Miracles of Memory and Faith.
A story about a proud boy.
When I landed back in Sacramento, I anticipated another miracle. Years ago, a remarkable story unfolded here - the “Hashgocha Protis” story of Reb Chaim Grossman, the Holocaust survivor, affectionately known as “The Angel from Westchester.” That moment felt extraordinary, a divine spark in the everyday. So, naturally, a part of me wondered, “What magical moment will happen now?”
And honestly, I can use a miracle now more than ever. Since October 7, every Jew has become part of this battle, whether we like it or not. We are targets of relentless hatred from the forces of evil—darkness conspiring against a single, pure, shining light that refuses to be extinguished.
At prayer services, Rabbi Mendy Cohen encouraged me to speak with Chaim Perez, the namesake of Reb Chaim Grossman. “Ask him about his son’s name,” he suggested.
A name? I thought skeptically. I want a miracle—hostages rescued, the good guys winning, something extraordinary! But if the “Angel of Westchester” taught me anything, it’s that nothing is by chance and everything is a chance, to see the hand of Hashem. Reluctantly, I agreed.
Amichai Yifrach Perez is a ten-year-old boy with almond-shaped eyes and jet-black peyos (sidelocks). I observed him sitting beside his father during Shabbat services, praying while all the other kids were outside, playing. Aside from that, I knew nothing about him.
“Amichai, with an Ayin, means ‘my people,’” his father says. “I learned in Me’am Lo’ez that Moshiach comes from the House of the Ger (the convert). My people are converts. So we named him “My people”, to be like Ruth the progenitor of Moshiach. We want him connected to past, present, and future.”
“And his second name?”
“Ah,” he says, his tone changing. His voice dropped an octave and a palpable energy filled the air. “When my wife was in her last month of pregnancy, we had a few names in mind. And then tragedy struck Israel. Three teenage boys were kidnapped, on their way home from Yeshivah. When the news released the photos of the boys, one of them looked like one of my uncles in Mexico. It made me follow the news even more. And then they told us he’d been murdered, killed for being a Jew. His name was Eyal Yifrach.”
“I was devastated. We named our son after Yifrach before we even knew the meaning of his name. We just knew we had to.”
“Why?”
“So he won’t be forgotten. He was murdered, hitchhiking home to be with his family for Shabbat. Can you imagine the pain? And, yet, at his funeral, I watched his mother speaking with such strength, with such Emunah and faith. I promised myself I would never forget him. And, to this day, I think of him every day. Because my son carries his name.”
Chaim’s voice softens. “Eyal’s name was “Yifrach” like “Tzadik K’tamar Yifrach” (“the righteous will flourish like a palm”, Psalm 92). I remind my son every day that his name carries a mission. It connects him to Hashem and reminds him to live as a proud Jew. Sometimes it’s hard—he wants to play outside like other kids. But I tell him, ‘You have a strong name, a special mission. You’re being trained to be a warrior, like Eyal.’”
“Does Eyal’s mother know?”, I ask.
Chaim hesitates, almost shy. “I don’t know. One of my dreams I tell my wife, is that for our son’s Bar Mitzvah, we want to visit Eyal’s mother and tell her, “I never forgot your son. He is a part of our life every day. And I do whatever I can in my facilities to raise my son to be a good Jew. I don’t remember the names of the terrorists, but I will never forget your son. He makes us proud.”
For a few days afterward, I mull over this story. It’s not the miracle I wanted. I wanted something flashy, extraordinary, undeniably Divine. But perhaps that’s the point.
This isn’t the miracle I wanted. It’s the miracle I needed.
For what greater miracle is there than taking darkness and transforming it into light?
It’s easy when life hands us Divine Providence on a silver platter. It’s harder when hope feels out of reach. But that’s precisely when we can create our own miracles: pursuing justice, cherishing life, and honoring those who came before.
This is how we become like “Yifrach.”
This is how we flourish.
Beautifully written. Heartfelt. One of the lessons: Get rid of preconceived notions; Hashem's blessings and miracles come in unexpected ways and forms. Thank you.