Posted on 07/17/25
| News Source: Mishpacha Magazine
Three years ago, I was just your average nearly-21-year-old bochur from Lakewood, New Jersey. I had friends, plans, and a future ahead of me. But in one moment, everything changed. I made a decision that can never be undone — I got behind the wheel after drinking alcohol. That choice ended someone’s life, permanently injured another person, and launched a brutal legal battle that turned my entire world upside down. Suddenly, my life became consumed by courtrooms, lawyers, and the overwhelming weight of consequences I never imagined facing.
It was Friday, July 22, 2022. I was at a to’ameha with a few friends — drinking, laughing, and enjoying the moment. A little before Shabbos, I decided to head over to a friend’s house to spend Shabbos. I jumped behind the wheel and started speeding, rushing to get there in time. I was driving down the winding curves of South Lake Drive when, in an instant, everything changed — I was in a head-on collision.
My car flipped on impact and landed upside down. I was trapped inside, disoriented and unable to move, with smoke filling the vehicle and flames beginning to spread. Lying there, helpless, it felt like the end — I didn’t think I was going to survive. Then a stranger pulled over, ran toward the wreck, and pulled me out just moments before the car exploded. The fact that I walked away from that crash with only minor injuries is nothing short of a miracle.
After I was released from the hospital, reality started to hit. A close family friend stepped in, hired a lawyer, and advised us that the next step I would have to take was turn myself in at the Ocean County Jail. Walking through those doors was a moment heavy beyond words, stepping into a place I never imagined I’d be. I spent five long, painful weeks behind bars.
That period of time was a constant waking nightmare. I was thankfully able to be in touch with seven contacts through the jail phone, and that was my lifeline. My friends and family kept me afloat, with chizuk and conversations around the clock. I didn’t speak to any of the other individuals in jail with me; they were very, very bad people, and having any conversation with any of them was not something I wanted to do.
Finally, after those five weeks, I was released on house arrest, where I’ve been confined ever since.
Being on house arrest means I’m home all day. It means I’m missing all family simchahs, all outings with friends — everything. For the first year, I wasn’t even allowed to go to shul. Now, baruch Hashem, I can go out for minyanim — at set times only — and it’s been a huge saving grace.
Ihave now gone before the judge and pleaded guilty to vehicular homicide. This means I’m awaiting sentencing, facing five to ten years in state prison. I am 23 years old now. Under the No Early Release Act, I won’t be eligible for parole until I’ve served at least 85 percent of my sentence. It’s a painful reality — to know I’ll be spending years behind bars, separated from everything and everyone I know.
The reason I’m sharing this now is because I’ve seen — and continue to hear about — far too many people making the same mistake I did: attending simchahs, parlor meetings, to’amehas, and other events, having a few drinks, and then casually getting behind the wheel. They say they feel “fine.” They genuinely believe they’re okay to drive. Too many people think they’re invincible behind the wheel, convinced that “it won’t happen to me.” I thought the same thing.
But the truth is, it only takes one time. You don’t realize how easy it is to cross the line — until you already have. One poor decision can destroy a family and your future in a matter of seconds. That quiet confidence is where the real danger lies. It’s what turns an ordinary night into a tragedy — one drive that ends with flashing lights, twisted metal, and a life forever lost.
And from that moment on, nothing is ever the same — for the family who will never see their loved one again, for the friends left grieving, and for everyone whose world was shattered in an instant. The pain doesn’t fade. The hole left behind never truly heals.
Please take my story as a life lesson. Set a clear, no-exceptions boundary for yourself. If you’re going to any event where you know you’ll be drinking, even just a little, decide in advance that you’re not driving afterward — not even once. Call a car service, arrange a ride, stay over, do whatever it takes. Be the one with the courage to say, “I feel fine, but I’m not risking it.”
I cannot get a second chance to undo this tragedy, so please: Take your first chance seriously.
Think ahead. Plan smart. Stick to your decision, because no simchah, no shortcut, no moment of feeling “okay” is worth a lifetime of regret.
And it’s not just about your own decisions. You have a responsibility to your friends, too. If you see someone about to drive after drinking — even if he insists he’s fine — step in, say something, take his keys, or call a ride. Stopping him might feel uncomfortable in the moment, but living with the regret of staying silent is far worse. True friendship means protecting each other, even from ourselves.
The next choice is yours. You can be the reason someone lives — or the reason they don’t.
Choose wisely.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1070, and posted with permission from Mishpacha Magazine.)