The Babysitters Message

[Music] It was during the Iraq war in 2003. Jordan Schwarz was sitting on the top of his Humvey in gunner's position patrolling a neighborhood next to the Syrian Iraqi border. They were driving through a marketplace that was usually teeming with people. But on this particular Friday morning, it was extremely quiet. Jordan felt this impending doom, like something really bad was about to happen. We were getting attacked quite often. The attacks were becoming more bold. There was ambushes. There was mortars. Every day it was just getting very intense. Every day around their prayer time, the mosque would blare and then we'd start getting shot at. He was worried about the safety of his unit and his battle buddies. And he wanted to pray that they all make it back home safely. But with no connection to his heritage, he didn't know what to say or how to pray. The only thing he remembered were six words his babysitter taught him back when he was just 7 years old. I was born in Dallas, grew up in a secular home. We moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico when I was seven. Our family was close with the Jesmer. Rifka and her mom and JJ or Yakov was my best friend. And Rifka would babysit for us. I ended up putting them to bed and I thought maybe I could teach them the shama and that would help them calm down and go to sleep nicely and be an easy transition for them from the fun day that we had into feeling calm and protected before they went to bed. I remember asking her why, you know, what am I saying this for? And she told me that it was a prayer of protection. It is our declaration of our belief in God being almighty and powerful and that he is really the only force that has any power in this world. Fast forward my time in Iraq. As we're rolling through the city, I start to feel like something was wrong. Something was about to happen. And I remember what Rifka told me. I said Israel Hashem. And as I'm leaning in to warn my guys about it, boom, a huge bomb blows up right in front of the Humvey. Put some shrapnel on my arm, ruptured my eardrum, gave me a concussion. Had I been standing straight up, the angle of the shrapnel should have gone into my eye. I should have been killed. I knew it was because I said the shama that I survived. A short while later, Jordan was back at the base and he was working on one of the tanks in the motorpool. All of a sudden, this tall chaplain shows up and he says, "Hey, are you Schwarz?" And he hands me this Yarmaka in the sitter that was army issued. And he said, "Hey, I found this in the chaplain's box. I thought you might want it." As soon as he handed it to me, I looked up and I was like, "Okay, I'm listening." Right? Then he decided that when he returns from the army, he's going to travel to Israel to explore his heritage. There was a lot of situations where we had very close calls and I think my faith I think me saying the shama whatever path I'm on Hashem has guided me. He ended up enrolling in a yeshiva and as he walked into the yeshiva's building he notices a man who looked familiar. I'm walking into the base measures and he's walking out and we bumped into each other and instantly we recognized each other. I was like JJ. He was like Jordan. It was Yakov Jasmmer the babysitter's brother. He was going to be his rebby at the yeshiva. We just sparked up a friendship just like it had never disappeared. And then we started studying. In a million years, nobody could have predicted the farreaching consequences a young babysitter's words would have on a 7-year-old child. We do something that affects another person. And we have no idea how and when and in what way that seed will sprout.