Waves of Gratitude
A disciple of the Rav saw a clear sign of hashgachah pratit, which brought him closer to his Heavenly Father. This is his story:
When I lived in Los Angeles, I once heard that Rabbi David Pinto, shlita, was in town. I hurried to where he was staying and asked him to deliver a shiur on the following Sunday, when most people do not work. Rabbi David agreed to come.
The following Sunday, as scheduled, he appeared at my home to speak before the considerable crowd of about one hundred people. Everyone sat still, waiting to hear his pearls of wisdom. To our utter disappointment, instead of entering as planned, he pronounced, “The shiur will be postponed to next Sunday.” And with that, he was off. I ran after him, trying to convince him to change his mind, for so many people had put themselves out to attend. How could he let them down like this? But to no avail. Rabbi David re-entered the car and rode away.
Rabbi David’s promise to return the following Sunday was somewhat of a consolation, but I still wondered at his sudden change of heart as he stepped over my threshold. Why did he categorically refuse to deliver the shiur which we had agreed on, especially after such a large crowd had made the effort to come? These questions gave me no rest, but I had no recourse but to wait for the coming Sunday. Maybe then things would be clarified.
That afternoon, a friend asked me to join his group on a fishing trip. Since my day was freed up, I happily took him up on his offer. We got into a small fishing boat and began rowing to a distant island. We sat down and thrust our rods into the water, waiting for the fish to take the bait. But it seems like the fish weren’t biting that day. We packed up our stuff and headed home.
Suddenly, strong winds began rocking our little craft. It was lifted and lowered, as though made out of pick-up-sticks. We were dreadfully afraid for our lives. We tried mightily to row toward the shore, but the storm was stronger than all of us, pushing us farther into the sea.
We realized that the waves were pushing us back to the island where we had just been. Baruch Hashem, we managed to dock there and climb onto dry land. There we waited out the storm. When the waters were finally calm, we returned home, truly astounded at the miracle that our vessel had not overturned in the tempestuous storm, and we had not drowned.
Rabbi David arrived the following Sunday, as promised. I very much hoped that he would deliver the shiur as planned. As soon as he entered, I could not contain myself and cried out, “Why did the Rav refuse to enter my home last week?”
“When I stood here last week,” he began, “I felt a sense of mourning in the air. I understood that something terrible would befall the members of this house. Therefore, I hurried to leave, in order to pray to Hashem to remove the impending disaster, in the merit of the words of Torah which I would relate the coming week.”
As I conjured up pictures of our little, tempest-tossed boat, I was filled with gratitude to this great man, whose heart encompasses all Jews. It was the prayers of Rabbi David which saved us from certain death.
This incident left an indelible impression upon me. It has caused a tremendous transformation in my life, bringing me ever closer to Torah observance. I have since left my home in Los Angeles and made the Holy Land my residence. I now live in Bat Yam.
