Handed a Second Chance
R’ Rachamim Elbaz is a prominent member of our community who supports the yeshiva in Lyon at all times. One Pesach, I was visiting his home. R’ Elbaz treated me like a king and told me his story:
My brother, Gavriel, merited a relationship with the Rav two years before I did. From the time he got to know you, he always asked me to come and get to know you, as well. Seeing my reluctance, he kept entreating me to approach you and receive a blessing in the merit of your holy ancestors.
- The monument above the grave of the tzaddik, Rabbi Chaim Pinto Hagadol, zy”a, Mogador, Morocco
To tell you the truth, I was afraid of making your acquaintance. I felt you would influence me to do teshuvah and demand that I observe mitzvot. I was able to protect myself from your impact by simply refusing to associate with you.
One year, as the hilula in Morocco for the tzaddik, Rabbi Chaim Pinto, was approaching, I found myself serving as the Chief of Security for the occasion. When my brother, Gavriel, heard that I was on the premises, he pressured me to visit you and receive your blessing. At first, I was inclined to decline, on the premise that nothing was missing from my life. I had no need for rabbanim and their berachot, I asserted. But, on second thought, I decided to listen to him, and I came to see you.
You were distributing shot glasses of liquor for l’chaim, in a large auditorium. I approached you and shook your hand. But, for some reason, you held my hand tightly and did not leave go for some moments. My fingers turned red, and I was left with a very noticeable mark on my hand. Forgive me, Rav, but when I returned home, I did not stop ranting to my wife against the rabbi and his strange behavior. Instead of shaking hands cordially, he held my hand tightly and squeezed it hard. I was left with a mark for some time afterward.
The next day, I made my usual way to the washroom in order to shave. I didn’t realize that my hands were wet. As I held the shaver, I suddenly felt an electrical current course through my hand. The shaver exploded and blew a fuse. But for some inexplicable reason, and much to my surprise, the electric shock that went through my body stopped at the spot where the Rav’s imprint was still on my hand, preventing it from going further. In this manner, I was saved from electrocution.
I made the Birkat Hagomel blessing in front of the entire congregation. I realized that this was not mere coincidence, but a message from Heaven that I must change my ways. The Rav’s handshake saved my life. From then on, I became extremely close with the Rav and merited accepting the yoke of Torah and mitzvot upon myself.
