Why a Mother Gave Up Her Kids’ Beds in the Middle of the Night

The War of Independence in 1948 was a deeply challenging time for the Jewish people in Israel. The tiny, new country was surrounded by enemies and conditions within the land were difficult. Just like today, the local Arabs tried in every way to harm the young Jewish community. Fighting happened almost every day.

One of the fiercest battlegrounds was Jerusalem, specifically, a place called Mandelbaum Gate. This gate was the tense border point between the Old City and the New City, between Jordanian and Arab forces and the small, struggling Jewish community. It was a front line of war, more dangerous and intense than almost anywhere else in the country. Very close to Mandelbaum Gate lived the Rebbe of Nadvorna, author of Dvar Chaim. Life on this front was harsh. People couldn't leave their homes, and there were serious shortages of food and water. It was a war zone and as in any war zone, leaving meant risking your life.

For six weeks straight, fierce fighting continued. Gunfire rang through the air constantly. The booming of cannons made sleep nearly impossible. The Rebbe and his family were living on mats in an abandoned public shelter, one of the few places considered safe.

Finally, after six long weeks, a short ceasefire was announced. Thanks to heavy international pressure, a six-hour break in the fighting was scheduled—from midnight until 6:00 AM. It was a brief window for anyone who wanted to get out of danger or gather supplies.

When the Rebbe heard about the ceasefire, he decided they would travel that very night to Tel Aviv, to escape until the situation improved.

There were no phones back then. No way to contact people. As soon as the Rebbe shared his decision, the Rebbetzin asked where they would stay. “If we leave at midnight, we’ll only reach Tel Aviv early in the morning,” she said. “Where will we sleep?”

The Rebbe answered calmly, “We have an acquaintance in Tel Aviv, a wonderful Jew named Rabbi Yaakov Shechter. He’s known for his hachnasat orchim (hospitality). We’ll knock on his door in the middle of the night and ask to stay. Maybe the house will be crowded, and yes, advance notice would’ve been better. But given the situation, we’ll trust in his kindness and hope he won’t let us sleep in the street. Once morning comes, we can figure out the next steps.”

Midnight came, and Jerusalem was covered in darkness. For the first time in weeks, the cannons were quiet. People whispered “ceasefire” and stepped outside for some fresh air. The Rebbe and his family packed their few things and got into a taxi to Tel Aviv.

“How Could I Miss a Chance to Teach My Children?”

By 2:00 in the morning, they arrived in Tel Aviv. The streets were deserted and quiet. The taxi slowly found its way to Rabbi Shechter’s address, a small, simple house with an old yellow door. On the bell was a modest handwritten label: The Shechter Family.

The Rebbe paid the driver, picked up his bundles, and quietly knocked on the door, hoping not to startle anyone.

Rabbi Yaakov, awakened by the knock, washed his hands and peeked through the door. To his amazement, he saw the Rebbe from Jerusalem standing outside with his family.

He quickly opened the door and welcomed them warmly. “B’ruchim Haba’im—Welcome!” he said with a smile and deep respect. He offered hot drinks and cake, baked by his wife. She, too, had gotten up when she heard the noise at the door.

Rabbi Shechter was honored by the surprise visit and began apologizing, he hadn’t known they were coming and wasn’t prepared.

The Rebbe waved off the apologies and shared their sudden escape, made possible only by this rare ceasefire.

Rabbi Yaakov was thrilled to host such a special guest. His wife quickly woke their children, moving them to sleep on blankets in the living room so that the Rebbe’s family could sleep in the beds.

But the Rebbetzin was deeply distressed by this. “Please don’t wake the children,” she said. “It’s not necessary. We’ve been sleeping on mats in a public shelter for over a month and we’ll manage just fine in your living room. The children need their sleep and strength.”

Yet Rabbi Yaakov’s wife didn’t agree. “It’s unthinkable,” she replied gently. “That the Rebbe and his family would sleep on the floor while my children rest comfortably in their beds? Absolutely not. I’m already waking them up.”

The Rebbetzin tried again. “Please, don’t. We’re used to sleeping like this. Let the children sleep…”

But then came the final response that changed everything.

“How will I teach my children what it means to do hachnasat orchim,” asked Rabbi Shechter’s wife, “if they know guests came in the middle of the night—and we let them sleep on the floor? How could I miss this chance to teach them something that will stay with them forever?”

Faced with that powerful point, the Rebbetzin could only nod. One by one, the children were gently woken and joyfully gave up their beds. They were proud to take part in a real act of chesed (kindness), even in the middle of the night. Their mother had given them a gifta , living example of what it means to open your heart and home to others.

All so they could understand the message: That in our Jewish home, the mitzvah of welcoming guests is more important than our own comfort.

Our Homes: A Space for Chesed

Rabbi Asher Kovalesky shared this moving story with Dirshu and added:

This week’s Torah portion begins with the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim. Avraham Avinu, our forefather Abraham, sat at the entrance to his tent, looking for guests, even while recovering from his brit milah (circumcision), even in the heat of the day. He longed to welcome strangers and bring them into his home with joy.

Welcoming guests is one of the most beautiful mitzvot in the Torah. It’s true that it can feel hard, opening your home takes effort. It means giving up privacy, giving up comfort. But a Jewish home is meant to be a place of chesed, a space of kindness.

And when we welcome guests, especially in front of our children, they see and learn what it means to be a Jew. They understand that helping others is not just a good deed, it’s who we are.