When a Robbery Left Them Empty, a Miracle Filled Their Table

What happens when you start a yeshiva without stable funding but with deep faith in Hashem? You get to witness miracles. Again and again.

Rabbi Jack’s yeshiva, Madregat HaAdam (“The Level of Man”), has been through many phases and has operated in several locations. This story takes place about five years ago, when the yeshiva was located in Asentapa, a village in Turkish-controlled Northern Cyprus, a region recognized only by Turkey.

Madregat HaAdam was created for Israeli young men who struggled to find their place in traditional yeshiva life in Israel. In this small but special program, they found a welcoming space to reconnect with Torah learning, supported by caring rabbis and staff. Many graduates speak warmly of their time there and just as often, they mention the incredible hashgacha pratis (divine providence) that seemed to follow the yeshiva at every step.

Toward the end of that summer session, the staff promised the students a fun and meaningful trip as a reward for their months of serious learning. The boys had truly earned it. There was just one small challenge, the yeshiva had no money to make it happen.

But at Madregat HaAdam, this wasn’t unusual. Miracles had a habit of showing up just in time. And once again, help arrived: an anonymous donor suddenly came forward and covered the cost of the trip. The students and staff traveled to a ski resort, enjoyed a few beautiful days together, and returned to the yeshiva building.

What they found when they got back shocked them.

All the rooms were turned upside down. Belongings were scattered. The entire yeshiva had been robbed. A local crime gang had taken advantage of the empty building, breaking in and stealing everything of value including the students’ personal items and all the yeshiva’s money.

They went straight to the police. A mustached Turkish officer listened politely and took down their report. But it was clear from the beginning that nothing would come of it. Everyone in the village knew who the thieves were, and everyone knew they were untouchable. Protected, connected above the law.

It was Thursday. Shabbat was coming. And the yeshiva didn’t even have enough money to buy food for Shabbat meals.

So they did the only thing they could: they prayed.

That same evening, while everyone was still trying to process what had happened, one of the students walked outside. Not far from the building, two cars were parked at the side of the road: the yeshiva’s vehicle, and a second car parked just ahead of it. “I don’t know why,” he said later, “but something inside me told me to go around the cars, not between them.”

A moment later, the second car, driven by a local man who was clearly drunk — suddenly lurched backward, slamming into the yeshiva’s car and damaging its bumper.

But this wasn’t just a small accident. It turned out to be a rescue.

The driver, a local construction worker, immediately panicked. He was terrified the police would get involved not because of the accident, but because he had quite a few things in his life he didn’t want anyone digging into. He wasn’t like the gang that robbed the yeshiva, he had no “connections.” So he quickly approached the yeshiva staff with a desperate offer: he would pay them a generous sum if they agreed not to report the accident.

The next day, Friday the driver returned with a bundle of cash. He had collected money from his friends to pay for the damages.

But the yeshiva had no interest in fixing the bumper. Their car, a tough old Fiat Dakota, was still in fine shape. Instead, that unexpected bundle of money went to something far more important: preparing food for Shabbat.

They went shopping right away. And before long, three full Shabbat meals were ready, food, drinks, everything they needed. The break-in had left them with nothing, but in the end, they had exactly what they needed to welcome Shabbat with joy.

Was it a miracle? Without a doubt. One of many that have become part of the story of Madregat HaAdam.