The Bridal Gown that Became the Ark’s Curtain

By Miri Yeshurun, adapted with permission from a Hebrew article in Mishpacha Hassidit, a supplement to Israel’s Kfar Chabad magazine.
Translated by Rabbi Daniel Goldberg – N’shei Chabad Newsletter

It was the end of summer 2003, at the height of the bloody terrorist offensive against the Jews of Israel. Hundreds of ordinary Israelis were killed in suicide attacks as they were going about their lives.

One of Jerusalem’s heroes was Dr. David Applebaum, head of the emergency department at Shaarei Tzedek, a major city hospital. Originally from the U.S., where he had received his medical training, Dr. Applebaum was always among the first, whenever a terrorist attack hit the city, to give the injured his devoted care, thereby saving scores of lives.

Dr. Applebaum had just returned from New York, where he had been invited to lecture at a major Manhattan hospital on emergency treatment of terror victims. He hurried back home for the wedding of his eldest daughter, Nava, due to take place on Wednesday, September 10.

That Tuesday evening, the doctor took Nava out to the popular Hillel Coffee House in Jerusalem’s German Colony neighborhood. They were ready to leave, when someone called from home on the cell phone to ask them to bring home a milkshake.

Suddenly, a loud explosion was heard over the phone. A suicide bomber had walked into the coffee house and blown himself up. David and Nava’s family members, knowing that they were inside the coffee house, tried calling them. But no one picked up their calls. The older children in the family immediately ran over to the coffee house. They came home without clear news, so the family took a taxi to the hospital.

The hospital’s director saw them: “Where’s David?” he asked. “We need his help here!”

“I’m looking for him, too,” Mrs. Devora Applebaum told him, her heart beating rapidly. The hospital’s emergency staff quickly realized that this time their beloved head would not be among those giving aid. His family was asked to wait in a side room. Their hearts filled with foreboding as they saw the staff racing back and forth, averting their gaze from the family members as they passed.

Eventually Dr. Applebaum’s son, head of the trauma emergency first aid clinic that his father had established, approached his mother, sobbing uncontrollably. “Which one?” Devora asked frantically. Between sobs, her son managed to burst out: “Both, Ima, both of them!” *

The double tragedy, of a bride on the eve of her wedding day, and her father, the beloved doctor who had saved so many lives, shocked the whole country. Even the international media covered the story in depth. Thousands attended the funeral, many of them total strangers. During the shivah week, multitudes visited the family to console them personally, while many more came just to stand outside their home and weep with them. During that week, Devora packed all the housewares she had bought for Nava’s new home and had them distributed to the needy. But no one could even look at Nava’s beautiful wedding gown. They asked a friend to do the favor of returning it to the rental company. Aviva is a close friend and relative of Devora. Her daughter was Nava’s best friend, who had grown up with her and been in the same class as her all the way through school.

During the shivah week, a long-forgotten memory floated before Aviva’s eyes. Years ago, in a museum in Tzfas, northern Israel, she had seen a paroches – a curtain for a holy ark that holds sacred sefer Torah scrolls – sewn by a woman from the bridal gown of her daughter who had been murdered in a pogrom before her wedding. Aviva recalled how she had gazed for a long time at that paroches, shocked by the very thought of a bride murdered on the eve of her wedding. Suddenly it struck her: Why not perpetuate Nava’s holy memory by converting her bridal gown, too, into a sacred article, a paroches? When Aviva shared this with Devora, she embraced the idea. This, she felt, would be an appropriate symbol of Jerusalem’s repeated devastation and its inhabitants’ suffering over its millennia-long history.

When Aviva researched the subject, she learned of an ancient custom among Oriental Jews for every bride, after her wedding, to dedicate her bridal gown to a sacred purpose by sewing it into a paroches or tapestry for the synagogue wall. The Museum of Israel had several samples of such sacred articles made from bridal gowns over the ages. Aviva is among the organizers of a women’s organization for preserving the tomb of the matriarch Rachel. The Torah (Bereishis 35:16-20) relates how our patriarch Yaakov buried his beloved wife Rochel outside Bais Lechem after she passed away in childbirth. Tradition tells us he did so by Divine providence so that, many centuries later, she would arouse Divine compassion upon the Jews when their captors brought them past Bais Lechem on their way to exile in Babylon (modern Iraq). This is recorded by Yirmiya (31:14-15):

“…Rochel weeps for her children, refusing to be consoled… Thus says G-d: ‘Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for there is reward for your accomplishment… and they shall return from the enemy’s land. There is hope for your future… and the children shall return to their border.” Rochel became the archetype for every Jewish mother whose compassion for her children prompts her to arouse Divine mercy upon them. Thus, throughout the generations, Jewish women have always felt close to Rochel and have flocked to her tomb to pour their hearts out to G-d, confident that Mother Rochel’s merit will bring Divine compassion upon us all.

Aviva and her friends agreed that the ideal abode for a paroches made out of Nava’s wedding gown was at Rochel’s tomb. Needed now was a seamstress who could put her heart and soul into the craftsmanship. Aviva found her in Tal Levi, an expert seamstress who supports her family so that her husband can study Torah full time. Aviva sat in Tal’s humble apartment to discuss the project, and Tal came up with some excellent ideas.

Aviva was convinced she had found the right person. Aviva approached the woman who owned the rental company to explain what they hoped to do with the bridal gown. The owner generously agreed to donate it without charge. Aviva brought it to Tal, who promised an estimate within a week. When Aviva called back, however, Tal’s price was so high that Aviva felt she had no choice but to withdraw. Her organization’s budget simply could not afford that kind of expense.

Tal explained that she was presently her family’s sole breadwinner. Considering the extensive work and time involved, she could not in good conscience do the work for less. They agreed that Tal would return the gown. At the agreed time, Aviva saw Tal approaching from the distance – empty-handed. “I’ve discussed it with my husband,” Tal said emotionally, “and we’ve decided I should do this for a greatly reduced price.”

The price difference was so great that it took Aviva’s breath away. It was within her organization’s price range. But Tal did ask that the organization make a public appeal for funds to cover her work. Again, Aviva apologized and offered Tal the opportunity to back out. The family and friends, she explained, wanted to keep this project entirely dedicated to its sacred purpose, without fundraising or fanfare.

“If so,” Tal steadfastly declared, “I, too, will do the whole job for free!” The work took countless hours. In consultation with Aviva and other friends, Tal carefully considered every stitch and, where necessary, added pieces of cloth, lace and rhinestones. The graceful bridal gown became a magnificent paroches, a work of art.

When the paroches was finally completed, it was decided to dedicate it on Nava’s 21st birthday, the 11th day of Adar (Thursday, March 4, 2004). It was still within the year of mourning. That year Purim was on the following Sunday, so that the Fast of Esther (another heroic woman), usually held on the day before Purim, was observed on that same Thursday. The dedication ceremony was to take place at Rochel’s tomb.

When the Israeli media heard about the event, they clamored to cover it. At first Aviva thought of giving exclusive rights to one TV channel. But then things got out of hand. It got so bad that she stopped answering phone calls. One female reporter managed to get through and told her: “You can’t close this event to the media. It’s of interest to the whole country. You have to let us in!”

The reporter stopped for a moment. “By the way,” she asked sheepishly, “what is a paroches?” That clinched it for Aviva. She was so astounded that a Hebrew-speaking Israeli Jew did not know what a paroches is that she decided to throw the ceremony open to the public, allowing anyone to film and broadcast it. No one in Israel should remain ignorant of what a paroches is.

Rochel’s tomb was packed for the deeply moving ceremony. The resplendent paroches, clearly transformed from a bridal gown, was hung in the approach corridor before the tomb’s synagogue for all to admire. Later, Nava’s brothers hung it in front of the synagogue’s holy ark, and tefillos were said. During the days and weeks following, thousands of visitors came to see the paroches. It was decided to hang it in the women’s section, where, to this day, many pray and weep next to it, stroking it and attaching to it their prayer notes. Eventually, to preserve it, it was covered with a thick transparent plastic cover.

A wealthy Jewish family from abroad heard about the paroches and decided to donate several thousand dollars for its expenses. Aviva was overjoyed at the opportunity to give Tal the money she had selflessly earned but was not expecting. From remaining pieces of the gown, Devora had a beautiful chuppah made. The very first bride to get married under it was Aviva’s daughter, Nava’s best friend. As a Torah observant Jew, Dr. David Applebaum believed deeply in the imminent Redemption of the world by Moshiach.

Whenever a terror attack tragically took life and limb, he was convinced that this could only bring closer the day of that utopian ideal. His wife Devora, too, believes that the tragic passing of her husband and daughter will bring that day closer, and that soon she and we will be reunited with them and with all our other holy martyrs from throughout the ages, whose lives have been forfeited simply because they were Jews.

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