"The Keyword is Devotion to Hashem": Gabriel Sasson, Who Lost Seven of His Children in a Brooklyn Fire, Speaks Out

On one night, Shabbat night, March 21st this year, the lives of Gabriel Sasson and his wife turned upside down. Around midnight, the house where they lived in the Bedford neighborhood of Brooklyn went up in flames, and seven of their eight children perished in the fire. The mother and her daughter Tziporah jumped from two different windows into the yard. The mother, Gila, was critically injured, and her daughter, Tziporah, was moderately injured. Gabriel, the family's father, was at a seminar in Manhattan that Shabbat, and he was located on Shabbat morning after prayers at one of the synagogues where the seminar was held. Police arrived at the scene to identify him.

Gabriel Sasson moves during this period between Jerusalem and the United States, and he is currently here, in Israel. He has come to strengthen the Jewish people and intends to give lectures and words of encouragement wherever he is invited. In this conversation, we asked to return with Gabriel to the days of the tragedy, to remember the eulogies he delivered that touched every Jew wherever they may be, and to understand from where he draws the strength to continue onward.

How were you found? When did you realize the full extent of the tragedy?

"That Shabbat, I was at a seminar in Manhattan. Except for trips to Israel, it was the first time I left the children and my wife on Shabbat. Before Shabbat came in, I spoke with my wife and children and wished them Shabbat Shalom. Before Shabbat, I turned off my phone. After the tragedy, my brother-in-law informed the police that I had spoken with my wife and children on Friday night, and through the call, they tracked my location.

"The police arrived at the synagogue just as we finished Shacharit. The officers told me I had to come with them. I told them, Shabbat, I don't travel. They said you must come with us to the Brooklyn police station because your wife and daughter are in the hospital. There was a fire at the house. I told them to take me directly to the hospital. They took me to the police station, where my brother-in-law, the husband of my sister, and Yanky Weiner, head of the "Misaskim" organization, were waiting. They broke the news to me.

"I screamed a great cry. A doctor and medic came to give me a calming injection, but I refused. I didn’t want to numb the reality of the tragedy; I wanted my mind and body to grasp and comprehend what occurred. I didn’t want to freeze my emotions. By my nature, I am against sedatives and depression pills. My mind immediately shifted to the practical side of the situation, to practical thoughts; I wanted to see my wife and daughter, and I went to see them at two different hospitals. Both were sedated. It was a difficult sight. Seeing them made me understand the severity of the fire.

"I did not identify the bodies. My brother-in-law identified them. They didn't want me to see them; it was too harsh a sight. I only kissed each one through their shrouds. I immediately inquired about the funeral arrangements and where my children would be buried. Of course, there was no question, only in Israel. My children were born in Israel and lived there until two years ago. In the Aleppo community of Brooklyn, they found a whole row at Har HaMenuchot in Jerusalem reserved for the deceased from the Aleppo community. Rabbi Ozery, together with other rabbis and community leaders from the Syrian community, took care of the plot and the funeral procession, which set out from the funeral home in Brooklyn towards JFK Airport for an El Al flight to Israel. On that same flight, about a hundred relatives and prominent rabbis from the Syrian community in Brooklyn accompanied me.

"I looked for my green card for the flight. I entered the burned house trying to find something there, and when I saw the house, I realized the fire started from the kitchen and spread to the rooms. On Friday nights, my children would sleep together, like a summer camp. And so they passed away together."

 

Brooklyn Was in Shock

On Sunday, the day of the funeral, all the main streets of Brooklyn were closed, and the streets leading to the airport. Crowds gathered at the Shomrei Hadas funeral home. It was the saddest funeral procession to come out of the Jewish community in Brooklyn. The restaurant owners in the area said that on the day of the funeral, not a single customer came. Pictures of Gabriel Sasson appeared in all the newspapers, and people from all sects and communities came to show sympathy for his grief. People came to the door of the burned home to lay flowers and light candles. At the start of the street stood two fire department vehicles, and the firefighters distributed smoke detectors to passersby.

In the parking area stood the gray minivan that the parents used to drive their children to school. The car still had remnants from the children, who had just been driven to school on the last Friday: leftover candy wrappers, school bags, and a young children's car seat.

Gabriel, how did you stand at the funerals?

"I think I wasn’t lucid. I felt as if I were in an imaginary world that didn’t belong to me. I didn’t prepare any eulogy, yet I delivered three eulogies, in Brooklyn and in Israel. Unprepared eulogies that came from the heart."

The eulogies you gave moved hearts and touched many people. How do you explain that?

"Everything came from a wellspring of pain, from the Torah I studied, and from experiences of love and satisfaction, of raising my children. The holy Torah speaks of the difficult trials our ancestors endured. And in your subconscious, you understand who is really orchestrating the events of this world. You understand that no human has control or power to determine their own fate or that of their children.

"Masses of the Jewish people came to the burial of the children. I suddenly felt that our private pain became national pain. A kind of unity. A friend gave me his house to sit shiva in, in the Ramat Eshkol neighborhood of Jerusalem. Crowds came to comfort me. I sat there for three days, and then sat another three days in Brooklyn. I sat in the Sephardic synagogue in the neighborhood. I wanted to be close to my wife and daughter. Many came here too, from the community leaders to local residents who came to cry with me and comfort me."

Did you sit shiva alone?

"Yes, my wife and daughter couldn’t sit shiva; they were too severely injured. But I felt such unity from the Jewish people. They cried with me, supported me."

When did you start to grasp what happened?

"After the shiva, I immediately began running between the two hospitals, being with my daughter and my wife. I traveled to Israel for the thirtieth [day commemoration] and stayed there for Passover. I stayed with friends who have no children, so it wouldn’t hurt too much. After the thirtieth, I felt I had to choose: do I want to live or not? And so, suddenly, I internalized all the insights I had learned from the Torah. And I told myself, get up, cut your nails, shave, and choose life. You still have work to do on this journey of life.

 

All My Life I Built Faith - Now Came the Test

Hagit Avichzer, whose family lived near the Sasson family and prayed with them at the synagogue, said: "Even that night, we understood the magnitude of the tragedy. The whole neighborhood was awake. But we didn't fully process it, we hoped for the best, we hoped the children would survive. They were special, caring children. A rare kind of children, whom you don't meet every day. It always warmed my heart to see them returning together from the synagogue on Shabbat afternoon. They were a good family, with excellent communication among them.

"After the tragedy, when the teacher gave me some of the work the children prepared for Passover, to pass them to the family, I started to understand that they weren't coming back. This is a tough event for our community and all of Israel." 

"My keyword in serving Hashem is devotion. Surrender, surrender, be surrendered to Hashem. He runs the world. I started to understand that truly, this world is an illusion. Everything I went through in life, from childhood to adulthood, is an illusion.

"I turned from a private and family man into a public figure. Suddenly people started inviting me to give lectures on strengthening faith. People began to come to me who needed encouragement, young people who wanted to commit suicide, with backgrounds of depression and drug use. People with medical problems. Difficult cases suddenly came seeking support from me, and I, who had not yet come to terms with the tragedy, found myself busy encouraging others.

"People ask me, how did you get up the day after the tragedy? I laugh and say, I have to get up for Shacharit, I am a servant of Hashem, that’s how I feel. Before the tragedy, I was an introverted and modest person in my service of Hashem; I kept it to myself. Suddenly people want from me tools of faith, and very quickly I realized this is a mission. I intend to reach all of Israel, to wherever I can help."

Can you tell us about your life before the tragedy?

"I always loved being with my children. I didn’t work; I only studied Torah, and thankfully, my father left me a steady income. I invested everything in my children and wife. My wife and I greatly enjoyed sitting and teaching them. We went on many trips in Israel and here in New York. We made every holiday and every Shabbat a family experience. I spent a lot of time with them, speaking to their hearts, instilling values in them, listening to them. We loved to sing together.

"A few weeks before the tragedy, I decided to take them to a recording studio to sing Yaakov Shwekey's song, "Don't Cry Anymore, Jerusalem." They loved that song: "No more tears, Jerusalem, shine in your light once more, Jerusalem we need to see you proud again, on the mountain of Hashem, and then we will no longer cry, Jerusalem." I heard that today, Yaakov Shwekey dedicates the song in memory of my children.

"All my children were born in Jerusalem. We lived there for fifteen years, in the Jewish Quarter and the Har Nof neighborhood. They were Jerusalemite children. Although everywhere people said they had a different style, they were a kind of amalgamation, Jerusalemites, Israelis, and Americans."

How did you move from Israel to Brooklyn?

"We lived here for two years until the tragedy. We wanted to stay in Israel, for the children to grow up and study in Jerusalem, but the family was here, and we wanted to be close to them for a while. The heart didn’t want to leave Israel. We missed Jerusalem."

How do you deal with the thoughts that things could have been different?

"This thought comes to me often. There are angers. But then I surrender to Hashem's will. My mantra is surrender. When a person surrenders to Hashem, then understanding begins. I start to understand that this had to happen. Until the tragedy, I was a servant of Hashem, but I lived a private life. Studying Torah, praying with intent, I was a private person living for his family. Suddenly I began to understand things on a deeper level. What is my role here in the universe? What does Hashem want from me? He wants me to strengthen people, to rise and help others rise, to continue the journey of life. To turn into a believer, observant and kind-hearted person. All my life I built tools of faith, and now this tragedy came to test — do I truly believe, or is it just theoretical? Do I practice faith? 'And you shall choose life.' I felt it after the thirtieth. I want to live, and I have a reason to live, and I still have more to do here."

Did you grow up in a religious home? Can you tell us about your family?
"No, I grew up in a traditional home, actually in Japan. My father was of Aleppo Syrian descent, and my mother of Iraqi descent. My father was involved in textiles in Japan and traveled to Israel to find a match. That’s how he met my mother, who was more than ten years younger than him. My mother's family is from Holon and Ramat Gan. They married and moved to live in Japan. I have another brother and sister, younger than me.

"We grew up in a small Jewish community in Japan, studied in American schools. On holidays and Shabbat, we looked for a minyan for prayers. When I was fourteen and a half, my mother developed cancer and passed away; she was 43 years old. As a teenager, I became rebellious against Hashem. I didn’t believe in anything. I was very angry with Hashem for my mother's death.

"My mother was buried in Israel, in Holon. My father sent me to study at a boarding school in England and returned to the US for university — I studied business and psychology. In my psychology studies, a channel of spirituality opened for me, and I began to take an interest in Hashem again, asking questions. After university, I traveled to Japan to be with my father, as he was alone there. I worked at a private bank handling investments for American millionaires in Japan.

"All day I worked with millionaires and saw their whims and plans. I grew up in a home with values, lacking nothing, and when I saw how a wealthy person runs to invest more and more money to make even more money, the hard work of enslavement to materialism, my soul yearned for spirituality even more. I didn’t understand how one could run and work to buy more jets, more luxury cars, vacations several times a year.

"I asked myself, is this happiness? And I realized it wasn’t. So I decided to go on a spiritual search journey and traveled to Jerusalem. I started studying at Aish HaTorah Yeshiva. I thought I’d sit there for a few months, and I stayed there for five years. The puzzle began to fit; I found spiritual tranquility. My father was very proud of my decision; he came from a religious family in Aleppo and was happy I was returning to my roots. He didn’t live to see me married. When I told my rabbi I was ready for a match, my wife's rabbi, who came from Brooklyn and was on a trip to Israel with friends, suggested her as a match. We had a good connection, a similar view of the home we wanted, and we knew it was it. I traveled to meet her family, and we got married in New Jersey.

"After the wedding, we returned to Israel, to Jerusalem. There the children were born, and we were happy. My wife’s family would come to visit in Israel, and we traveled to visit in New York. Two years ago, when we came to New York, we moved to Brooklyn, to the house where my wife grew up. We knew it was a temporary home until we returned to Israel."