October 9, 2026
# Spiritual Strength & Grandeur in the Wake of October 7th **By Tzvi Yaakovson** Three years have passed since the despicable terror attack on Simchas Torah in which over 1,500 Jews were murdered barbarically, over 3,500 others were injured, and over 250 innocent people were taken to Gaza as hostages. The disastrous events of October 7th, like the previous calamity of the Yom Kippur War, triggered a wave of inspiration and teshuvah, which only intensified as the hostages were released and told the country about their own experiences in captivity and the emunah that was the key to their survival. One of the first people to identify this trend was Rav Dovid Lau, then the chief rabbi of Israel, who visited numerous families in mourning, evacuees, patients in hospitals, and soldiers at the borders—and chronicled his experiences. *Tears of Faith* is the title of a book written by Rav Dovid Lau, which describes his experiences in the wake of the October 7th massacre comforting families plunged into mourning, visiting rehabilitative units where patients were recovering from devastating injuries, and attending funerals steeped in unfathomable sorrow. Rav Lau never turned down a request for his presence; he was always there to support people grappling with tragedy and hardship, and he was equally present at times of joy and celebration—to witness their rehabilitations, to rejoice at weddings and brissos, and to attend the festivities surrounding the completion of sifrei Torah or simple thanksgiving to Hashem. Rav Lau has visited over 1,500 houses of mourning, and his book paints a vivid picture of everything that he witnessed and observed. I read the book, which also includes stories attributed to his father, Rav Yisroel Meir Lau, and his grandfather, Rav Yitzchok Yedidya Frankel, along with fascinating descriptions of his own experiences that are bound to touch the heart and soul of even the average secular reader. I was spellbound by its language, its descriptions, and its vivid imagery. It is no secret that the events of October 7th triggered a wave of renewed faith and religious commitment throughout Israel, similar to the waves of inspiration that swept through the country after the miracles of the Six Day War in 1967 and the devastation of the Yom Kippur War in 1973. The October 7th massacre, the greatest tragedy since the founding of the state—or perhaps since the Holocaust—revolutionized many aspects of Israeli society. Many liberals moved to the right, peace activists despaired of achieving their goals, and, above all, many people overwhelmed by fear or dejection in the wake of the calamity found themselves clinging to emunah. Every kiruv organization can share stories of how a generation suddenly showed renewed interest in teshuvah. The newfound interest in Yiddishkeit was visible in kiruv programs and at Hostages’ Square, at the gravesites of tzaddikim and in teshuvah campaigns. Tens of thousands of pairs of tzitzis were bought, and many hafroshas challah events took place. And as the captives began returning from Gaza, there was an even greater increase in emunah and religious observance. Returning hostages made it known, in their respective ways and styles, that they had derived the strength to survive from faith in Hashem, whether it was through Agam Berger’s assertion that “I have chosen the path of faith” or in Bar Kuperstein’s declaration that he was “in the hands of the Creator.” Rav Dovid Lau, who served as Israel’s chief rabbi during the crisis, was one of the first people to encounter the spiritual revolution. At the end of his book, he relates, “Over the past 18 months, I met people who absorbed the harshest blows of all but managed to lift themselves up and to go on living. They understood that what really mattered wasn’t the past but the future. What is important isn’t the moment when everything ends; it is the time in which we find ourselves now, when we still have the opportunity to live and to make amends.” Before telling the stories of people who gave their lives for others, Rav Lau invokes the story of Yosef Bau, although he acknowledges his father’s request to avoid drawing comparisons between the slaughter in Kfar Azza and the Holocaust in Europe. “A man named Yosef Bau, who lived in the Jewish community of Krakow, was a talented artist and calligrapher,” he writes. “When the Jews were deported to the Plaszow concentration camp, the Germans needed his talents for various purposes and he was assigned to work in the office of the camp’s notorious commandant, Amon Goth. Under the commandant’s nose, he managed to forge documents for many Jews who used them to escape from the camp. When a journalist asked him years later why he hadn’t forged a certificate for himself and fled from the danger that faced him every day, he looked at his questioner and replied simply, ‘Then who would have saved the other Jews?’ He simply didn’t understand the question. Such acts of heroism weren’t limited to those dreadful days,” Rav Lau concludes. “Over the past year, we have heard from many other Jews like Yosef Bau who lived by this motto, who returned from the inferno and managed to save lives.” ## A Yom Kippur Prayer at Tel Hashomer Let us begin with an excerpt from the book that neatly sums up, in some ways, its entire contents: “Over the two years since the war broke out and until this day, I have made the rounds of the wards in various hospitals and visited injured civilians and soldiers in the process of rehabilitation, both in my capacity as chief rabbi and as a private individual. Over time, I have developed deep bonds with those wounded patients, and I wanted to be with them not only during the difficult moments of their lives but also at the times of joy that certainly awaited each of them. It is wonderful to meet someone in rehabilitation whom you previously encountered in the intensive care unit, where he was surrounded by machines and hooked up to various tubes. On one of my first visits to Tel Hashomer Hospital, I entered a room to find a young man lying beneath a blanket, with only his head protruding. When I asked what had happened to him, I was told that he had lost a hand and had been injured in his other hand, his legs, and his abdomen. I approached the young man, whose name was Erez, and although he wasn’t wearing a yarmulka, he told me that he lives in Kibbutz Kfar Azza and has always walked on foot to the nearby religious kibbutz of Saad, which is three kilometers away, every year on Yom Kippur to daven in their shul. I asked him what he had done on Yom Kippur of that year, and he explained that due to his duties in the cowshed, he had been able to go to shul only for the daytime tefillos. ‘But I am the most religious person in Kfar Azza,’ he said proudly. “‘What is your favorite piyyut in the Yom Kippur davening?’ I asked him. He couldn’t remember the exact words, but he described a piyut in which we ask Hashem for mercy on account of His holiness. ‘Are you referring to the piyut of Chamol Al Maasecha?’ I asked. “‘That’s it!’ he confirmed with a smile. “There was a group of young men sitting outside the ward with a guitar, and I asked them to come into the room and provide musical accompaniment while I sang the piyut to the tune composed by Yigal Calek. Erez looked at me in surprise. I saw that he did not recognize the tune, and I decided to try again, this time using the tune composed by Rabbi Akiva Homnick. This one was familiar to him, and he closed his eyes and sang loudly along with me. I marveled at this bareheaded, secular kibbutznik moving his head from side to side and begging Hashem to have mercy on His children and bring glory to His sacred Name. “I was deeply moved, and I even wiped away a tear,” Rav Lau continues his account. “I was certain that Hashem would not ignore the pleas of a young man who was concerned about the honor of His Name in such a painful and difficult situation. After all, he was asking only to sanctify the Divine Name and to bring honor to Hashem and the Bnei Yisroel. When we finished singing, I sensed that he was growing fatigued. ‘Is there any other tefillah on Yom Kippur that is special to you?’ I asked. “‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is something about a boat and an anchor.’ “I smiled. ‘You are referring to Ki Hinei Kachomer B’Yad Hayotzer,’ I said. “‘Yes, that’s it,’ he replied. “‘My friend,’ I said, ‘I have only one request for you. When you get home, invite your neighbors, and I will come sing these songs with you again.’ “‘It’s going to take at least a year for him to come home,’ said his brother, who stood beside him. “‘I agree to your request,’ the injured young man said, ‘but on the condition that the view from my window will be the sea, and not the neighborhood of Shejaiya in Gaza. I never thought this way before, but that is my condition now.’ “I promised to relay his request to the relevant authorities. That evening, I called the chief of staff of the IDF, Herzi Halevi, and told him about the request of the wounded patient from Kfar Azza. About two months later, shortly after Chanukah, I was informed one day that the chief of staff was trying to reach me, and I called him back. ‘Rabbi,’ he said, ‘tell Erez from Kfar Azza that the Blue Beach Hotel, which was obscuring the sea from his community’s view, will no longer block their view of the beach.’ I called Erez, who had already been moved to rehab. ‘I have done my part,’ I told him. ‘Now I am waiting for you to invite me to your home to keep up your end of the deal. May it be soon, with Hashem’s help.’” ## From the Hospital to the Kosel Plaza Rav Lau shares another story of a tragic situation that gave way to joy: “At Shaarei Tzedek in Yerushalayim, I met an officer named Nadav who had left Gaza to spend Shabbos at home and was attacked by a terrorist and seriously injured. The doctors told his parents that it would be best for them to say goodbye, since they feared that their efforts to heal the young man would not bear fruit. Nevertheless, Nadav’s parents refused to give up. Nadav himself fought valiantly as well, and he ultimately won that battle. The next time I met him, he was holding a seudas hodaah to celebrate his return to life. I also saw him when he appeared at the Kosel to meet his soldiers when they arrived to take their oath of allegiance; the entire plaza was filled with teary eyes and thunderous ovations when the officer who had taken over from him officially returned command to him. It was deeply moving to see him walking on his own feet, an angelic smile on his face as he shouted with enthusiasm alongside his soldiers. This was another miraculous and uplifting experience during this painfully difficult time. With this, another circle had closed: After nearly leaving this world, Nadav was able to celebrate his recovery and return to the place that is holy to us. “I also met the family of Amichai Schindler, a social worker who deals with psychological trauma and a father of six who lives in Kerem Shalom,” Rav Lau continues. “Amichai and his family hid in their safe room on October 7th, and he held the door closed with all his might as the terrorists tried to pry it open. At one point, the terrorists detonated an explosive against the door and Amichai blocked the blast with his body to save his family. Both of his hands were burned and his body was filled with shrapnel. On the other side of the room, his wife, Avital, and his frightened children watched as he fought like a lion. Despite having no weapons, not even a knife, in his possession, he shouted at the terrorists, ‘Get out of here or I’ll kill you!’ His only weapon was his pure Jewish faith and his certainty that it was his duty to protect his family; that is what gave him the strength to fight. Even after the explosion, when he was seriously wounded, he continued the fight and miraculously managed to return to life. His wife related that she said to the children, ‘Today is Simchas Torah. Let’s pray together,’ and she sang the songs of Hallel with them to help them remain calm while simultaneously helping her husband stop his bleeding…. I sang those songs with them in the hospital, the same melodies that Amichai heard from his wife and children while he struggled to remain conscious. And we sang together again when he returned home to his family and held a seudas hodaah to mark the occasion.” ## Mendy Kenig of Beitar “During the long days of the war, I met a young man from Beitar Illit named Mendy Kenig,” Rav Lau relates. “He is a chassidishe Jew whose external appearance seems to mark him as completely removed from anything having to do with the army or combat, but he joined our efforts. Before the war, he had founded an organization named Menucha V’Yeshuah, which he used to rent two beautiful villas in Caesaria to host sick people and their families. Sometimes, a villa would be used for a terminally ill child and his family, giving them an opportunity to spend a serene weekend in a beautiful setting, complete with a pool and spacious kitchen, where the patient could be surrounded by people who loved him. At other times, the guests might be a group of women suffering from illness, or young people who were sick. I once visited a group of terminally ill girls who were staying in one of the villas. They were all certain that they had reached the end of the road. When I arrived, I was greeted by bald heads and warm smiles. They had come to spend time with each other, to laugh and to cry together, to discuss their respective experiences and share black humor. If a visitor had overlooked their appearances and the intravenous ports that could be seen on some of their arms, he might never have imagined that these were young women whose days in this world were numbered. Mendy gave them the opportunity to experience life, and they seized that opportunity with both hands. He worked quietly with his organization for a long time, offering brief respites to people who were struggling with some of the most difficult times of their lives.” The horrors of October 7th and the subsequent war brought Mendy and his organization in direct contact with the worst atrocities. “As soon as the war broke out, Mendy began organizing weekends known as Shabbosos of strength,” Rav Lau continues. “I joined the first Shabbos, which was held at the Yad Sarah house, where he hosted 35 bereaved families, both religious and nonreligious. There was a Kabbolas Shabbos open to anyone who was interested in it, followed by a Shabbos meal. For many of them, it was the first opportunity to talk about what they were experiencing. Sitting alongside other people who understood them and had been through the same trauma and tragedies, they were comfortable opening up and exposing their vulnerabilities and their tears. On the other hand, each of them also had an opportunity to provide a shoulder for others to cry on, after they had lost some of the most precious people in their lives. “There was one moment that stands out in my mind from that first Shabbos. When I called for Kaddish to be recited, everyone in the room suddenly stood up and began reciting it together. It was a painful sight to witness, but it was also deeply powerful. I had a similar experience about twenty-five years ago on a Shabbos with the organization Mishpacha Achat (One Family), which hosted a group of bereaved families at a hotel at the Dead Sea during the height of the Second Intifada. The hall became filled with people wearing white yarmulkas for Mincha, most of whom were not religious. Suddenly, when the time for Kaddish arrived, almost all of them began reciting the timeless words ‘Yisgadal veyiskadash shemei rabbah.’ There were only three people in that crowd who did not participate in reciting Kaddish, and when I inquired about them, I was told that they had been bereaved for over a year already. And now, after the horrors of October 7th, I was experiencing a similar Shabbos once again, watching as a father recited Kaddish for a son, another father recited it for a daughter, someone else was saying Kaddish for his parents, and so on. A chill ran through my body as I stood there.” ## A Series of Tragedies Many of these stories are painful to read. Many of them drive home the realization that all of us in this country are living by miracles, surrounded as we are by bloodthirsty beasts. The volume of pain and bereavement is too great to bear. “I went from one family to another, from one home to another, and from one bereavement to another, and it was too much to endure,” Rav Lau writes. “The Zohar family lost their parents, Yaniv and Yasmin, and their daughters, Techelet and Keshet. Their son Ariel was miraculously saved because he had gone out for a morning jog and took refuge in his neighbors’ house when the sirens began sounding. There was Rachel Vaknin, who lost her only children, the twins Osher and Michoel, and Arik and Rus Peretz…. What human being could possibly harm these people? In the community of Eli, I visited the mother of the soldier Harel Ettinger. I had met her three years earlier, when I visited her to console her for the death of her husband, a wonderful man who had built a yeshiva and a shul in one of the most challenging areas in southern Tel Aviv. He had been shot in a terror attack, and I visited him in Beilinson Hospital while he fought for his life. The hospital staff asked me at the time to explain to his family that his situation was complicated and that his chances of survival were low. I accepted that task, and he subsequently passed away. Now, three years later, her son had been killed in battle. “There is no end to the sadness, but it is also accompanied by hope. One morning, I went to visit the Mark family in the community of Otniel. Seven years earlier, I had attended the funeral of Rabbi Michoel Mark, a father of ten and principal of a hesder yeshiva in the community, who was killed in a shooting attack that injured three members of his family as well. A few years later, I joined them in grieving for his nephew, who was killed in another terror attack. Three years after that, his eldest son Shlomi was killed in a car accident while commuting to work in Modiin. And now, with a heavy heart, I had to return once again to visit the family after the death of another son, Pedaya. Another family member, Elchonon Kalmanson, had been killed while fighting to defend Kibbutz Beeri on Simchas Torah, but the family members continued enlisting and fighting to defend this country. Pedaya, who was wounded in the terror attack in which his father was killed, was a division commander in the Givati Brigade and led his soldiers into battle in the northern Gaza Strip, where he was killed. This one family has experienced many tragedies, one after another, yet they keep rising from the ashes to rebuild and continue their work.” ## A Hostage Named Kuperstein I was told about a young man named Bar Kuperstein, who is one of the hostages, whose mother is religious while his father is chiloni. He is a member of a beautiful family who immigrated from the Soviet Union for Zionistic reasons in the 1970s. His parents asked me to come daven with them in order to send their son the power of their tefillos and to help him be strong. Of course, they didn’t think that he would hear them in Gaza, but they believed that davening pierces the gates of Shomayim and they wanted us to daven together. “These events, these gatherings of unity, give tremendous strength to the families,” Rav Lau asserts. “They feel that they are part of a community that is fighting alongside them for their children. I remember two birthday events in particular. One day, the people of the neighborhood of Pisgat Ze’ev in Yerushalayim called me and asked me to come celebrate the twentieth birthday of Karina Ariev, one of the IDF lookouts who was taken hostage. Her parents did not have the strength to attend the event while she remained in captivity, but her sister Sasha asked us all to celebrate with her, even though Karina was somewhere in the Hamas tunnels. Two weeks later, the amazing Agam Berger’s mother called and asked me to join her birthday celebration at the Meditech campus in Cholon. And when a family asks, how can I refuse? I came to the event and was amazed to find a huge crowd of people, most of whom had never met her. The Cholon municipality contributed the stage and the logistical arrangements, and various violinists, some who knew Agam and others who had never met her, joined in playing music for her, in the hope that she would return home. A few months later, I was moved to see them all rejoicing over her return. This show of caring was so significant and affected the family, their friends, and everyone around her. I was also moved when Karina Ariev and Sasha Troupanov attended the tefillah gathering organized in Pisgat Ze’ev on behalf of Ram Braslavski. I was overjoyed to see them. After all is said and done, we are still one nation.” ## Erez Bentches Gomel “In any event,” Rav Lau continues, “at the Yam Suf Hotel in Eilat, I met residents of several kibbutzim who wanted me to bentch Gomel with them. Some of them were religious, but many were not observant at all, and they all wanted to recite the brocha of Hagomel after their lives were saved…. I met a young man named Erez, from Kibbutz Nir Oz. We spoke about Shiri Bibas, the mother of the two red-haired boys, Ariel and Kfir, who was barbarically murdered along with her sons and whose body was returned to Israel a year and a half later. We discussed the stark contrast between a devoted mother and the despicable murderers who took her life. Erez told me that the terrorists had entered his home, and when they failed to open the safe room door, they set the house on fire and left. He and his family then took advantage of that brief moment of quiet to escape from the fire into a freestanding shelter together with his sisters, and the IDF rescued them from there. I was amazed by his story, by his resourcefulness, and by his recognition that his life had been spared by a miracle. ‘Would you like to bentch Gomel?’ I asked him. “‘It’s hard for me,’ he replied. “‘I understand you,’ I said. ‘Therefore, I will ask you for only one thing. I feel that Hashem specifically saved you and your family from that burning house; you emerged from the flames healthy and unharmed. That is something important. The brocha of Hagomel is a way to thank Hashem for saving a person from any type of trouble or distress. Therefore, if you feel that you cannot recite it yourself, I would like to ask you to permit me to say it for you, and you will respond amein.’ “‘Is that important to you?’ he asked. “‘Yes,’ I said. “‘Then I will recite the brocha myself,’ he concluded. With this book, which has already sold thousands of copies, Rav Lau teaches tolerance, understanding, and compassion for others—in a word, the basics of bein adam lachaveiro. He also reveals the incredible nature of the chareidi community and the accomplishments of some of its leading figures. “Look at Uri Lupoliansky, the chareidi man who founded Yad Sarah,” Rav Lau remarks. “It never made a difference to him whether a person in need was religious or secular, or even whether they were Jewish. When Chananya Chollak founded Ezer Mizion, he only wanted to help others. And my friend from yeshiva, the tzaddik Rav Yeshayahu Haber, founded an amazing organization known as Matnas Chaim, whose purpose was to create a database of potential kidney donors.” The mention of Rav Haber leads Rav Lau to a warning against persecution of the chareidi community: “When there was an attempt to slander him and falsely accuse him of crimes, the police investigated the matter thoroughly and didn’t come up with the slightest wrongdoing. They found him to be an absolute tzaddik who never discriminated against anyone—rich or poor, religious or secular, Jewish or non-Jewish. The malevolent people who begrudged him the success of his work on behalf of Klal Yisroel, and who had never been taught to understand or believe that there are people who are actually motivated only by the desire to do good for others, had trumped up false allegations against him, insisting that he must have profited somehow from his work by favoring certain donors or recipients due to his own personal interests. The court understood that his fragile health would not permit him to survive a period in detention, and my wife and I had the privilege of hosting him in our home when he was placed under house arrest. It took a long time for the case to be closed for lack of evidence of guilt, and it was only after he died of coronavirus that the State of Israel was intelligent enough to award the Israel Prize to his organization, which continues to be run by his wife.” *• • • • •* Rav Lau relates, “I sensed that I had to make another stop before returning to my regular routine, and I visited the closest hospital, Assaf Harofeh, which is near the Tzrifin camp. This was at the point when the flames were still burning and the air raid sirens were still sounding frequently. When I entered the compound, the parking lot was filled with cars….” Rav Lau adds that he met many heroic people there. “The truth is that there were many such people during this war, who not only didn’t wish to simply return to their homes but willingly left their homes with the knowledge that they would not necessarily return in peace. They didn’t seek the crown of heroism for themselves, but they were the heroes of that time, because they did what was so obviously necessary to them—saving the lives of others and attempting to enable others to return home in peace.” At Assaf Harofeh, Rav Lau visited a high-ranking army officer with whom he was acquainted. “I went to visit Brigadier General Roman Goffman, who had left his home in Ashdod on Simchas Torah to travel to Sderot when he was informed about the terrorist invasion. On the way, he gathered volunteers from the police and set out to confront the terrorists. At one intersection, he encountered terrorists at close range and was seriously wounded by gunfire in his car. When I met him, he was still suffering from severe injuries but insisted on walking on crutches, despite the nurse’s protests that it was too early and that he needed to rest for a few days. ‘My soldiers are out in the field,’ he responded. ‘I can’t leave them alone; I must return to them.’ “I spoke with him for a while and listened to his accounts of his experiences. A year and a half later, I was excited to encounter him at the prime minister’s office, where he had been appointed the military secretary. ‘How wonderful it is to see you standing on your own feet, without the aid of crutches,’ I remarked. Such is the nature of the Jewish people, and these are its soldiers. These are people who are leaders in every fiber of their being, who are prepared to deny themselves even a moment’s rest, even when they are wounded, for the sake of the greater good.” ## The Fire Commissioner’s Question Finally, let us touch on two incredible exchanges that Rav Lau experienced during his travels, one with a young man from the Gaza envelope and the other with a bereaved father. “During the first week of fighting, I received a phone call from Dedi Simchi, the former Fire and Rescue Commissioner,” Rav Lau relates. “When Simchi was heading the firefighting service, I was regularly in touch with him about various matters. This time, he called me while sitting shivah for his son, who was killed in battle on Simchas Torah. His question was astounding: Was he permitted to return to the battlefield in the middle of shivah or did he need to wait until the end of the mourning period before serving his people? The mere idea of going out to fight with the peers of his fallen son is inherently Israeli and extremely unique,” Rav Lau adds. A similar impression was derived from the question posed by Beeri, a young man from Kibbutz Gevim in the Gaza envelope. “On Kibbutz Gevim, I met a woman named Ofra Davidowitz, a mother of two boys and two girls,” Rav Lau relates. “On the morning of Simchas Torah, her husband Shlomo had set out on his bicycle to meet some friends near Kibbutz Miflasim and Hamas terrorists opened fire on him. He managed to escape into a freestanding shelter and to throw a grenade out of it before he was killed. Their son, Beeri, who wasn’t yet twelve years old, told me that all the residents of Kibbtuz Gevim were evacuated at the beginning of the war to Kibbutz Mizra, one of Israel’s staunchest secular strongholds. When they arrived, they were brought to the school, and the community cared for them in an astounding fashion, making sure that they would have an appropriate shivah period and that all their needs would be met. When Beeri arrived at the local school, one of the administrators asked him if there was anything she could do for him. ‘You will be given anything you want,’ she assured him. “This child could have received anything he wanted, but he did not request a new phone or a trip abroad or anything of the sort,” Rav Lau adds. “‘I asked them for only one thing,’ he told me. ‘There was no mezuzah, and I told her that we had been brought there after we were attacked for being Jewish, so I wanted a mezuzah on the door.’ The next day, every doorway in the school had a mezuzah,” Rav Lau concludes.