I read the headlines about the bus crash and felt sad for a few minutes. Why were people still getting killed on the roads, I wondered, even without any Palestinian terrorists around? And then I forgot about it. The news came up again – this time about a kallah being on that bus. I let that go, too….
* * *
I first met Avraham Yitzchak Sperling when we were in second grade in TA. That was back in 1962, when he was called Isaac. We interacted very little in elementary school. Isaac lived in the Park Heights area, and I lived on Milford Mill Road. Isaac was on the quiet side. He was very bright and seemed bored with what was going on in the classroom, and he seemed absorbed in other things – usually out of range of the view of the teacher. One thing we had in common: Neither of us was good at sports; we were not picked during recess to be part of the baseball teams.
In 1969, my family moved to Fallstaff Road. Pirchei hosted a shiur on Minchas Chinuch on Shabbos at Shearith Israel, given by Rabbi Mendel Feldman. On two occasions – probably because I was going out of my mind from boredom – I attended the shiur. I remember that there were just four boys there – and Isaac was one of them. That was when I got my first inkling that he came from a special family. (His grandfather was the askan, the activist for Jewish causes, Morris Siegel.)
Isaac and I parted ways after graduating high school. I ended up in Yeshiva University, while Isaac learned in Yeshivat ITRI in Jerusalem for a few years. The one year I did attend ITRI, Isaac was not there.
Isaac surprised me by inviting me to his sheva brochos. The shy, quiet Pirchei boy was one of the first guys in our class to get married. That really struck me. Furthermore, his family, which was not affiliated with any Zionist organization, was the first family connected to our class to make aliyah. Their reason for making aliyah was spiritual – to live a more elevated religious life in the Holy Land. For a middle aged couple to move to a country with lower living standards and no job security was to me quite impressive.
Our paths diverged again.
Fast-forward to around 2011 or ’12. Isaac now goes by Avraham Yitzchak. We both live in Jerusalem, and A.Y. is a sofer. He invites me for Shabbos to his modest apartment in Neve Yaakov. At the time, four children were still at home. There was Tova, Soroh, Brochi – and Chani. Chani was autistic.
I was amazed at this family. There was so much love and laughter in this house – and a genuine atmosphere of Yiras Shamayim. I couldn’t get over how caring and responsible the Sperling girls were to their autistic sister – almost like surrogate mothers. These girls were very refined and well behaved, and exhibited exceptional middos. They were full of praise and appreciation every time I brought something for Shabbos. They were warm and inviting yet very modest in dress and behavior. I was taken aback by Brochi, who was the family “mashgiach,” giving stirring mussar shmuessen at the table. The girls were all full of life, which did not contradict the modesty and Yiddishkeit that were deeply ingrained in them. I am not the type of writer who likes to be schmaltzy, but it’s hard to overdo it when it comes to this special family.
I noticed that Avraham Yitzchak possessed the quality of empathy in abundance. He would feel others’ pain and daven for them. He had a big heart and did not begrudge the success or wealth of others. He knew how to fergin. Besides learning Daf Yomi, he had a special yearning to learn sefarim about bitachon (faith). And his wife Dina volunteered in Ayelet Hashachar’s chavruta program, where she was paired with a woman from a non-religious background to learn Jewish texts.
Over the years, I came to the Sperlings for Shabbos, and we also started to go out on tiyulim. Tova and Soroh were studying to be tour guides and once joined a tour I was giving at Mazkeret Batya. The family and I went on hikes in the Modiin area. Another time, I went with the family to spend a weekend in the Hula Valley. We were all watching an amazing 3-D movie about the birds that migrate to Israel when Chani went ballistic. Soroh and Brochi didn’t think even twice, and sacrificed their enjoyment to take responsibility for their sister by taking her out of the screening room. Over Friday and Shabbos, Soroh and Brochi were like parents to Chani, taking her for walks and helping her bathe, dress, and eat.
Soroh always had this beautiful smile. Although inexperienced in the workforce and fresh from secretarial courses, she made such a good impression at an interview that she was hired by a firm to be its secretary – and she turned out to be quite capable. A few months later, I saw her at the Shabbos table, and she was glowing. Her father then told me that she was engaged.
* * *
On Sunday, February 14, Egged Bus #402 was speeding down Highway 1 from Jerusalem to Bnei Brak. Among the passengers were Soroh and Brochi. Soroh’s wedding was coming up in three weeks, and her sister was accompanying her to help with some shopping for the upcoming simcha.
The driver, Chaim Biton, had a history of traffic violations and accidents. Apparently, Egged had never responded to complaints from riders. Biton was driving on the road’s shoulder, with half the bus jutting onto the highway’s right lane. Suddenly, he saw a flatbed truck with a crane just ahead on the shoulder, slightly protruding into the right lane. It was illegal for the Arab truck driver to have parked the truck there; the truck had broken down. Biton wrenched the wheel and the bus swerved left, but it was too late. The vehicle was speeding at such a great rate that the back half of the right side of the bus plowed into the protruding crane, which peeled away the side of the bus like the layer of an onion.
There was shock, screams, and blood. Brochi opened her eyes and saw twisted metal and her sister screaming in pain. The back of the seat in front of Sarah had come crashing down on her leg. Brochi tried to get her sister’s leg loose but couldn’t. The thigh bone was completely broken. She was losing blood, and then fell unconscious. Brochi pulled herself together and scrambled out of the damaged bus to call her father and tell him about the accident and Soroh’s condition.
As for the bus driver, his first action, according to one report, was to search for the bus’s “black box,” a device which records the vehicle’s speed at the time of impact. He found it and began tampering with it while people were dying.
Just then, an off-duty paramedic happened to pass by the carnage. He administered tourniquets to Soroh, stopping the flow of blood – saving her life. (By the time the ambulance arrived, it would have been too late.) Soroh and Brochi were taken to Asaf Harofeh Hospital near Rishon LeZion.
Brochi had only minor scratches and was released very soon. But she was traumatized enough that she couldn’t focus for the next few days, and would not board a bus for some time. It didn’t take long, however, for Brochi to use her speaking talent on behalf of her sister. She spoke to packed audiences of Bais Yaakov students, teachers, and women who wanted to hear her.
For Soroh, though, it would be a long haul. Her arm had effectively been amputated – held in place from falling to the ground by her long sleeve. At the hospital, some of the best surgeons in the country were assembled, and they reattached the arm to her body in a 10-hour operation. At the time, the doctors thought that the chances of the operation succeeding at connecting the arm and its remaining attached were only 30 percent. It may take two years to know the answer. The doctors thought that the right leg would have to be amputated.
* * *
It wasn’t until late Wednesday evening that I found out that two of my friend Avraham Yitzchak Sperling’s daughters were on that ill-fated Egged Bus #402, and that the kallah in the news – whose wedding date was set for March 9th – was his daughter Soroh.
It felt like the ground was shaking under my feet. My emotions took a tailspin. I was in shock. It’s funny how, when something hits close to home, our reactions are so different.
I called the next day, and Avraham Yitzchak was full of gratitude: gratitude for the saving of his daughter’s life by the medic, gratitude for the operation to save her arm, gratitude for the outpouring of emotional, monetary, and physical support from friends and neighbors. I perceived a horrible accident; Avraham Yitzchak perceived miracles.
He recounted how the principal of his daughter Chani’s school arrived at their home at 7 a.m. to help Chani get out of bed, get dressed, and go to school so that the parents would be free to concentrate on Soroh.
It was hard for me to believe I was talking to the father of Soroh Sperling. Not a word of complaint, not a scintilla of self-pity. Not holding on to a shred of resentment against the reckless driver! In other words, he exhibited acceptance of the event as a Divine decree. That really blew my mind!
And he has never had it easy in his life. What he did have, and what he and his wife developed over their years of trails and experiences – and learning – were emuna and bitachon (faith and trust). In practical terms, that translated into seeing the good in everything, seeing G-d’s Providence and care even in the worst of situations. And that translated into gratitude.
A week-and-a-half went by, and I paid a visit to Soroh. I was really apprehensive about how Soroh looked and how she would react upon seeing me. The visit turned out to be one of the most amazing experiences in my life.
She had this big smile – just like at the Shabbos table! My head was spinning again. She looked happier than most of the people I saw outside the hospital building. How was that possible? She didn’t know whether her amputated arm, now fastened to her body with bolts, would ever work again. Her wedding was postponed to who knows when. She was confined to a bed, and it would take two years before her leg was fully functional. (That, by the way, is the good news.) She had difficulty swallowing, so most of her feeding was via a tube through her nose. And she was smiling and happy to see me – and other visitors who came that day.
“Do you want to see my arm?” she asked, as if to dare me. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?” I saw the bolts. There were scratches on her face. She had several plastic surgery sessions ahead of her: painful skin grafts, anesthesia, pain killers, rehabilitation. And she was smiling. I believe the vigor within her that powered that smile was nurtured by the outpouring of love she received from her parents and siblings, as well as from genuine emuna.
Is emuna hereditary, or is it learned? I guess in Soroh’s case, it’s both. It is seeing the glass half full. But what exactly was the half full?
As I left the intensive care unit, the mother, Dina, came over to me. “You know why she’s in such a good mood? She was the only person sitting in that part of the bus who survived. Six people were killed.”
I think that when it comes to success and wealth – and true wealth is measured in the spiritual plane, especially when it comes to nachas and a connection to God – there is little question in my mind who made it to the top of the class of ’72 in the Talmudical Academy of Baltimore.
* * *
Right now, the big question and hope is the reconnection and functioning of the neural pathways in Soroh’s arm. It is still vulnerable to infection, and she is not allowed to be removed from her hospital bed. But that did not stop her from being the “guest of honor” at a Purim party her chassan made at her bedside!
Soroh needs all the Divine assistance she can get. Please pray for Soroh bas Dina – that she should have a refuah sheleima, that she should get full use of her arm and her leg, and that she soon become a fully functioning wife and mother in klal Yisrael.
Besides your prayers, the family could use some financial assistance. Checks can be made out to American Friends of Nimla Tal. Specify on the notation part of the check that it is for Sperling, and send to: American Friends of Nimla Tal, c/o Fishkind, 3215 Shelburne Road, Baltimore, MD 21208. IRS Number 52-2050166.
by Sam Finkel
I read the headlines about the bus crash and felt sad for a few minutes. Why were people still getting killed on the roads, I wondered, even without any Palestinian terrorists around? And then I forgot about it. The news came up again – this time about a kallah being on that bus. I let that go, too….
* * *
I first met Avraham Yitzchak Sperling when we were in second grade in TA. That was back in 1962, when he was called Isaac. We interacted very little in elementary school. Isaac lived in the Park Heights area, and I lived on Milford Mill Road. Isaac was on the quiet side. He was very bright and seemed bored with what was going on in the classroom, and he seemed absorbed in other things – usually out of range of the view of the teacher. One thing we had in common: Neither of us was good at sports; we were not picked during recess to be part of the baseball teams.
In 1969, my family moved to Fallstaff Road. Pirchei hosted a shiur on Minchas Chinuch on Shabbos at Shearith Israel, given by Rabbi Mendel Feldman. On two occasions – probably because I was going out of my mind from boredom – I attended the shiur. I remember that there were just four boys there – and Isaac was one of them. That was when I got my first inkling that he came from a special family. (His grandfather was the askan, the activist for Jewish causes, Morris Siegel.)
Isaac and I parted ways after graduating high school. I ended up in Yeshiva University, while Isaac learned in Yeshivat ITRI in Jerusalem for a few years. The one year I did attend ITRI, Isaac was not there.
Isaac surprised me by inviting me to his sheva brochos. The shy, quiet Pirchei boy was one of the first guys in our class to get married. That really struck me. Furthermore, his family, which was not affiliated with any Zionist organization, was the first family connected to our class to make aliyah. Their reason for making aliyah was spiritual – to live a more elevated religious life in the Holy Land. For a middle aged couple to move to a country with lower living standards and no job security was to me quite impressive.
Our paths diverged again.
Fast-forward to around 2011 or ’12. Isaac now goes by Avraham Yitzchak. We both live in Jerusalem, and A.Y. is a sofer. He invites me for Shabbos to his modest apartment in Neve Yaakov. At the time, four children were still at home. There was Tova, Soroh, Brochi – and Chani. Chani was autistic.
I was amazed at this family. There was so much love and laughter in this house – and a genuine atmosphere of Yiras Shamayim. I couldn’t get over how caring and responsible the Sperling girls were to their autistic sister – almost like surrogate mothers. These girls were very refined and well behaved, and exhibited exceptional middos. They were full of praise and appreciation every time I brought something for Shabbos. They were warm and inviting yet very modest in dress and behavior. I was taken aback by Brochi, who was the family “mashgiach,” giving stirring mussar shmuessen at the table. The girls were all full of life, which did not contradict the modesty and Yiddishkeit that were deeply ingrained in them. I am not the type of writer who likes to be schmaltzy, but it’s hard to overdo it when it comes to this special family.
I noticed that Avraham Yitzchak possessed the quality of empathy in abundance. He would feel others’ pain and daven for them. He had a big heart and did not begrudge the success or wealth of others. He knew how to fergin. Besides learning Daf Yomi, he had a special yearning to learn sefarim about bitachon (faith). And his wife Dina volunteered in Ayelet Hashachar’s chavruta program, where she was paired with a woman from a non-religious background to learn Jewish texts.
Over the years, I came to the Sperlings for Shabbos, and we also started to go out on tiyulim. Tova and Soroh were studying to be tour guides and once joined a tour I was giving at Mazkeret Batya. The family and I went on hikes in the Modiin area. Another time, I went with the family to spend a weekend in the Hula Valley. We were all watching an amazing 3-D movie about the birds that migrate to Israel when Chani went ballistic. Soroh and Brochi didn’t think even twice, and sacrificed their enjoyment to take responsibility for their sister by taking her out of the screening room. Over Friday and Shabbos, Soroh and Brochi were like parents to Chani, taking her for walks and helping her bathe, dress, and eat.
Soroh always had this beautiful smile. Although inexperienced in the workforce and fresh from secretarial courses, she made such a good impression at an interview that she was hired by a firm to be its secretary – and she turned out to be quite capable. A few months later, I saw her at the Shabbos table, and she was glowing. Her father then told me that she was engaged.
* * *
On Sunday, February 14, Egged Bus #402 was speeding down Highway 1 from Jerusalem to Bnei Brak. Among the passengers were Soroh and Brochi. Soroh’s wedding was coming up in three weeks, and her sister was accompanying her to help with some shopping for the upcoming simcha.
The driver, Chaim Biton, had a history of traffic violations and accidents. Apparently, Egged had never responded to complaints from riders. Biton was driving on the road’s shoulder, with half the bus jutting onto the highway’s right lane. Suddenly, he saw a flatbed truck with a crane just ahead on the shoulder, slightly protruding into the right lane. It was illegal for the Arab truck driver to have parked the truck there; the truck had broken down. Biton wrenched the wheel and the bus swerved left, but it was too late. The vehicle was speeding at such a great rate that the back half of the right side of the bus plowed into the protruding crane, which peeled away the side of the bus like the layer of an onion.
There was shock, screams, and blood. Brochi opened her eyes and saw twisted metal and her sister screaming in pain. The back of the seat in front of Sarah had come crashing down on her leg. Brochi tried to get her sister’s leg loose but couldn’t. The thigh bone was completely broken. She was losing blood, and then fell unconscious. Brochi pulled herself together and scrambled out of the damaged bus to call her father and tell him about the accident and Soroh’s condition.
As for the bus driver, his first action, according to one report, was to search for the bus’s “black box,” a device which records the vehicle’s speed at the time of impact. He found it and began tampering with it while people were dying.
Just then, an off-duty paramedic happened to pass by the carnage. He administered tourniquets to Soroh, stopping the flow of blood – saving her life. (By the time the ambulance arrived, it would have been too late.) Soroh and Brochi were taken to Asaf Harofeh Hospital near Rishon LeZion.
Brochi had only minor scratches and was released very soon. But she was traumatized enough that she couldn’t focus for the next few days, and would not board a bus for some time. It didn’t take long, however, for Brochi to use her speaking talent on behalf of her sister. She spoke to packed audiences of Bais Yaakov students, teachers, and women who wanted to hear her.
For Soroh, though, it would be a long haul. Her arm had effectively been amputated – held in place from falling to the ground by her long sleeve. At the hospital, some of the best surgeons in the country were assembled, and they reattached the arm to her body in a 10-hour operation. At the time, the doctors thought that the chances of the operation succeeding at connecting the arm and its remaining attached were only 30 percent. It may take two years to know the answer. The doctors thought that the right leg would have to be amputated.
* * *
It wasn’t until late Wednesday evening that I found out that two of my friend Avraham Yitzchak Sperling’s daughters were on that ill-fated Egged Bus #402, and that the kallah in the news – whose wedding date was set for March 9th – was his daughter Soroh.
It felt like the ground was shaking under my feet. My emotions took a tailspin. I was in shock. It’s funny how, when something hits close to home, our reactions are so different.
I called the next day, and Avraham Yitzchak was full of gratitude: gratitude for the saving of his daughter’s life by the medic, gratitude for the operation to save her arm, gratitude for the outpouring of emotional, monetary, and physical support from friends and neighbors. I perceived a horrible accident; Avraham Yitzchak perceived miracles.
He recounted how the principal of his daughter Chani’s school arrived at their home at 7 a.m. to help Chani get out of bed, get dressed, and go to school so that the parents would be free to concentrate on Soroh.
It was hard for me to believe I was talking to the father of Soroh Sperling. Not a word of complaint, not a scintilla of self-pity. Not holding on to a shred of resentment against the reckless driver! In other words, he exhibited acceptance of the event as a Divine decree. That really blew my mind!
And he has never had it easy in his life. What he did have, and what he and his wife developed over their years of trails and experiences – and learning – were emuna and bitachon (faith and trust). In practical terms, that translated into seeing the good in everything, seeing G-d’s Providence and care even in the worst of situations. And that translated into gratitude.
A week-and-a-half went by, and I paid a visit to Soroh. I was really apprehensive about how Soroh looked and how she would react upon seeing me. The visit turned out to be one of the most amazing experiences in my life.
She had this big smile – just like at the Shabbos table! My head was spinning again. She looked happier than most of the people I saw outside the hospital building. How was that possible? She didn’t know whether her amputated arm, now fastened to her body with bolts, would ever work again. Her wedding was postponed to who knows when. She was confined to a bed, and it would take two years before her leg was fully functional. (That, by the way, is the good news.) She had difficulty swallowing, so most of her feeding was via a tube through her nose. And she was smiling and happy to see me – and other visitors who came that day.
“Do you want to see my arm?” she asked, as if to dare me. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?” I saw the bolts. There were scratches on her face. She had several plastic surgery sessions ahead of her: painful skin grafts, anesthesia, pain killers, rehabilitation. And she was smiling. I believe the vigor within her that powered that smile was nurtured by the outpouring of love she received from her parents and siblings, as well as from genuine emuna.
Is emuna hereditary, or is it learned? I guess in Soroh’s case, it’s both. It is seeing the glass half full. But what exactly was the half full?
As I left the intensive care unit, the mother, Dina, came over to me. “You know why she’s in such a good mood? She was the only person sitting in that part of the bus who survived. Six people were killed.”
I think that when it comes to success and wealth – and true wealth is measured in the spiritual plane, especially when it comes to nachas and a connection to God – there is little question in my mind who made it to the top of the class of ’72 in the Talmudical Academy of Baltimore.
* * *
Right now, the big question and hope is the reconnection and functioning of the neural pathways in Soroh’s arm. It is still vulnerable to infection, and she is not allowed to be removed from her hospital bed. But that did not stop her from being the “guest of honor” at a Purim party her chassan made at her bedside!
Soroh needs all the Divine assistance she can get. Please pray for Soroh bas Dina – that she should have a refuah sheleima, that she should get full use of her arm and her leg, and that she soon become a fully functioning wife and mother in klal Yisrael.
Besides your prayers, the family could use some financial assistance. Checks can be made out to American Friends of Nimla Tal. Specify on the notation part of the check that it is for Sperling, and send to: American Friends of Nimla Tal, c/o Fishkind, 3215 Shelburne Road, Baltimore, MD 21208. IRS Number 52-2050166.
