Sitting at our dining table over Passover, chatting with our teenage guest from Florida, I noticed his kippah, which was deep blue and emblazoned with “#shol3m.”
“Who is Sholem?” I wondered aloud.
My question was met with a broad smile and a story of tragedy, triumph, death and devotion.
It’s the story of a young man whose life was suddenly snuffed out, and of a family and community that continues to joyfully perpetuate his memory in ways large and small.
This is the story of Sholem Benchimol.
By all accounts, Sholem Benchimol was memorable. Whether he was kicking around a soccer ball, hanging out with friends, or engaged in earnest conversation, you could be sure of two things: There would be a smile on his face and a kippah on his head.
Sholem was born in 2002 in Cali, Colombia, where his father, Rabbi Iosef Benchimol, served the local, small Jewish community. The Benchimols, natives of Argentina, had chosen to serve in Cali upon the advice of the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—and did so with dedication despite the isolation it entailed.
When Sholem was a baby, the family returned to Argentina before moving to Miami just a year later, where Rabbi Benchimol was appointed spiritual leader of a local Sephardic congregation.
In Miami, Sholem’s parents enrolled in the Lubavitch Educational Center, and he was finally surrounded by kids just like him—kids who kept Shabbat and kosher, wore kippahs and tzitzit, and lived a full, rich Jewish lifestyle.
But just three years later, the family moved again, this time to Guatemala, where Rabbi Benchimol had been called upon to serve. With his older brothers and sisters already out of the house, Sholem was the only one to move with his parents. It was his fourth country, and he was just 10 years old.
In Guatemala, Sholem was bullied for his dedication to Judaism—including the kippah he wore on his head—but he didn’t waver. In time, even those who originally bullied him learned to respect him, in part because he was an excellent soccer player.
After three years, the family returned to South Florida and settled in Sunny Isles, where the rabbi had been called to lead the Beth Rambam community.
And it was there that my guest, Zevi, had gotten to know him. There were very few observant Jewish families in Sunny Isles at the time, and Zevi was often bored on Shabbat afternoons with no one to play with.
Despite being several years older, Sholem would come over and play with him, filling the role of older brother.
Following his bar mitzvah and graduation from the Lubavitch day school, Sholem enrolled in Hillel High School. He was especially attracted to that school because it had a well-regarded soccer team, which had even played in the Florida state championship one year.
An avid soccer player, Sholem also joined a soccer club and would often travel for games. Yet, no matter where he went, Sholem remained true to his guiding principles: He always wore his kippah, he never played on Shabbat, and he made sure to have a supply of kosher food.
At 17, Sholem was a success on the field and he had high hopes for becoming a professional player. If he succeeded, he would be the first Shabbat-observant player in the history of the sport.
Yet even though he was an accomplished athlete and captain of the soccer team, he was kind and friendly to everyone—never letting his status as a jock get to his head.
Then came covid, and Sholem and his teammates could not play.
One Sunday night, during the height of the lockdowns, Sholem’s brother Menajem was getting ready to go out for a bike ride, something he often did to clear his mind and enjoy some time alone. The streets were deserted and it would be a good way to get out of the house.
Sholem offered to accompany him.
Just before they rode off, Sholem told Menajem in Spanish: “Remember, no matter what happens, we are always connected.”
Minutes into their ride, Menajem heard a boom! Somehow, Sholem, who was riding ahead of him in the single-file bike lane, was struck by a car.
For three days, Sholem hovered between This World and the Next. Thousands of people prayed for him. Countless mitzvahs were done on his behalf and many good resolutions were undertaken in his merit.
But on Wednesday, Iyar 6, his soul ascended On High.
The funeral was heartbreaking. Masked and distanced, more than 300 families showed up at the cemetery and 5,000 more watched on a livestream.
Shortly thereafter some friends made a small batch of kippahs emblazoned with the hashtag #shol3m, combining Sholem’s name and the number on his soccer jersey. They were snatched up in minutes by people eager to perpetuate his memory by doing the very Jewish practice he had cherished.
Hundreds more were made, and before long they were popping up everywhere in South Florida and beyond.
“Just last week, someone I never met before came over to me in the gym,” says Daniel Benchimol, Sholem’s oldest brother. “He told me that he started wearing a kippah one day a week in honor of Sholem, and he’s still doing it now.”
“And someone else just marched to his graduation ceremony wearing a kippah in Sholem’s honor.
“We get stories like these—little ‘regards from Sholem’—all the time!”
Meanwhile, the family was looking for more ways to perpetuate Sholem’s legacy.
Sholem’s mother, Devora, founded an organization she named Sholem Corazon Valiente (Spanish for “Sholem Brave Heart”) to help teenagers embrace their Jewish values and feel recognized and proud of who they are.
And knowing how much Sholem loved soccer, and how hard he worked to maintain his Judaism in a sport that was not accustomed to accommodating his needs, his brothers founded the Benchi Futbol Club—which they believe is the only soccer academy that caters to the needs of Torah-observant Jewish children.
The boys are encouraged to wear their kippahs and tzitzit on the field, and the girls’ uniforms conform to the guidelines of Jewish modesty. And of course, neither division ever meets on Shabbat or Jewish holidays.
At the start, both Daniel and Menajem served as coaches, but the club has taken off to the point that they no longer need to do so.
With most soccer games taking place on Shabbat, arranging matches is a challenge, but the teams do play with other clubs and are seen as very competitive.
Even as the club became a success and applicants poured in, the Benchimols remained true to their principles, allowing in many players on generous scholarships and making sure that the kids don’t just excel in soccer but feel good about themselves as athletes, as friends, and as Jews.
After all—that was how Sholem lived his life.
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