Gad Elbaz: The Promise From The Next World That Changed Everything

A childhood tragedy, a heavenly encounter with the Babasali, a fall into chaos, and the journey back to life, love, and kedushah.

The Boy Who Met the Babasali in the Next World

The story begins on a quiet Shabbat afternoon — the third one that Gad’s father, Benny Elbaz, was keeping alone. Earlier that day, he had pleaded with his wife not to turn on the television. “I have a bad feeling,” he warned. She refused, and the home remained split between light and tension. Unaware of the spiritual weight hovering over the household, nine-year-old Gad ran outside to join the neighborhood kids.

Racing down a steep hill in a burst of childish bravado, a friend shoved him mid-run. He stumbled, fell hard, and his head struck the sharp corner of a sidewalk curb. In an instant, the world went black.

Children screamed. Neighbors gathered in horror. Benny tore down the stairs in panic as paramedics rushed to the scene. They examined the still child and quietly covered him with a blanket.

“He’s gone,” they told his father.

But Benny refused to surrender. In a moment of primal anguish, he ripped back the blanket, lifted his son, and cried out, “This is not my time to sacrifice my son!”

Yet the child in his arms was no longer fully in this world.

Gad saw his own body on the ground. He saw the chaos around him, his father’s trembling hands, the frantic attempts to revive him. Then, slowly, and gently, he drifted upward into a realm of radiant calm — a place bright, peaceful, and unlike anything on earth.

From within the light, an elderly man approached with a warm, knowing smile. He leaned close, touched young Gad’s face, and whispered:

“This is not your time. Promise me you will always sing for Hashem.”

The moment Gad accepted this promise; he awoke in the physical world.

Later, when Benny showed him pictures of great tzaddikim, Gad panicked. When he saw the face of the Babasali, he fled the room, terrified that the holy man might “grab him again.” But the truth had become clear: the luminous figure he saw beyond this world was none other than the Babasali — whose real last name, astonishingly, was Elbaz.

This was not just a near-death experience. It was a family calling.

From that moment, everything changed. Benny became fully charedi. Gad’s mother slowly became shomeret Shabbat. The home softened, healed, and transformed. And Gad’s life — already uncommon — had stepped onto a path shaped by destiny.

 

A Childhood of Chaos and Loneliness

Long before fame or miracles, Gad grew up in constant motion. His father, a celebrated Israeli singer with tangled underworld connections, moved the family repeatedly for their safety. Gad drifted from secular Israeli schools to Chabad classrooms in America, and back again to cities where religious kids were mocked and resented.

He was always the outsider, the perpetual new kid, the painfully shy child who barely spoke. Being the son of a famous singer magnified the alienation; classmates alternated between envy and cruelty.

“I didn’t talk to anyone,” he recalls. “I was completely alone.”

Yet the instability became its own strange gift. Watching Jews from every background — secular, traditional, Chabad, Moroccan, American — he learned to understand each one without judgment. It became the quiet foundation for his musical mission of unity.

 

A Teenager Lost in the Clubs

By sixteen, the inner pressure became unbearable. Expectations, scrutiny, and the fear of disappointing everyone pushed him away from Torah, away from performing, away from anything that felt constrained.

For two years, he drifted through nightlife — clubs, alcohol, noise, and spiritual numbness. He was not rebelling; he was searching for identity, belonging, and love in the wrong places.

Then came the night everything changed.

Standing on a balcony overlooking a packed dance floor, he watched friends betray each other, watched emptiness disguised as joy, watched souls searching for something they could not name. And in that moment, he whispered upward: “Hashem… thank You for showing me this is not life.”

Something inside of him shattered — and something else awakened. He walked away from the world beneath him. He wanted a Shabbat table, a home, a family, light.

At eighteen, he returned fully — to Torah, to purpose, to himself.

 

A Meteoric Rise — and a Private Breaking

His return to kedushah ignited his career. Gad became a pioneer of modern Jewish music, blending Israeli, American, Moroccan, and global influences. He collaborated with secular artists, brought modern beats to the Orthodox world, and inspired thousands.

But at home, everything was quietly unraveling.

Married incredibly young and constantly traveling, he and his wife drifted apart. He tried to save the marriage — pausing his career, moving countries, sacrificing opportunities — but the foundation had already cracked.

The breaking point came backstage before a sold-out concert. Fifteen minutes before showtime, she called:

“When you come home, all your things will be at your mother’s. We are done.”

He collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably on the dressing-room floor. The stage manager entered, stunned. “How can you perform like this?”

Gad forced himself to stand. Staring at his reflection, he whispered:

“This is what you came to the world to do. Give them everything.”

And he did. He performed the greatest show of his career — and then spent the next ten days sick from emotional collapse.

Loneliness engulfed him. Alcohol numbed what he could not face. His children moved to Israel. Every six to eight weeks he flew across the world just to hold them for four days.

Then COVID arrived. And the world went silent.

 

COVID, Identity, and the Birth of Shefa House

With concerts gone and travel halted, Gad was left alone with the question: “If Hashem takes my voice… who am I?”

For the first time, the answer came from within.

He discovered he could inspire without a microphone — through teaching, speaking, sharing his and healing. From that realization appeared Shefa House, a sweeping initiative designed to heal individuals, marriages, communities, and beyond.

Shefa House became a lifeline for struggling marriages, a source of guidance for singles seeking healthy foundations, a network for business owners, a bridge connecting donors with meaningful Jewish projects, a platform for unity retreats, and even an app that links Jews around the world with Shabbat meals. It was a movement born from brokenness — transformed into the holy ink of his neshamah.

 

The Cesarea Miracle

Two months before Gad’s historic concert in the Cesarea amphitheater — a venue no religious singer had ever filled — disaster struck. His sponsor pulled out. He needed $220,000 by Monday. He had nothing.

His rabbi told him simply: “Hashem will get it to you.”

Gad flew to New York for a small bar mitzvah job. At 6 a.m., he cried at the Rebbe’s Ohel. A stranger — a hospital clown — took him to a mikvah “to lift his spirit.” Still crushed, he went anyway.

Then came a call from a friend begging him for music help. Exhausted, he resisted — until the bar mitzvah mother also urged him.

During that session, a couple wandered in and listened as he sang a song of redemption. They stepped outside, returned, and asked:

“If we give you the money, can you still do the show?”

Gad broke down crying as they wired the full amount.

One year later, on the exact date of the concert, the couple welcomed a baby boy — named Leo, born exactly as Gad’s rabbi had promised.

 

The Birth of Hashem Melech

The song’s journey was almost mystical. A rabbi in France first played him the melody. Gad liked it but refused to do covers. Ten days later, at 1 a.m., his father demanded he come to the studio “for *kibbud av*.”

Exhausted, Gad went — and heard the same melody again, now with his father’s new chorus. Opening a *siddur*, he landed on the words Hashem Melech — a perfect fit.

He buried the track deep in the album, fearing secular radio would reject it.

But the world embraced it.

Years later, a young, unknown rapper named Nissim Black called Gad with an updated version of the song. Gad invested everything to produce a fresh video — and the second wave of Hashem Melech swept the world.

 

A Second Chance at Life, Love, and Light

Today, Gad is remarried to a woman whose soul aligns with his purpose. Together they raise six children in a blended family filled with warmth and spiritual growth. He continues creating wine, art, music, and unity projects on a global scale.

And through it all, he continues singing for Hashem — just as he promised in the realm of light beyond this world.

Before the interview ended, he turned to Aryeh with a heartfelt blessing: “Because you help others rise, Hashem will lift you in your own journey. You will see His light in your life.”

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Aryeh Fingerer is a passionate Jewish speaker who connects with readers around the world through his meaningful and relatable divrei Torah. He’s dedicated to spreading positivity and strengthening our bond with Yiddishkeit through stories, insights, and timeless Torah values.
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