Thursday Afternoon, July 31
Two days before Tisha B’Av.

I was running late. Wrapping up the school year, I had just finished one meeting and was rushing to another. At the same time, my child needed to be picked up from day camp.

As I drove through traffic—crawling along in sheets of pouring rain—I was focused on the clock, trying to make it all work. Puddles covered the roads. Visibility was low. Everyone was driving cautiously.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it:
Low Tire Pressure.

“Nu, nu,” I thought. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Or next week.”

But a few minutes later, the car started pulling to the right. That was not good. The pressure must be very low. Okay, I figured, I’ll take care of it tonight.

A few seconds later—
Thump, thump, thump.
Oy vey. A flat tire.

I quickly pulled into an empty parking lot. Rain was pounding so hard I could barely see out of the windshield. My phone buzzed with a new alert:
FLOOD WARNING.

Now what? I had to pick up my son. I had another meeting. I couldn’t show up soaking wet!

Sure, I could technically change the tire. Maybe 20 minutes on a good day. But in this downpour? It would take much longer, and I’d be drenched. I didn’t even have an umbrella or raincoat.

I called my wife. She wanted to help, but the baby was crying and she wouldn’t be able to get out anytime soon.

Stuck.

Instinctively, I called a good friend of mine, R.G. He’s not just my friend—he’s everyone’s friend. A proud Chaveirim member, and part of every volunteer organization under the sun. I told him my situation, hoping maybe he was nearby or had some advice.

I told him I wouldn’t call Chaveirim—I felt bad asking someone to come out in this weather just for me. Especially not in this soaking rain.

He asked where I was. As I was telling him, I got a text:
“Someone’s on the way.”

He had already called it in—while I was still explaining the problem!

Three minutes later, a Chaveirim member pulled up. I rolled down my window to talk to him and immediately got soaked. He motioned for me to stay in the car.

From the trunk, he pulled out a pump and started inflating the tire. Then he asked me to turn the steering wheel—looking for the puncture. Within 20 seconds, he found it.

Back to his trunk. Out came a tool—already prepped with a plug. In one quick motion, he sealed the leak, packed his equipment, and was off. I barely had time to ask for his name. He was already gone. On to the next call.

I timed it.
Four and a half minutes from the moment I called my friend until I was back on the road.

And I was completely dry.

He insisted I stay in the car. I picked up my son, dropped him off at home, and made it to my meeting on time.

As we approach Tisha B’Av, we’re reminded that we are still in galus because of sinas chinam—baseless hatred.

But do we really hate other Jews for no reason?

Or do we have reasons—they’re too yeshivish, too modern, too loud, too quiet, too chassidish, not chassidish enough. Maybe we just never made the effort to understand someone different from ourselves.

But now… I think sinas chinam has met its match.

It’s called ahavas chinam.

It’s called Chaveirim.

Unconditional friends. Friends who don’t know your name or your background, but treat you like a brother. They don’t care what kind of yarmulka you wear—if you wear one at all. They don’t ask whether you’re worthy of the chesed or if your emergency is “serious enough.” They just show up. In the rain. With a pump already prepared. Because that’s who they are.

And it’s not just Chaveirim.

It’s Hatzolah. Bikur Cholim. Tomchei Shabbos. Misaskim. The dozens of volunteer organizations that make up the lifeblood of our kehilla.

Mi k’amcha Yisrael?!

Please, Hashem, look down and see this true, selfless chesed.

See the pure ahavas chinam, the burning love we have for one another.

See how much we genuinely care.

And please—bring the Geulah, b’karov.

—A Grateful Yid
Lakewood, NJ

TLS welcomes your letters by submitting them to [email protected]