Eternal Nation Fighting with Our Ushpizin

In Memory of Yisrael Dov Glick

“Even in the deepest concealment, Hashem is surely present.”

I hadn’t planned to write anything for the anniversary of the Simchat Torah Massacre. When Aaron lost his sons, he responded with silence (Leviticus 10:3). Elie Wiesel echoed this, saying sometimes silence is the only response to atrocity.  In suffering, Hashem’s hiddenness is felt, yet there’s nearness in the brokenness; articulating this diminishes its intimacy. But we also have a responsibility to future generations.

Staying in Israel to volunteer wasn’t unique. One reserve soldier I drove spent sleepless days cutting his vacation short to return—before even being called up. This was common.

Facing Fear and Finding Faith

I began driving a few days after Simchat Torah after I did what I could to make sure my children were safe. Even before that, words fall short for the time we spent in Tel Aviv when the invasion began. There is just a lot of flashing images. Abandoning the car to take cover in a ditch during rocket attacks. Seeing bullet wounds stitched from fleeing the festival. The dust kicked up by tanks. Soldiers asking if I needed a gun knowing the route I was on. Burned-out cars. Breslov trucks strengthening the soldiers heading into battle. Trying to reassure a soldier I drove down south. Soldiers having to load their machine guns in my car. Traffic stopped because a terrorist may ambush us. The fear of being shot because the sniper couldn’t tell if I was the enemy, and I feared he was a disguised terrorist. Speeding on open roads, past tanks training, reservists pushing through the chaos to deploy. Volunteers still all around, each doing what they could in their own way. The images don’t stop; they’re too fast to keep up with. A soldier trying to stay focused deploying though he just lost his girlfriend in the massacre. Some wished the army had better gear. Many of us worked hard to make up for it, knowing ‘good enough’ wasn’t enough for our kids—and they are all our kids.

Volunteering Down South

I spent those first few months mostly driving down south every day. A lot of my time went into helping people get the supplies they were missing, finding funds to support that, or personally picking up and delivering what they needed.

I began volunteering probably because I had a connection to the Jewish people. Through volunteering, I also developed a relationship with Hashem. Tefillin, tzitzit, and Shema are like my childhood blankie. I dismantled parts of my car to get reserve soldiers to their base as quickly as possible. I had to comfort officers I was driving who were terrified as we headed south, before we knew if all the terrorists were cleared.

The Right Intention: Stronger than Time and Space

One day I saw a message in the group—a soldier had passed away. They wanted to make sure enough people would be at the cemetery. No one was responding, and I was worried there wouldn’t be enough people to honor him—the small city was his family.  ‘I can’t handle a military burial—it’s too much for me.’ I was already broken by thinking I was going to have to help retrieve bodies from the music festival before Zaka arrived. When I arrived, Zaka was there. The drive itself, knowing I might help a father search for his child, was unbearable though. ‘I can’t do this. But if I focused on the soldier’s honor, maybe I could.’ I calculated the time—it seemed impossible. Waze said I wouldn’t make it. ‘Maybe I just need to try.’ I decided to try and focus on fulfilling the mitzvah to try and see if it could protect me from the pain. I turned around to go, and literally ten seconds later, Waze spun and recalculated, showing I’d make it just in time. Plenty of people were there after all, and I felt relieved. This has become way too common now this year, unfortunately. There’s no nation like ours. Focusing on the mitzvah and putting aside my suffering changed my path. Our intent is stronger than time and space. Stories like this aren’t unique.

In Sderot, I faced a sniper, unsure if he’d mistake me for a terrorist, which was not unheard of at that time. I was allowed in—literally a ghost town, not a person or passing car in sight. I was there to pick up a birthday present for a reserve soldier’s child. He’d been separated from his family when they were evacuated to a hotel, and he was now deployed at the Lebanese border. I feared terrorists might still be nearby or hiding inside. With no electricity, I used my phone’s light to search the empty house. The last time they’d been there was when they were rescued from their shelter, which was still just as they’d left it. I found his wife’s computer and the present for his child.  I drove to the Lebanese border, found him, and gave him the gift. It was terrifying and exhausting traveling from Tel Aviv south, then north in a day—but I did it for him and his family. Stories like this happen every day—thousands of them. This is who we are as a nation.

There was a moment during that first week, driving down south, when I felt like I was flipping a coin on whether I’d make it back alive. I knew I was facing death, but what mattered most to me was that was that my family wouldn’t see me as a victim if I didn’t return. I wanted them to know that it was my personal choice.

This is nothing compared to the inner strength of some hostage families who are totally devoted to the full mission and hold on to their faith. I have never witnessed anything like it. I remember this every time I look at Guy and keep him in my heart along with the rest of the hostages. I spent months in therapy trying to heal from the pain and trauma. October 7 hasn’t really ended for me. But I’m a completely different person than I was when it all began. I still feel pain. But I’ve developed a deeper connection to the Jewish people. I love this nation with all my heart. I choose to believe in Hashem, in His ultimate goodness, which is present in everything, even when we can’t see it.

Connecting to Our Past, Fighting for Our Future

I came to know my ancestors in a way I hadn’t before. My second great-grandmother Tzipora Steinmetz (~1868-1945) felt my pain and called on her ancestors going all the way back to the 15^th century to help the Jewish people. She believed deeply that we could hasten the coming of Mashiach through our actions each day and lived by that conviction—always keeping her suitcase ready to go.

Drawing Strength from Ancestral Merits

This story is just one of tens of thousands. We fight not only with Hashem’s help, but also with the merits of our forefathers. So, while my story isn’t unique, it’s the one I can share. This is the legacy we give over to the next generation of how we prevail and what it means to fight with our ancestors’ merits.

My father’s maternal side descends from the Vilna Gaon, possibly through Yehuda Leib Vilner and his sister Pesia, who married into the Horowitz family—my father’s maternal lineage. Many of my relatives on my mother’s side were killed in the Holocaust, but we come from survivors.

The merits of the righteous affect their descendants for up to a thousand generations. Our matriarchs and patriarchs had immense merit, and the Jewish people continue to benefit from it (Zechut Avot).  This has protected and sustained us throughout history.

Ushpizin: Spiritual Strength in Times of Crisis

Certain people can extend protection for up to four generations. Tzipora Steinmetz is four generations from me. She was able to invoke for us her ancestors to intercede and help us.  Just as the Ushpizin visit us each night during Sukkot, many people from several Rabbinic dynasties came here to help the Jewish people. I am not going to get into who they are because some of the details are not yet (and may never be) clear to me. But these are the families that were involved: Shmalhausen, Steinmetz, Glick, Landau, Kahana, Heller, Loew. There were also some from Horowitz, Babad, Heschel, Kremer, Katzenellenbogen, Luria.

Sukkot—a paradoxical moment of joy in the midst of the fragility of life, symbolized by the sukkah itself. The Ushpizin reflect that spiritual visitors offer strength and guidance in times of vulnerability.

I know that Tzipora Steinmetz with the help of her mother, Yitta Rochl Landau were involved in this. Yitta was the daughter of Sara Feige Kahana (who my grandmother was named after).  She is from the Maharal and the Noda B’Yehuda.

We were able to bridge physical and spiritual realms to help the Jewish people after Shemini Atzeret beyond the natural order, like the eight days of Hanukkah commemorate the oil lasting beyond its natural capacity.

The spiritual merits of our ancestors are a form of protection we draw on in this war for our survival. They offer us supernatural assistance, beyond time and space. Just as these families led Jewish communities through difficult times in their own lives, their merits continue to elevate and protect us now.

I know many of us have invoked the power of our righteous ancestors and the patriarchs and matriarchs to protect us and guide us to victory.

The existential threat to Israel and the massacre of Jews spiritually awakened these tzaddikim to intervene on our behalf. Their merits and legacies are at work, guiding us now.

Healing the Collective Pain of the Jewish People

As the Jewish people face our greatest threat since the Holocaust, these families have sent spiritual giants to strengthen and protect our nation. Their merit is at work right now, part of Hashem’s eternal promise to protect and preserve us as a people.

I know this because I’ve felt deep suffering connected to the pain of the Jewish people this year. Through that pain, the merit of these families was invoked by my righteous second great-grandmother, calling them to intervene and help.

The souls of the righteous descend to help those who suffer deeply, especially when they’re connected to the suffering of the Jewish people. They can be stirred to intervene when we bear the collective pain of the nation. Because of my hypersensitivity, and the fact that I was carrying too much pain, my righteous ancestors were able to intervene—they share the responsibility for the well-being of the Jewish people.

I don’t believe my ancestors could have been invoked through my pain alone, as I’m too far from righteous. But my second great-grandmother, in her compassion, advocated for me before Hashem, seeing my suffering for the collective pain of the Jewish people. Her righteousness was able to summon our ancestors, even from ten or more generations back, to intervene and help us. When I told my mother this, she told me for the first time that she was told by her grandmother that her ancestors would be able to extend this kind of protection to future generations.

On Simchat Torah last year, when the war broke out in Israel, I was willing to risk my life to help. The suffering broke me. But then I closed my eyes to the horrors around me and trusted that Hashem’s loving-kindness is present, and what I see or feel is only an illusion. Ultimately, everything is goodness. All of our ancestors of the Jewish people take notice and all of them have come to help us—so we survive—even though the world is against us and hates us and turns light into darkness with lies.

As Rabbi Nachman famously said, ‘There is nothing as whole as a broken heart.’ Because I practiced self-sacrifice (mesirut nefesh) combined with a broken spirit is what ‘opened the gates’ for my ancestors to intervene.

Many of my maternal ancestors were murdered in the Holocaust, leaving behind a spiritual inheritance—just like so many precious souls in this war who gave their lives simply for being Jewish and to protect our children. The strength they pass on to future generations makes us an Eternal Nation. From my father’s father, I inherited a deep sensitivity to the collective soul of the Jewish people, carrying its pain—even when it takes a toll, as it did on his father. This is why ‘Lev’ has been passed down for generations on my father’s side. It reflects a deep emotional and spiritual connection with the collective suffering and resilience of the Jewish people.  It is why my father’s name is Shneyur Leyb (Yiddish for ‘lion’)—he ran to volunteer in the Six-Day War like a lion, standing with Israel, even if it meant risking his life. This traces back to the Vilna Gaon, who is connected to Mashiach ben Yosef and taught that Jerusalem would first be redeemed physically through mesirat nefesh.

My father’s ancestors instilled in me the heart and will to act, while my mother’s Holocaust ancestors were invoked during this war by her righteous great-grandmother. It created a synergy where my father’s determination allowed my maternal ancestors’ legacy to rise.

This war was fueled by hatred within the Jewish people, and to bring about redemption, this hatred must be healed. We must heal the divisions within our community, and by doing so, we will protect ourselves from the hatred directed at us from the outside world and ensure our survival.

I spent months in therapy to process the trauma. October 7 hasn’t ended for me, but I’m a different person now. I’ve developed a deeper connection to the Jewish people. They are all my children. I love this nation with all my heart.

Hope, Faith, and the Promise of Redemption

We will fight and pray with complete faith. Drawing strength from our ancestors, Hashem, and each other, we will carry His light through the darkest times.

This is the story I pass on to my children. It’s the story of the Jewish people—an eternal, living nation.

Like the Ushpizin, our ancestors are with us now, offering us their merit and strength. They shelter us through their merit, just as they did for Jewish communities during times of persecution.

There are so many others from our collective families standing with us now, as we fight for our survival. Let’s draw on the attributes of the Ushpizin—the guests of our Sukkah: Abraham (Chesed) – Loving-kindness, Yitzchak (Gevurah) – Strength and Discipline, Yaakov (Tiferet) – the perfect balance between discipline and loving-kindness, Moshe (Netzach) – Eternity and Victory, Aaron (Hod) – Glory and Humility, Yoseph (Yesod) – the channel through which Hashem’s energy flows into the world, fostering unity and continuity, and David (Malchut) – Kingship, true leadership through service and stewardship of the Jewish people. Through the merits of our ancestors and connecting with these attributes, we can help hasten a new, eternal order with the coming of Mashiach ben David.

Kohelet is read on Sukkot, reminding us of the impermanence and transitory nature of life. We are reminded that life feels fleeting, ephemeral. But we strive to express our awareness of Hashem’s presence even in the ‘darkness of darkness,’ by safeguarding the mitzvot. The war and the resurgence of antisemitism is part of the cyclical nature of history. King Shlomo reminds us that true protection doesn’t come from the transient judgments of society, but from our eternal connection to Hashem and the mitzvot—even in the most fragile and temporary structures, like the sukkah.

“In the deepest darkness, in the hidden spaces of suffering, Hashem is there.”