A Miraculous Bris Under Fire

As the days pass since the unexpected attack on Simchat Torah, more and more emotional and chilling stories are being revealed. One such story is of Rabbi Yosef Yaakov Pilo from Ofakim.

Rabbi Pilo, an experienced mohel for 35 years and part of the renowned 'Bris Yosef Yitzhak' organization, begins his story saying, "It all started on the 4th of Tishrei. I attended a bris in Moshav Tifrah where Rabbi Yaakov Friedman was the sandak. Rabbi Friedman, known for being brief, approached me afterward to share an unusual story. He told me about an experienced Jerusalem mohel, Rabbi Halperin, who had told him how Elijah the Prophet saved him from certain death several times. I was astonished and didn't understand why he was telling me this, but I simply responded, 'May we merit that too.' He replied 'Amen' and we parted."

Terror on the Streets

Two weeks later, on Simchat Torah morning, Rabbi Pilo, a resident of Ofakim, awoke to the sound of sirens echoing in the city. "I didn't yet grasp the magnitude of the events and went to the synagogue, where others were present. We performed a short prayer and by 9:30, I was back home. Though the sirens continued, I had plans for that day – a bris at 11:30 and another at noon. Rumors reached us about an attack in the city, but since these were only rumors, I decided to proceed quickly so that the families wouldn't worry and I could return home swiftly."

At that time, Rabbi Pilo didn't consider that the families might not even consider holding the bris ceremonies. "The first bris was a 20-minute walk from my home," he shares. "Sirens blared in the background as I walked. I thought something might have happened in Gaza, perhaps a senior figure was taken out and Hamas was responding. At one point, I saw a police helicopter instructing residents to get indoors because there were terrorists in the city. I began to realize the warning was serious, but since I was already close, I continued to the family's home. I knocked, announced 'I'm the mohel!' and eventually, one family member peeked through a side window before letting me in and whispered, 'Why did you come?' I replied, 'I came for the bris.' Only then did they realize they never expected the event to happen, but since I arrived, they quickly gathered enough people for a minyan and conducted the bris amid the sound of gunfire outside."

A Bris Amid Gunfire

After the bris, Rabbi Pilo wanted to head to the next one, but the family urged him not to go outside as it was dangerous. "Even then, I couldn't fathom what was happening," he remarks. "The next bris was supposed to be at a synagogue five minutes away, and I planned to take an indirect route there. The streets were quiet, and I walked swiftly.

"I made my way towards the synagogue, unaware I was walking into a battlefield. Streets Hachita and Hatamar, where the terrorists were holed up, are near there. I constantly heard gunshots but didn't realize how close they were.

"I knocked on the synagogue door and windows but got no response. I started heading to the family's home, unknowingly passing the Adari family house, where terrorists were, not realizing it. Once more the streets were empty, and I hurried. When I got to the house, someone told me, 'There's no bris today, and the baby isn't even here; he's with his grandfather near the synagogue.' He thought I would give up, but when I asked for the grandfather's address and showed determination, he and his relatives decided to join me, including his wife, daughters, and uncles who had come from afar for the family celebration."

When the group reached the grandfather's host house, they discovered the worst. "The grandfather came from Tiberias for the bris, invited to be the sandak," Rabbi Pilo explains. "He and his wife were with family friends, and on Simchat Torah morning they were drinking tea when they heard noises outside. The grandfather opened the door to check and was shot point-blank by the terrorist. He collapsed on the hostess, saving her life since the terrorist didn't see her, while the grandmother was in the kitchen, unseen, allowing her to survive."

Rabbi Pilo recounted what he heard from the baby's father that day: "We cannot hold a bris under such circumstances; my wife doesn't know her father was murdered, nor do other relatives. There are terrorists outside, posing a great danger, how can we host an event?"

"It took me a moment to process what he said," Rabbi Pilo recalls, "but eventually I told the father, 'There's no reason to delay the bris. I am here, and there are enough people to proceed. Don't inform your wife until the bris is over.' The father agreed and gathered his family. They then went to the synagogue shelter. As I followed, I heard gunshots and rushed to the shelter, where I saw the mother shaking, repeatedly asking, 'Why hasn't my father come to be the sandak?' Everyone tried to calm and assure her that her father was just afraid to leave. The feeling was dreadful as we began to hum the bris tunes, with some people crying and others not grasping what was happening.

"Right before the baby was handed over to the father, he wanted to speak with me alone and tearfully asked, 'I don't know what name to give the baby,' considering naming him after his late father-in-law. I asked about their family's customs, and he explained that they are Iraqi and traditionally refrain from naming after a living grandparent. Once he explained, my answer was clear: 'You give the name you originally planned, as it would be too shocking for your wife to learn her father was killed in this way.' He agreed, and that's what they did."

"Elijah the Prophet Protected Me"

Rabbi Pilo returned home that afternoon, deeply traumatized by the events, yet unaware of the tragedy's scope. "Only by Saturday night did I slowly begin to comprehend what happened," he says, "and alongside this awareness came the realization of the great miracle I experienced, as I walked through streets occupied by terrorists at the most dangerous times, unharmed."

The magnitude of the miracle dawned on him two days later when he went to comfort mourning families. "A stranger approached me asking, 'Rabbi, have you recited the blessing of gratitude?' I assured him I had, to which he replied, 'I want to tell you something, then recite it again.' He recounted living at the end of Hatamar Street, observing the day’s events from his second-floor home. He saw the gunfight, terrorists, civilians defending, and casualties. 'Suddenly,' he told me, 'I saw you enter the street calmly amidst the chaos. I shut my eyes, bracing for something terrible, but then there was silence, no shots. You entered a shelter, and the shooting resumed a second later. Hashem truly watched over you,' he told me."

Rabbi Pilo concludes his story with a quivering voice: "I truly don't know what merit I have, but I can't help recalling my conversation with Rabbi Friedman two weeks prior, realizing Hashem must have sent Elijah the Prophet to accompany and protect me that day."