His name is Sam. Sam Cohen, the son of Reuven. And this is his story:

My father was born in Jerusalem and around 1930, he moved to the southern part of Tel Aviv. He never drove a car. His mode of transportation was his bike. He was 87 when he was hit by a motorcycle on December 21. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wearing a helmet. They immediately transferred him to the trauma unit in Tel Hashomer Hospital outside of Tel Aviv.

At the time, I was living in New York. I got a call from my sister that my father wasn’t home and she couldn’t reach him.

We were both worried, and then we heard on the news that there had been a bicycle-motorcycle accident, with the man on the bike in critical condition. I immediately called the hospital trauma unit.

I asked the nurse to please describe the victim, since he could be my father. She was unable to, as his head was encased in a metal piece and his whole body was bandaged up.

I then asked her if the man was wearing a black onyx ring with the initials R.C. for Reuven Cohen. The nurse replied that she herself had taken the ring off his finger when he entered the hospital!

She then told me to hurry up and come. It would take me 16 hours, as I was flying in from the United States.

When I arrived, the doctor told me that with my father’s age, he might survive a few days at the most, but not much longer.

“Doctor,” I said. “You forgot to mention two things: prayers and faith! There are a lot of people praying for my father’s recovery.” The doctor smiled but did not respond.

I stayed by my father’s bedside day and night for three weeks, talking, singing and praying, but there was no movement.

A Flutter of Hope

On a Shabbat morning, at around the three-week mark, I was reciting the Shema aloud.

Although not an observant Jew, my father had always said the Shema every single day.

I got to the part, “And you shall love Hashem, your G‑d,’” and my father opened his eyes!

I said, “Abba! Abba! (Father! Father!)” But his eyes closed again.

I screamed for a nurse. But by the time she came, his eyes were closed. They did not believe me.

I repeated the Shema prayer and again he opened his eyes. The nurse was shocked and tried to resuscitate him, but it didn’t work. The good news was that I knew my father could hear me.

I stayed in Israel for another three weeks, but my father’s condition remained unchanging. The doctor told me to go back to New York and my family. They would call me if things got better, or G‑d forbid, worse.

By mid-February, I got a call at my store. It was Dr. Ben-Simon. “Hello Sam,” he said, “I have one word for you: a miracle! Your father woke up and guess what he’s doing? He is mumbling the Shema prayer and pedaling with his feet as if he is riding a bicycle!”

“I’ll be there by tomorrow,” I told the doctor.

Partial Recovery

After spending a week in the hospital, I was finally able to take him to an assisted-living facility. It was a long and arduous process, but thank G‑d, he lived. He turned 88, then 89, and he even got to his 90th birthday. His birthday is in March, on Purim day, so I came from New York and spent the month celebrating life with him.

Thank G‑d, my father healed better than the doctors expected. He recovered and retained his brain function. He could still speak five languages: Yiddish, Hebrew, Spanish, Aramaic and English. But unfortunately, he had lost his memory. He could not remember my name.

One night, right before Purim, I came to visit him, and he said my name. “Sam,” he said. “I’m soon going to heaven.” I felt like it was a spiritual moment. I was in shock and said, “Father, do you know who I am?”

He replied, “Sure, I know; you’re my son, Sam.” I then told him what had been going on for the past two years.

As we were talking, an airplane flew by in the sky, and he pointed up and said, “Soon I will be going to heaven.”

“Not yet, Abba,” I said.

After Purim and all the celebrations, I returned to New York. At 4 a.m. on May 3, 2013, I got the dreaded phone call. Abba had passed away.

Shema Bracelets

In his memory, I decided to make these wristbands with the Shema prayer. I felt that the Shema is what roused him from his coma. Also, he loved saying it every day.

I travel a lot for business, so I gave out these wristbands all over the world. I was in Israel one week and I gave a man a lift from Kfar Chabad. I kept count of each bracelet I gave away, and I was up to number 770. I decided to give this man a bracelet and told him that it was my 770th. He told me he would be traveling to 770 (Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn, N.Y., headquarters of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement). I love Chabad and was so delighted. G‑d was smiling down at me.

The Helmet Project

G‑d continued to smile His countenance upon me. I wanted to do something else in his honor but couldn’t come up with the right project. I rented a bike and rode the streets of Tel Aviv, with my helmet on, where my father used to ride every day.

It then hit me that too many Israelis were not wearing helmets! I would make helmets and give them out in my father’s memory. On the helmet, I would write: ‘Wear a helmet. Save your life.’

As soon as I got to New York, I had 350 helmets made, and on my next trip to Israel, we gave out the helmets, T-shirts, pamphlets and stickers. We drove around Israel giving them out. It felt cathartic.

One Sunday, my wife and two daughters joined me to give out the helmets. We came to Masada and decided to climb to the top where there is a small synagogue. There was a sofer there, a scribe, writing a Torah scroll.

As I got closer, my daughter pointed out that the scribe was writing my father’s name. I was shocked and took a closer look.

Indeed, the scribe was writing this verse from the Torah portion of Matot: “The descendants of Reuben and Gad had an abundance of livestock.”1 I was there with my wife and children, and I felt G‑d had shined His light on me once again. The scribe was so touched that he dedicated the verse to my father.

I could feel my Abba’s pride in me, the family that I’ve built and the project I was doing in his memory. It was a glorious moment.

Giving out these helmets could save one person’s life, and as we know, “He who saves one life is as if he has saved the entire world!”2 I felt I had made my father and G‑d very proud.

May G‑d keep shining His light and His miracles on me, my family and all of Israel!