The year is 1929. The Jews of the Old Yishuv are still
reeling from the shock of the Hebron massacres and the
ensuing violence which threatens to engulf the settlers of
Holy Land. The situation is very tense. Jews walk around
depressed and anxious, and the future looks extremely bleak
and threatening. Everyone fears that this horrible massacre
may not be the last and that more Jewish blood might be
spilled, G-d forbid.
The Arab hooligans, on the other hand, are encouraged by the
events and walk about proudly, darting hate-filled
glances at the Jews. Often, while standing next to a Jew,
they run their fingers across their necks, laughing evilly,
while the Jew trembles in fear.
On Fridays, after the prayers in the mosques, the Sheiks
incite the crowds with hate-filled propaganda against the
Jews. Upon hearing the speeches, the crowds become doubly
incensed against the Jews and seek ways to vent their burning
hatred.
*
In those days, the Shaarei Chessed neighborhood was situated
in the midst of an uninhabited, forsaken area completely
isolated from other centers of population in Jerusalem. One
Friday in 1929, R' Shimon Bezalel, known as "the Russian
melamed," a rebbe in the local cheder,
was walking along, thinking about his dear charges whom he
loved and cherished, when suddenly, he looked up and, to his
mounting surprise, noticed on the horizon to the south (where
the Rechavia neighborhood would later be built next to Rechov
Rambam), a group of Arab ruffians headed at top speed towards
Shaarei Chessed.
For a moment he stood frozen to the spot and when he finally
was able to move, his heart started to beat wildly in fear.
Tremblingly, he hurried towards his house, wondering what
could be done to avoid a major tragedy. The image of the
Hebron massacres was still fresh in his mind and his knees
weakened unwillingly. He first stopped off at the home of his
father, the venerable sage, R' Mordechai Leib Hacohen who
lived near him, and called out in a choked voice, "Father,
look at those Arabs running. Before you know it,
they'll..."
"So what?" his father answered. "Let them run." He waved his
hand in the direction of the field. "Come here my dear son,"
he added, while R' Shimon Bezalel looked at him wonderingly,
"and please bring me my Tehillim!" The old father
first held the thin volume close to his heart, then opened it
and began saying Tehillim with tremendous
concentration.
The isolated neighborhood had a difficult security problem.
Since there were as yet no modern means of communication, it
was impossible to mobilize help on short notice and Shaarei
Chessed was, therefore, open to attacks by marauding Arabs.
In such an event, G-d forbid, it would take quite a while for
the news to reach the center of town where help could be
organized. Besides R' Shimon Bezalel and his aged father, no
one had noticed the gang of Arabs making their way over to
the neighborhood. R' Shimon Bezalel, slightly calmed after
having told his father, tremblingly continued to watch the
progress of the gang from afar, as best as he could.
Sheltering his eyes from the bright sun, he suddenly
realized, with surprise, that the group had bypassed the
Shaarei Chessed neighborhood and were now heading west across
the fields. Why had they skipped over the isolated
neighborhood? What had caused them to change their course?
"Hodu l'Hashem ki tov," he said with a small sigh, yet
in his heart he was still worried. "Who knows where they are
headed? We have to continue praying that no Jew be harmed by
these vicious Arabs." Several hours passed. The erev
Shabbos trumpets blew to announce candle lighting time.
The inhabitants of the Sharei Chessed neighborhood set aside
their daily worries and happily abandoned all weekly pursuits
in honor of the Holy Shabbos. The citizens who had no inkling
of the miracle which had occurred, walked leisurely to
shul in their Shabbos finery, among them R' Mordechai
Leib HaCohen, accompanied by his son, R Shimon Bezalel. They
told no one about the Arab gang they had seen earlier in the
day.
The next day, Shabbos morning, R' Shimon Bezalel's wife,
Devora Yenta, home with her little ones who were still
sleeping peacefully, was praying from her Korban Mincha
siddur. Suddenly it seemed as if she heard muted shouts
from afar. She listened more carefully and then heard shouts
for help seemingly coming from across the deserted fields.
She went over to the window to scan the horizon and there she
noticed the inhabitants of Neve Shaanan (where the Israel
Museum is today located ) waving red handkerchiefs in the
direction of the Shaarei Chessed neighborhood.
"Oy vei! Jews are in trouble! Our desperate brothers
are calling for help." Dvora Yenta exclaimed. She quickly
asked a neighbor to watch the children and without wasting
time on explanations, hurried to the shul to warn the
congregants. From her cries they understood that there was
imminent danger and it was a matter of life and death. They
hurried out from shul, pale and terrified for the fate
of their brethren in Neve Sheanan. They stared at the far off
horizon while trying to think of a solution. Even if they
hurried over there to help out, a good distance away, who
knows what the Arab gang would do in the meantime? The
situation demanded immediate action. Every minute's delay
could cost lives, G-d forbid.
"Bring the Shabbos trumpets!" someone suddenly shouted. After
quick consultation with the Rav, the trumpets used for
announcing the Shabbos were brought out and were blasted
fully in the direction of Neve Sheanan. This was accompanied
by shouting, screaming and fist shaking by the congregants.
The echoes reverberated far and wide and reached the gang of
Arab marauders. At the sight of the screaming crowd which
blackened the mountain top and the sound of the trumpet
blasts, they were suddenly seized by terror and ran for their
lives. Only after everyone had calmed down, did the
inhabitants of Shaarei Chessed learn that they had been
granted a miracle without being aware of it. R' Shimon
Bezalel told them of the danger which had pended over their
own heads the day before, and how they, too, had been
spared.
"We must never despair of Hashem's Mercy," he said. "Yes, it
is possible to change a bad verdict into a good one even if
the sword is already poised against one's throat. "
