Bringing Souls Home: The Inspiring Stories of Rabbi Yagen

Eighteen years ago, on the 14th of Sivan 5778, the world of Jews returning to Torah lost a guiding light—Rabbi Nissim Yagen. He passed away after a difficult illness at just 59 years old, leaving behind a legacy of love for Hashem and a deep passion for helping fellow Jews reconnect to their roots. His words, his smile, and his tears brought countless souls back home.

Rabbi Yagen founded a kollel—a center for advanced Torah study—that raised many Torah scholars. But his heart was always open to those far from Judaism. He gave lectures, led seminars, and offered personal guidance to Jews searching for meaning. Our sages teach, “When someone speaks with deep reverence for Heaven, their words are heard.” Rabbi Yagen’s words didn’t just echo—they lit fires in hearts.

After he passed away, his many talks were compiled into the beloved Netivei Or (Paths of Light) series. These books are full of wisdom on Shabbat, Jewish holidays, personal growth, and heartfelt service of Hashem. His messages have been translated into several languages—including English—so that more Jews could be inspired. Dozens of his recorded lectures were also made available on CDs, freely distributed for the public’s benefit.

In Netivei Or, we find gems like this: “A person can go all day to the graves of tzaddikim (righteous people), immerse in the holy Ari’s mikveh, and still get into a big argument over ten shekels with a taxi driver, calling him a thief and starting a whole fight. So what good did all the prayers and purification do?”

He continues: “The purpose of life isn’t just about saying Tehillim (Psalms) and praying. Hashem wants those things to lead us to be better people. He wants us to cling to His ways—to be kind, honest, patient. That’s what He’s asking of us.”

“Rabbi, could you convince my father to become religious?”
This touching story is found under “Outreach to the Distant” in Netivei Or. Rabbi Yagen deeply believed that no Jew truly wants to be far from Hashem—they just need someone to reach out.

One day, in his office in Jerusalem, Rabbi Yagen was meeting with visitors. A long line waited to speak with him. Among them stood a sweet-looking twelve-year-old boy, with a kippah on his head and curly sidelocks. The rabbi was surprised—what could such a young boy need from him? He invited him in.

The boy, clearly nervous, entered and asked, “Kavod HaRav (Honored Rabbi), can you help my father?”

“What’s the problem?” Rabbi Yagen asked.

“My father doesn't keep Shabbat, and now he wants to leave us and fly to Germany. Maybe you can convince him to become religious?”

“What’s his name?” asked the rabbi.

The boy answered, and Rabbi Yagen said, “Tell your father to come see me.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “If he finds out I came to a rabbi—he’ll kill me!”

Rabbi Yagen was astonished. “So how are you managing to stay religious?”

The boy explained that his mother was slowly becoming more observant and supporting him, and that he had enrolled in a yeshiva in Jerusalem on his own. The rabbi’s heart swelled with compassion. He encouraged the boy, gave him a siddur (prayer book) and other sefarim (Jewish books), took his father’s phone number, and said, “Go to the Kotel (Western Wall) and pray with all your heart that Hashem helps me bring your father closer.”

As soon as the boy left, Rabbi Yagen called the father. “Hello, this is Rabbi Yagen speaking.”

“What do you want?!” the father answered harshly

The rabbi froze—he hadn’t planned what to say. Then, a spark of inspiration: “Listen, I work alone in the yeshiva and it’s really hard. I need a helper. Would you be willing to work here?”

“Sure!” the father replied, suddenly friendly. “I’m a driver, a carpenter, electrician, plumber, secretary—I do everything.”

“Great. Take a taxi and come right away.”

Not long after, a man walked into the yeshiva with long hair, an open shirt, and a rough appearance. “Who’s the rabbi here?” he asked.

“I am,” said Rabbi Yagen, welcoming him.

The man proudly showed off certificates proving his skills. “Perfect,” said the rabbi. “You’re hired. I’ll pay you weekly. Just one condition: when there’s no work, you sit upstairs in the beit midrash (study hall) and learn Torah with someone.”

The man agreed—after all, a job is a job. “When does work start?”

The rabbi thought quickly. Prayer begins at 6:30, so he said, “Work starts at 6:30 a.m.”

“No problem,” said the man. “I’m used to waking up at five.”

The next morning, he showed up with his toolbox, shirt open, pants rolled up. “What needs fixing, Rabbi?”

“We’ll see after prayers,” said the rabbi, and had someone help him put on tefillin (phylacteries).

After prayers, Rabbi Yagen said gently, “There’s no work today. Go upstairs and learn.” He asked the kollel students to study with him and treat him with full respect—no comments, no judgments.

Two days later, the boy knocked on the rabbi’s door. “Did you speak with my father? Is he still going to Germany?”

“What if I told you your father is learning Torah right now in the kollel—would you believe me?”

“That’s impossible!” cried the boy.

“Come, I’ll show you.”

They walked to the study hall. Through the window, the boy saw his father deep in a Torah discussion. He stood frozen. Tears streamed down his face. Rabbi Yagen wiped a tear from his own eyes.

Two days after that, the father came down and asked, “Need anything fixed?”

The rabbi smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid tomorrow.” Then he added, “Today you read Shema. It says, ‘Make tzitzit (fringes) for yourselves.’ Who is that for? Muslims? Christians?”

“For us Jews, of course.”

“So why don’t you wear tzitzit?”

The man asked for tzitzit (a special garment with fringes), and the rabbi gave him a handmade one. He put it on, said the blessing, and now looked like a true Jew with yirat Shamayim—deep respect for Hashem. Not long after, he asked for tefillin—beautiful ones. Before long, he asked to become a full-time student in the kollel (a Torah study program).

Some time later, Rabbi Yagen was at Shaare Zedek Hospital. A nurse whispered to her friend, “That’s Rabbi Yagen!”

“Why?” he asked.

She said, “You saved my husband—and me. That boy who came to you about his father? That’s my son. And the man learning in your kollel? That’s my husband. We were about to divorce. You didn’t just bring peace between him and Hashem—you restored peace in our home.”

“Just look at the power of one small act,” the Rabbi said with a smile as he finished the story.

“No problem, go home. But can I talk to you for 2 minutes?”
In one of his talks, Rabbi Yagen shared this story, also included in Netivei Or: “Everyone must give of themselves to bring a fellow Jew closer to Hashem.

“I’ll never forget my first seminar. The night before, a joint in my back popped out. Every movement was agony. The doctor said, ‘This could be life-threatening. You must stay in bed.’ I called the organization to cancel. Then I spoke with Rebbetzin Finkel from Jerusalem. I told her about my back, and she said, ‘Chas v’shalom! Wrap it in a bandage and go. A back might be dangerous—but not returning to Hashem is definitely dangerous!’

“I bandaged myself, gritted my teeth, and went.

“At the seminar, someone called, ‘Rabbi Yagen, come quick!’ From the window, I saw a couple and their daughter. The man had tricked his wife—said it was a romantic getaway at a 5-star hotel. She was thrilled... until she saw rabbis, beards, and Torah books.

“She cried out, ‘You tricked me! We’re getting divorced tomorrow!’ Then she told the taxi driver to take her home.

“I slowly made my way downstairs. Her face was filled with pain, like on Tisha B’Av. Her husband stood there, broken and ashamed. Their daughter stood nearby, tears streaming down her face.”

“I said gently, ‘No problem, you can go. But can I talk to you for two minutes?’

“She agreed. We went upstairs.

“‘Your husband is acting weird, right?’

‘Exactly!’ she said.

“‘You just want to light candles, say a few blessings—and he’s pushing you to be religious.’

‘Yes!’ she nodded.

“‘Don’t worry. I won’t let him make you a fanatic. I’ll make him a mensch.’

“She laughed. The tension broke. We talked. She agreed to stay—just for the evening.

“She listened to the lectures. Then she started crying. At the end, she was the first to cover her head. She stood and said, ‘Where were you until now?!’ She turned to her husband and said, ‘Thank you for tricking me. I’m so grateful you brought me here.’”

May Rabbi Yagen’s memory be a blessing—and may we continue his holy work of bringing our brothers and sisters home.