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By Yosef Shidler, author of the Amazing Miracle Stories series
This past Friday morning, our community was shaken by a devastating accident near the Jackson–Lakewood border. A minivan carrying five yeshiva bochurim veered off North Hope Chapel Road after striking a deer, collided with a tree, and erupted in flames. Tragically, three young men—Dovid Yitzchok Handler z”l, Chaim Zelig Berl z”l, and Refael Faham z”l—lost their lives.As the author of the Amazing Miracle Stories series for Kids (TzaddikStory.org) , I recently revisited a story from 1973 that bears haunting similarities.
This story will be published next year in Amazing Miracle Stories for Kids #5. When the story came out it flashed in my mind.
May the memories of Dovid Yitzchok Handler z”l, Chaim Zelig Berl z”l, and Refael Faham z”l be a blessing. May their families find comfort, and may the injured experience a complete and speedy recovery.
It was Elul in Yerushalayim.
The year was 5733, or as the rest of the world called it, 1973.
In a great Yeshiva, known as Yeshivat Pressburg – also called Shevet Sofer – you could hear the sounds of Torah from early morning until late at night. The walls echoed with the voices of bochurim learning Gemara, whispering the holy words, turning page after page with focus and determination.
This wasn’t a regular yeshiva. Its roots stretched all the way back to Europe, to the famous city of Pressburg, where the holy Chasam Sofer once led. Now, the yeshiva had a branch in Yerushalayim, led by the great Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Zalman Weber.
They left in the early hours of the morning, just after dawn, the bochurim and some of the Rebbeim climbing into the bus outside.
But this was no ordinary bus, with shiny windows and cushioned seats.
No, this was a lorry-style bus – the kind people in Eretz Yisrael used back then. Many of these were old army trucks that had been turned into buses, with long benches and an open top. The yeshiva, like many others at the time, only had a little money, so this was the best they could afford.
The sides were built from old wood, with two rows of metal benches running down either side of the truck. Usually, there was no roof, but sometimes, they’d cover it with a worn canvas tarp. The paint was chipped. The tires looked like they’d survived a war – and maybe they had.
***
It was hot. The boys were squished in like sardines.
“Is this even safe?” one boy whispered to his friend as they climbed on.
His friend shrugged. “We’re going to Meron. Hashem will watch over us!”
The engine made loud noises as the driver started it up. The bus creaked and bumped along the road, leaving Yerushalayim behind.
Some boys tried to learn from their sefarim, even though the lorry bounced a lot. Others sang niggunim. One boy started a song, and a few more joined in. The Rebbeim smiled.
Even though it was crowded and noisy, everyone was in a good mood. They were heading to a very special place.
***
They reached Meron in the afternoon. The boys stretched their legs and looked around.
Their first stop was the kever of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai – the Rashbi.
They said Tehillim, whispered prayers, and asked Hashem for a good new year. Elul is a time to get close to Hashem, and they wanted to be ready for Rosh Hashanah.
When it got dark, they davened Maariv together. The Rosh Yeshiva led the tefillah slowly and with deep kavanah.
Then they had a quick dinner and finally went to sleep. Some boys stayed near the kever. Others slept in nearby buildings.
It was a late night, but no one complained.
***
The next morning, many of the boys went to the mikvah, as was the minhag before visiting any more kevarim.
“Come on, let’s take Chaim with us,” one boy said.
“Who? The bus driver?” someone laughed.
“Yes! Why not? He’s part of the trip, too!”
At first, Chaim, the driver, said no. “Me? I don’t want to go to the mikvah…”
But the boys kept asking.
In the end, Chaim chuckled and said, “Okay, okay – I’ll go. But just this once.”
After the mikvah and some breakfast, everyone got back on the lorry. The plan was to leave Meron and travel to Tiverya to daven at more kevarim.
The singing was even louder than the day before. The boys cheered happy songs, clapping their hands, full of joy.
***
As the bus started down the mountain, one boy looked over the side. The road was very narrow and curvy. It had rained that morning, and the road was a little slippery.
“Chaim is driving kinda fast,” he whispered.
“I know,” his friend said. “Too fast for this road…”
The bus came to a sharp turn.
The driver tried to slow down… but the tires slipped.
Suddenly, the lorry skidded sideways! Someone screamed as lorry began to tip over!
“Hold on!” one of the Rebbeim yelled.
But it was too late.
With a loud crash, the bus fell off the road.
It rolled down the mountain, flipping over, again and again—
—and then, everything went silent.
***
The lorry finally came to a stop on its side, in a rocky valley at the bottom of the hill.
For a moment, everything was quiet. So quiet, it felt like the whole world had stopped. No one moved. No one spoke. The only sound was the wind.
Then, someone cried out.
And just like that, the silence broke.
Bochurim began calling out to one another.
“Shlomo?! Are you okay?”
“I can’t find my glasses – where’s my Gemara?”
“I’m bleeding – I think I’m hurt!”
Some boys shakily stood up, checking their arms and legs. A few were covered in dirt and bruises. Others were dizzy or in shock. They looked around at the lorry, now lying on its side like a broken toy, its wheels still spinning.
One Rebbe called out, “Everyone – please! Help each other!”
Anyone who wasn’t badly injured began pulling others out. They worked together, lifting and carrying, helping anyone they could reach. But as they looked around, they realized how serious the accident had been:
Some were seriously hurt.
And some… weren’t moving at all.
***
One boy – Yitzchak Noishtet – was trapped under a broken part of the lorry.
He was still awake. Still breathing!
They tried to help him. But Yitzchak, even while in pain, whispered, “Take care of the others first.”
He somehow pulled himself out and climbed a little way up the hill. He found a rock to sit on.
And then… he quietly fell over.
He had passed away.
The Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Zalman Weber, was also seriously injured. But even as people rushed to help him, he whispered softly, “Please… my head covering…” That was the last thing he asked for before he lost consciousness.
It took a few minutes for everyone to understand what had truly happened.
There were no cell phones. No calling 911 or Hatzalah like we can today.
The strongest of the group ran to the nearest town to get help. Soon, ambulances and police began arriving.
They looked around at the scene – scattered bags, sefarim, twisted metal, and slowly, the news became clear.
Four people had lost their lives. Three Boucurim. One Driver.
Their names were written down. They would never be forgotten:
Chaim Brashi, the bus driver they’d convinced to join them at the Mikvah, Yitzchak Noishtet, the brave boy who tried to put others first, Avraham Benyamin Friedman, a quiet and kind-hearted student, and Mordechai Pollack, one of the top bochurim in the Yeshiva, known for always wearing a smile.
Some of the boys were burned by hot oil from the engine. Others had to be carried away on stretchers. The air was filled with sirens, cries, and tefillos.
Everyone there would remember this horrible day for the rest of their lives.
It was meant to be a trip of kedusha, to prepare for Rosh Hashanah.
Instead, it became a painful memory, and a huge test of emunah.
****
The levaya took place on Thursday. It was a scene that no one would ever forget.
Crowds of people came. Bochurim, rabbanim, parents, neighbors – even people who had never met those who had passed away.
One of the greatest Roshei Yeshiva of the time, Rabbi Chaim Leib Shmuelevitz, also came to pay his respects. He was a giant in Torah, respected all over the world.
But when he arrived, he looked broken.
His eyes were red. He kept pacing back and forth. He couldn’t calm down.
Someone walked over and gently asked him, “Did you know the boys?”
“No,” Rav Chaim said quietly. “I didn’t know them personally. But still… three top bochurim and one of their friends were just taken from Klal Yisrael.”
He looked out at the crowd and said, “Do you all understand what this means? What they were doing? They were going to Meron, to daven, to prepare for the Yamim Nora’im. And now…”
He paused.
“This feels like a gezeira – a decree from Shamayim. And we cannot ignore it.”
The whole country was shaken. Yeshivas across Israel paused their learning. Rabbanim cried. Parents hugged their children tighter.
Everyone agreed: These weren’t just any boys. They were excellent, serious, kind, and pure.
Bochurim who loved Torah. Bochurim who only wanted to get closer to Hashem.
And now – they were gone.
****
Of all the boys in the yeshiva, Mordechai Pollack stood out – but not because he tried to.
He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t looking for attention. But anyone who spent even a little time with him knew: Mordechai was special.
He was one of the top learners in his yeshiva. He had real yirat Shamayim – true fear and love of Hashem.
People said that Mordechai seemed to have mastered all three pillars of the world: Torah; He was a brilliant learner and loved every word he studied. Tefillah; He davened with deep kavana, always slow and focused. Chesed; He would help anyone who needed it, always with a smile.
But what made him even greater was his humility. He didn’t act like he thought he was better than anyone. He didn’t show off. He served Hashem with true tznius, in a quiet and hidden way.
There was one thing almost no one knew. Each night, before going to sleep, Mordechai would take out a small notebook. In it, he would write down everything he did that day. If he did something good – he wrote it down to remember. If he did something wrong – he wrote that down, too, so he wouldn’t forget to do teshuvah. He treated his avodas Hashem like the most serious job in the world.
And he did it with joy.
He didn’t wait for Elul to fix himself. He worked on himself every single day.
****
On the day of the crash, something strange happened. Mordechai’s father, HaRav Shalom Pollack, was in Petach Tikvah, teaching his students at a Chasam Sofer yeshiva.
In the middle of class, he looked at his watch. It had stopped. Frozen.
No ticking. No movement.
He tapped it. Shook it. Tried to wind it.
Nothing.
The watch had stopped at the exact time the bus in Meron flipped over.
The exact time Mordechai passed away. Rav Pollack didn’t know what had happened yet. But the message had come from Shamayim. And later, when he found out, he understood.
****
Back in Yerushalayim, Zev HaLevy was sitting in the Beis Midrash, when he heard the terrible news.
His friends were gone.
Three bochurim – righteous, kind, sweet boys – would not be returning from the trip to Meron. A trip that had been meant to bring them closer to Hashem before Rosh Hashanah.
Zev felt like his heart had cracked in two.
He was especially crushed about his close friend, Mordechai Pollack.
Zev had stayed behind. He hadn’t gone along. And now, Mordechai was gone forever.
Still, Zev knew Mordechai had been a true tzaddik. He wasn’t worried about where Mordechai’s soul had gone. Mordechai was so careful about mitzvos, so devoted to Hashem – his neshama was definitely in the highest places.
But one question wouldn’t leave Zev’s mind:
Why?
Why would Hashem allow this to happen…?
Three boys… good boys, learning Torah, doing mitzvos… on a holy trip… in a holy place…!
Why would something like this happen to them?!
A few weeks passed.
And then, one night, Zev had a dream, unlike any he had ever had before. It felt real. Too real.
In the dream, Zev saw Mordechai.
He was glowing. His face was full of light. He smiled, warmly.
“Zev,” he said, gently. “I came here, because I saw your pain.”
Zev stood there frozen. He didn’t know what to say.
Mordechai’s voice was calm. “Don’t be sad for me,” he said. “It looks like a tragedy down there. But up here – it’s not. I’m so happy. I was brought straight to Gan Eden. I was taken to the palace of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. Because we passed away at his kever, I was invited into his yeshiva.”
Zev’s mouth dropped open.
“I was added to his learning group right away,” Mordechai said. “We were zocheh to give our lives for Am Yisrael on a trip to tefillah.”
He smiled even brighter.
“Do you remember how I always learned Parshas HaShavua – Shnayim Mikra V’Echad Targum, every Friday before Shabbos? Even if I was tired, I always did it.”
Zev nodded.
Mordechai leaned closer. “Now I get to learn with Rashi himself. He’s my chavrusa.”
Zev couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
After a moment, Zev asked, “Mordechai… I have two questions.”
Mordechai nodded.
Zev said, “First, how did you get to Gan Eden so fast – without any judgment? And second… why did this happen? Why did Hashem take you and the others like this?”
Mordechai became serious.
“A year ago,” he said, “on Rosh Hashanah, 5733 – there was a terrible gezeira on Klal Yisrael. In Shamayim, the malachim were making accusations. Some very serious ones! Things weren’t looking good.”
Zev’s hands started shaking.
“But Hashem, in His mercy,” Mordechai continued, “decided to cancel the terrible decree. Instead, He chose to send four korbanot – four holy souls. One was our driver, Chaim. And the other three were us – bochurim, learning Torah, doing mitzvos. We were chosen. Not because we were bad – but because we were pure.”
Zev was silent.
“That’s why the crash didn’t take more lives,” Mordechai said. “Even the chief of police said he was shocked. A crash like that? It should’ve killed many more. But it didn’t. The gezeira was for four, and only four were taken.”
“And Zev,” Mordechai added, “don’t think even one scratch on that bus was random. Every bruise, every broken tooth, every cut – it was all from Shamayim. Every detail was planned. Nothing happened by accident.”
Zev swallowed hard.
“And now you know,” Mordechai said, “why we didn’t go through a heavenly court. Because a korban doesn’t need judgment. A korban is accepted with love, and rises straight up.”
And then, Mordechai disappeared.
Zev woke up, his heart pounding. His body was trembling.
The dream had been so vivid, it felt like ocean waves were crashing against his bed. He sat up in the dark, breathing hard.
Was it real? Was it just a dream? He didn’t know.
For days, Zev walked around in a daze.
Mordechai’s glowing smile… his calm voice… his words… they echoed in Zev’s mind.
He didn’t know if he’d seen a dream, or had a vision.
But one thing was clear.
He would never forget it.
*****
Zev spent his days thinking and his nights dreaming.
He couldn’t stop wondering – was that dream real? Had Mordechai truly visited him?
Was it just his imagination…? There was only one way to know for sure. Zev needed to ask the Master of dreams what it meant.
But how do you ask a question in a dream? He had no idea how the dream had even happened in the first place. It had come out of nowhere. So how could he bring it back again?
Zev began searching. He read every sefer he could find about dreams. He learned that asking a question in a dream – a she’elat chalom – isn’t easy. It requires a person to be on a high spiritual level. You have to prepare your heart. Clean your thoughts. Work on your soul.
Zev was certain he could get it to work. He began to live with great holiness. He went to the mikvah every single day. He davened slowly, with deep kavanah.
He fasted. He learned more Torah than ever before. And each day, he begged Hashem:
“Please… let Mordechai return. Let me know the truth. Was it real?”
But the days passed.
Then weeks. Then months.
And Mordechai didn’t return.
Zev started to doubt himself.
Maybe it had all just been a normal dream. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all. Maybe he had only imagined it, or dreamed he had dreamed it.
Still, he kept going.The world began to change. A war broke out – the Yom Kippur War – and all of Eretz Yisrael was caught up in it. Everything grew busy and tense.
But even then, Zev didn’t stop. He kept going to the mikvah. He kept learning. He kept davening with all his strength, because something inside him had changed forever. He needed to know for sure.
Even if the dream had been only a dream… Mordechai’s voice still was in his heart.
****
Eighteen months passed.
Then, finally, one night… Mordechai came back.
Zev was asleep when it happened. The dream felt real again – just like the first time. It was calm. Clear. Bright.
Mordechai stood before him, glowing.
“Shamayim was watching you,” Mordechai said. “And now, after all this time, they’ve decided you’re ready for an answer. You wanted to know if your first dream – when I visited you before – was real, or just your imagination.”
He smiled.
“I’m here to tell you, it was real. And now, I’ve come to give you two signs to prove it.”
Zev leaned in.
“The first sign,” Mordechai said, “is this: in exactly seven weeks from tonight, you’ll become engaged to your kallah. Her name is Devorah, and her father’s name is Shimon.”
Zev blinked.
“And the second sign is even stranger,” Mordechai continued. “Three weeks after your engagement, Devorah’s uncle – who everyone thought died in the Holocaust – will reappear. He was believed to be gone forever, but he’s alive… and you’ll all get to see him again.”
Zev stood in silence. Mordechai smiled once more.
Then he disappeared.
****
Zev woke up with a pounding heart.
Could it really be? Had he really seen Mordechai again?
He wasn’t sure. But this time, there were signs. Real things to watch for. Miraculous things that could happen… or, maybe not.
He quickly wrote everything down. Every word. Every detail.
And he waited.
Days later, Zev was set up on a shidduch. A wonderful girl. Her family had just moved to Eretz Yisrael from Argentina.
Her name? Devorah.
And her father’s name?
Shimon. Zev had chills.
Exactly seven weeks from the night of the dream, Zev and Devorah were engaged.
Zev hadn’t even planned it that way – it just happened. The timing lined up perfectly, like it had been decided in Shamayim.
Zev didn’t need more proof… but he hadn’t forgotten about the second sign.
****
That night, after the l’chaim ended and most guests had gone home, Zev sat with his future father-in-law.
“I have a random question,” Zev said slowly. “You might think I’m crazy… but… did you ever have a brother, who was taken in the Holocaust?”
His future father-in-law went quiet, as his face turned pale.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I don’t… talk about it much. He was taken to a labor camp. We never heard from him again. He must have been one of the six million… gone.”
Zev nodded slowly. “I have something to tell you,” he said. “He’s alive. You’re going to see him again – soon.”
The man stared at him.
“How do you know that…?” he asked, shocked. “Where did you hear that? Who told you?!”
Zev didn’t answer. He just smiled. “You’ll see,” he said.
His father-in-law gave him a strange look. Maybe his future son-in-law just had a very active imagination… or maybe he was just tired, after the engagement party.
****
Three weeks after the engagement, Zev was learning in the beis midrash, when the door suddenly burst open.
It was his future father-in-law.
“You were right!” he cried out. “You were right!
“My brother – he’s alive! He was found! He’d been stuck in a Russian labor camp all these years, and no one knew! But he made it out. He came straight to Israel! The first thing he did was try to find us. And… and we found each other!”
He looked at Zev, stunned.
“How did you know? Nobody else did.”
Zev didn’t say much. He just smiled.
Now, he knew the dream was real. He knew Mordechai had truly come to see him – twice. And the message from Shamayim was clear.
****
The boys who had passed away in the crash were not lost.
They had been chosen.
Not for war, not for tanks, not for weapons.
They gave their lives as korbanot – offerings, for the Jewish people. Not with guns, but with Gemaras. Not with helmets, but with tefillos. They helped save the people of Eretz Yisrael in their own quiet way – by learning Torah, doing mitzvos, and visiting the kevarim of tzaddikim.
And as for Mordechai Pollack, the boy who once wrote down his mistakes in a little notebook each night…
He now sat in the highest yeshiva, learning Torah with Rashi himself.
———–
This story is based on true events that took place in Elul 5733 (1973), involving the boys of Yeshivat Pressburg in Yerushalayim.
The story was first publicized in the weekly “Ah Gedank” publication, and is based on what was written in He’emanti V’Adabeira. It also appears in Sippur L’Shabbos, Volume 4, written by Rabbi Yair Weinstock, who received the details directly from Rabbi Tzvi Wertheimer, one of the yeshiva students who was there when it happened. We closely followed those details.
The memories of Mordechai Pollack, Yitzchak Noishtet, Avraham Benyamin Friedman, and Chaim Brashi – four holy souls taken during a trip of kedushah – should be remembered as korbanot tzibbur, who helped protect Am Yisrael not with weapons, but with Torah, tefillah, and mesirus nefesh. May their memories be a blessing.
My father was on this bus in 1973
I searched in English & Hebrew for the 1973 story but can’t find anything.
Does anybody have a link to it ?
This is a nice story but it feels unseemly to already be turning theLakewood tragedy -so fresh so painful —into an intro for your story that took place in israel. Why the rush? Here in the middle of these precious boys’ shiva? I didn’t see any haunting similarities that would justify the juxtaposition. They are not at all similar.