The Painter Who Saved Lives

Rabbi YY Jacobson shared the following story:

He has a friend named Elyasaf Miara, who lives in the south of Israel — in what’s called Otef Aza, the communities and towns right along the Gaza border. Elyasaf is a simple, special Jew. By trade, he’s a “soveia” — literally a painter, a dyer. He paints houses, but he also has an artistic touch. He loves color, pictures, creativity.

Ever since Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza in 2005, rockets have been raining down on the south. Every block has its own “migunit” — a small, reinforced concrete shelter where residents have only 5–30 seconds to run for cover when a missile is fired. These shelters are lifesavers — but they’re gray, ugly, and depressing.

One day, Elyasaf looked at the migunit in front of his house and thought: Why should mothers and children, sitting here terrified, be surrounded by bare concrete?

So he decided to paint it. Bright, colorful, playful. A burst of joy in a place of fear.

Then he had another thought: Why stop at my own shelter? Why not paint them all?

So, shelter by shelter, Elyasaf transformed these drab concrete bunkers into colorful worlds: an ocean here, a meadow there, flowers, sunsets, children playing, animals, fields. Each one a different scene. He wanted that when a father and his children or a mother and her children dashed inside for protection, they would be surrounded not just by walls but by life, color, and hope.

People thanked him. They thought: Nice guy. Simple painter. That was October 6, 2023.

If you had asked Elyasaf what he did for a living, he would have shrugged and said: “I’m a painter. Nothing special.”

But then came October 7th.

Hamas began the day by firing over 3,000 rockets at 6:00 a.m., forcing civilians and soldiers alike into shelters. Nobody imagined an invasion was about to happen. Wherever people were — at the Nova music festival, in kibbutzim, on roads — they ran to the nearest migunit.

Inside the shelters, terrified people began calling the police: “Save us! They’re coming! We’re in a migunit!” But there was one problem.

The police would ask: “Where are you? What’s the address?”

And the answer came back: “We don’t know. We just ran into the closest shelter.”

All they could do was describe the painting on the wall.

The police began calling Elyasaf. He alone knew which shelter had which painting. The one with the ocean scene? That’s on this street. The one with the giraffes? That’s over there. He guided rescue forces to the right locations.

How many lives he saved that day? Only Heaven knows. Even for those who didn’t make it, his directions helped police recover bodies and belongings for families.

Rabbi Jacobson says: “Elyasaf showed me the deepest lesson.”

On October 6th, Elyasaf thought he was just a painter.

On October 7th, the entire State of Israel realized he was a lifesaver.

If the police had called the Prime Minister, the head of the army, the generals, the head of the Shin Bet — no one could have helped. Only one man in Israel could help at that moment. And it was not a general or a leader. It was a “simple” Jew with a paintbrush.

We often think we’re just doing our small, humble work. We don’t realize what we’re actually doing. Elyasaf thought he was painting roses and sunsets. In truth, he was painting maps of salvation.

Chazal teach: “Bishvili nivra ha’olam — For me the world was created.” It sounds like arrogance. But it’s not. It’s a call to realize: there is something in you — in your soul, your creativity, your contribution — that no one else in the entire world can bring. Not the greatest leader, not the wisest scholar. Only you.

When you were born, Hashem said: “The world is incomplete without your light.” There’s a way that the Divine flows only through you. Your note in the cosmic symphony is unique and indispensable. Play it. Shine it. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else.

Like Elyasaf Miara, you may think you’re just “painting.” In truth, you’re changing lives in ways you cannot yet imagine.