Six Words, Seven Years: The Shabbat Song That Opened a Prison Door

"Abraham Weiss (a pseudonym), a U.S. resident, fell into a financial scam. The story snowballed, and once the authorities got involved it led to a harsh sentence — 14 years in prison. An American prison is nothing like a hotel; Abraham sat in a dark, reeking, airless cell, and even his right to visits was revoked", recounts Rabbi Asher Kovalsky, sharing the following remarkable story, which he heard directly from the man himself.

"The years Abraham spent in prison were the hardest and most harrowing of his life. More than once he felt paralyzing fear of his cellmates — brutal, hardened murderers who took special pleasure in their hatred of Jews and abused him for sport. He counted the days of his incarceration, knowing that more than 5,000 such days lay ahead, each one a chapter of suffering and pain.

"After seven years behind bars, he finally worked up the courage — as the harassment hit new heights — to complain to the chief guard about his cellmates. He quickly discovered he had leapt from the frying pan into the fire: the guard in charge hated Jews no less than the inmates and, under the pretext of 'protective custody,' decided to move him to solitary — a narrow, tiny cell. His situation had just gotten even worse.

"It was the eve of Pesach, the festival of freedom. Abraham sat in his little cell and tried to make a Seder under especially harsh conditions. He was given a package of matzah and wine, but he didn’t even have a Haggadah, so he recited it from memory, as best as he could. His spirits were low; he felt depressed and drained. Pesach — the holiday of freedom — all the people of Israel are free, and he? — — —

"Two days later, on the Shabbat of Chol HaMoedPesach, Abraham made Kiddush over wine and tasted some matzah, feeling his strength give out. In a voice that hardly sounded like his own, he tried to sing the Shabbat table songs and began the lofty melody 'Yah Ekhsof,' with every word moving and reigniting him anew.

"When he reached the third stanza of the song, and came to the words 'May Your mercy roll over Your holy people,' the dam of his tears burst. The pain and frustration, the awful loneliness and sorrow shattered him to pieces. The wretched Pesach he’d just endured, the solitary cell, the abuse, and the grueling years he had already lived through — suddenly he felt it all unspool before his eyes like a film, and his soul poured out in yearning: 'May Your mercy roll over Your holy people'…

"He sang those six words again and again, weeping and sobbing. Over and over he returned to those words to the familiar Shabbat tune, and each time he felt he had not yet exhausted their sweetness. He kept singing them for hours, crying bitterly, until he fell asleep mid-song and mid-tear, his soul in pieces.

"In the middle of his fitful sleep, a figure came into focus before his eyes. He later testified that he remembers it clearly: a radiant face, a white beard flowing to his chest, and an unmatched aura. Suddenly he heard it say: 'Tzaddik'l, hold back your voice from crying and your eyes from tears. Today is my yahrzeit, and by the power of your tears I have secured your swift release!' — said the man, and he disappeared.

"Abraham awoke, drenched in sweat and in shock, and realized he was still in the middle of the Shabbat meal. He remembered that yes, he had been in the middle of singing 'May Your mercy roll over Your holy people' when he fell asleep. He wanted to finish the song, and his voice grew very strong as he returned to the words 'May Your mercy roll over Your holy people,' and once again his tears began to flow.

"In the dead of night, in a crowded, stinking American prison, a Jew sat alone in a narrow solitary cell. Lost in his own world, cut off from his loved ones, with a meager Shabbat meal on his table — and yet his soul reached out in longing and plea to the living God, whispering and humming, 'May Your mercy roll over Your holy people.' Again he could not stop the flood of tears, and he kept singing with endless emotion, his sobs steady — and again he fell asleep.

"Again, the same awe-filled figure appeared before his eyes. 'Tzaddik'l, why cry on Shabbat? I was sent from Heaven to tell you that you will soon be freed!' he was told, and again the figure vanished on the horizon. This time, when he awoke, he understood there was something to it, and a new hope settled within him.

"Shabbat dawned bright, and even in the depths of the cell Abraham felt that a new light of hope was rising. He had no idea how or why — after all, he still had seven years left to 'serve' — but something inside him had changed, and he felt renewed strength pouring in.

"Sunday morning. Abraham was told to pack his few belongings. He wasn’t asked anything and nothing was explained; the guard offered only a curt line that he was being transferred from the Philadelphia prison to a more humane facility near New York. The new prison was far more comfortable — but he was there only a few days...

"At the end of those days, in the middle of a bright, clear day, a surprising legal development occurred — and he was released from prison, just like that", Rabbi Kovalsky concludes, wrapping up this astonishing story: "A broken Jew sitting in a prison cell — not only did he manage to connect with his Creator despite the harsh conditions around him, but his Shabbat songs brought about his salvation in a wondrous way, beyond the natural order. The time of Shabbat songs is a lofty, exalted hour — a time of true connection to our Father in Heaven."

Dressing up like it’s an event but staying home — Rabbi Yitzchak Fanger with a short, moving message about Shabbat, the source of blessing: