouraged him to come. When Jack told Moshe that he didn’t feel up to braving the winter storm, Moshe pushed back. Nine people wanted to daven with a minyan, and Jack was their only chance. Finally, Jack consented and showed up a few minutes later. Congregation Rodef Sholom would have its minyan after all.

One of the members of that Minchah minyan was Aryeh Leib Glancz, a chassidishe Hatzolah veteran who happened to be in Atlantic City for the day. Rabbi Glancz took one look at Jack and realized that something was amiss. When he asked him if he was feeling okay, Jack admitted that he wasn’t. Rabbi Glancz ran a few basic checks and the results confirmed what he already suspected: Jack’s pulse was dangerously erratic.

Moshe Brayman promptly helped Jack into his car, and the two sped off to the AtlantiCare Urgent Care in Somers Point, New Jersey, a short drive from the shul, where medical personnel conducted more extensive testing. Upon reviewing the results, the doctor had grim news for Jack. “Sir” he said, “you’re having a heart attack.”

The team swung into high gear. Jack was stabilized and transferred the next morning to the University of Pennsylvania Hospital’s cardiac unit, where he underwent the necessary procedures, and is on his way to recovery. In an act of chesed and mesirus nefesh to brave the elements, join tefillah b’tzibbur, and be there for another Yid, the life Jack ultimately saved was none other than his own.

A Sign of the Times

Forty years ago, Baltimore’s Ner Yisroel yeshivah underwent some renovations, during which an official Baltimore County Fire Department occupancy sign that was affixed to the yeshivah was removed. A talmid picked it up and stored it in his room, perhaps intending it to turn it into the office. Alas, the sign didn’t make its way back and was buried under a layer of dust  and forgotten. Last week, the talmid heard that legendary mechanech and Rosh Mechinah of Ner Yisroel, Rav Simcha Cook, was celebrating his birthday, and remembered the sign. He retrieved it, and delivered it to Rav Cook, returning a long lost sign to his beloved rebbi – and taking the opportunity to reconnect after all these years.

Song of Silence

Last week, the men of Khal Heichel Yehuda Tzvi of Walden Woods, Toms River toured Eastern Europe, visiting the Polish death camps and kivrei tzaddikim in the area. As the group had completed a full year of not talking during davening, their visit to the kever of the Tosfos Yom Tov in Krakow, who composed the Mi Shebeirach for those who are “shomer p’iv u’leshono shelo l’daber b’eis hatefillah,” those who take care not to talk during davening, took on extra significance. Along with their rav, Rav Chaim Scheiner, the kehillah read the Mi Shebeirach aloud, celebrating and upholding the legacy of silence that stretched from Poland to New Jersey and back.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1100)