“This doesn’t seem like a routine attack,” I told my wife. “This looks like war”

By Rabbi Herzl Shaubi as told to Hava Preil

When I saw the Chofetz Chaim in a dream on Hoshana Rabbah night, I didn’t know what it meant. But less than 48 hours later, with bullets whizzing by, terrorists overrunning our town, and me lying in an ambulance fighting for my life, it all became clear

For the last 20 years, I’ve been the rav of Beit Knesset Olei Iran in Sderot. Two-plus years ago, on Hoshana Rabbah night, after saying Tikkun Leil Hoshana Rabbah in shul, I sent my congregants home to get a little rest before Simchat Torah. I myself went to sleep in my succah, where I began to dream.

In my dream, I saw the Chofetz Chaim and his son in-law, Rav Levinson. The Chofetz Chaim proclaimed “levatel,” (to nullify) and Rav Levinson responded “lo levatel,” (don’t nullify). Again, the Chofetz Chaim said “levatel,” and Rav Levinson responded “lo levatel.” Finally, the Chofetz Chaim proclaimed “levatel, levatel, levatel” and walked out of the succah.

I awoke suddenly. I wasn’t sure where my dream had ended and reality began. My eyes seemed to have really seen the Chofetz Chaim walk out of my succah as I woke up. I was awed and excited but simultaneously perplexed. What was the Chofetz Chaim coming to nullify, and why had he appeared specifically to me? It wouldn’t take long before I would understand.

ON Simchat Torah morning, I was up by five so I could start my day learning Torah and saying Tehillim. Shortly after six, the rest of the household was startled awake by the sound of sirens. We had a full house — our children and grandchildren had all come to celebrate Simchat Torah with us — and the children were fearful and confused. Peering out the window, I was shocked to see the massive quantity of missiles lighting up the sky. Living in Sderot, we’d gotten used to intermittent missile attacks, but this was something else.

“This doesn’t seem like a routine attack,” I told my wife. “This looks like war.”

Suddenly, we heard the sound of shooting. Again, while we were used to hearing some shooting from the Gaza border, this was much stronger. Still, we could never have imagined that thousands of terrorists were crossing the border into Israel. My wife encouraged me to stay home, but I was determined to go to shul. As the rav, I felt a responsibility to my kehillah. “If we’d stay home every time there are sirens, we wouldn’t daven on Shabbos for twenty years!” I told my wife.

I left for shul, but baruch Hashem, I decided to take a different route where there were more bomb shelters. I narrowly missed encountering the terrorists on my way.

I made it to shul safely and began my routine Simchat Torah preparations, making sure the Torah scrolls were rolled to the correct place and that the Chumashim and siddurim were organized. Then I checked that things were organized for the kiddush and that the treats and candies were ready for the children. Busy organizing the shul, I was surprised to hear loud gunshots that sounded like they were coming from close by. I went outside to take a look, wondering if someone needed my help.

As I was scanning the area, trying to figure out what was going on, a bullet whizzed past my head. At first, I thought it was just a flying rock, until I realized it had been a gunshot. I was about to turn around and run when another bullet hit me in the chest and flew out of my back. I was in excruciating pain. I later learned that the bullet had broken three ribs, torn my diaphragm, injured my spleen, and punctured my lungs. Miraculously, though, I was still able to run and fled into the shul, where I saw that one of my congregants, Yigal Boviyan, had already arrived. “Call an ambulance,” I cried out in a trembling voice. “I’ve been shot!”

We waited a long time for an ambulance, and I couldn’t understand why. Later, I learned that most of the local ambulances had been immediately destroyed by Hamas terrorists, who wanted to cut off medical aid. After some time, Yigal called MDA (Magen David Adom, Israel’s national emergency-response organization) again, only to be told there were no ambulances available and I could only be treated if we would manage to get ourselves to the MDA station.

“Where are your car keys?” Yigal asked me. Here again, I was able to see Hashem’s kindness. I had driven my car to shul on Erev Yom Tov in order to bring all the candies and treats, and it was parked right outside the shul. “They’re in my office,” I told him.

We rushed off the MDA station, sticking to side streets and miraculously making it there without being attacked by the terrorists roaming the streets of Sderot. When we got there, I received basic first aid and the hemorrhaging stopped. It was a good start, but nowhere near sufficient. I urgently needed to be taken to a hospital, which was easier said than done in the terrorist-infested South. There was one bulletproof ambulance still operating in Sderot, and fortunately, after a circuitous route, we finally made it to Barzilai Medical Center in Ashkelon. From there I was transferred to Tel Hashomer, where I underwent complicated, lifesaving surgery.

In the operating room, waiting for the anesthesiologist to arrive, I nodded off into a light sleep. Again, the Chofetz Chaim appeared before me and said, “Levatel, levatel, levatel.” Suddenly, I understood the chilling dream I’d had a few nights earlier on Hoshana Rabbah night. There must have been a Heavenly decree against me. The bullet that hit me could have been fatal, but the Chofetz Chaim had come to sweeten and mitigate the decree. Instead of lying in my grave, I was alive, lying here in the operating room! A wave of relief washed over me. I knew that the operation would be successful, and that I would regain my full health. The Chofetz Chaim had come to nullify the evil decree.

Since then, I’ve been thinking and wondering why I merited the Chofetz Chaim’s intervention on my behalf. Perhaps, I guessed, it was because of the shemirat halashon shiur I give the members of my shul between Minchah and Maariv? My hunch was corroborated when someone came over to me after one of my shiurim and told me about a famous letter written by the Chofetz Chaim, in which he promises to be a meilitz yosher, an advocate in times of need, for whomever disseminates his teachings. The Chofetz Chaim fulfilled his promise and was there for me in my time of distress.

INthe aftermath of October 7,^, I endured a difficult recovery and rehabilitation, but the miracles didn’t stop with my successful surgery. While I was in rehab, a rocket hit my shul office and went deep into the floor. When I returned home and saw it, I assumed it was just shrapnel, and added it to my list of miracles to tell people about. I wasn’t injured by the blast because I was still in the rehabilitation facility! Even my difficult injury was Hashem’s way of saving my life.

I continued to use my office regularly and even brought visitors there to speak about Hashem’s miracles. It was only before Pesach, when I bent down to do bedikat chometz near the hole the rocket had made in the floor, that I realized that I wasn’t seeing shrapnel. This was a complete rocket, which for some reason had never exploded, and I was standing over the highly explosive substance! I immediately called the detonation teams, who used a robot to remove the threat that had been sitting under my feet for so many months.

After all this, I decided that I wanted to visit the kever of the Chofetz Chaim in Radin to thank him for interceding on my behalf. About two months ago, I was privileged to join Rav Yitzchok Koledetzky on one of his trips to Radin. Standing at the kever of the Chofetz Chaim was an awesome experience. The words of Tehillim, “Mi ha’ish hechafetz chaim? — Who is the man who desires life?” had played out for me in a most awesome, miraculous way.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)