A Life-Saving Dream That Brought Me Back to Hashem

A great miracle happened to me and I want to share it with you.

I grew up in a traditional, loving, and close-knit family on a moshav. We were raised in religious state schools, with tefillah (prayer), Shabbat, and holidays. My father worked in agriculture, and my mother was a homemaker. Without formal training, our parents naturally guided each of us according to our own path. One sibling went into medicine, one into electronics, another into high-tech and I loved to sing and write songs.

Our childhood was simple and pure. Those were good days, filled with joy, hope, and excitement for what lay ahead.

Our parents taught us to care for one another. And to this day, thank G-d, we remain loving siblings.

In time, my siblings and I got married. Over the years, my connection to Shabbat faded. It just didn’t feel relevant to me anymore. Every Shabbat, my husband, our children, and I would look for places to go. Kiddush (the blessing over wine on Shabbat)? That wasn’t part of our routine. Tefillah? I didn’t feel a need for it. On the outside, that was my life.

But inside, it was different. Every time I got into the car on Shabbat, I felt as if the wheels were burning the pavement. I felt deeply uneasy. I knew it wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t my way. But I didn’t give it much thought.

One Shabbat in August, many years ago, when our children were very young, we drove to Ashdod for a day at the beach.

While chatting with my husband, I suddenly heard the lifeguard shouting at two children who had just come out of the water. I didn’t realize that they were my children. They had drifted too far out and got caught in a whirlpool. The lifeguard jumped in and pulled them out just in time, moments before they would have drowned.

We drove home in silence, and I reflected the entire way.

That was it. I felt clearly that this was a sign from Above. I decided then and there, no more driving on Shabbat. And from that day, I began slowly, with great effort, to keep Shabbat. It was a start, but I didn’t take on more than that.

The children grew up, life flowed smoothly, and everything seemed peaceful… until one spring morning in 2009.

It was early, somewhere between sleeping and waking. In what felt like a dream, I saw a man standing before me. He wore a black suit, a white shirt, and had a long beard. Looking back, I believe he was a tzaddik, a truly righteous man. He told me I needed to go to a doctor because “there’s something.”

I didn’t understand what he meant, but I checked myself for any sign of illness. I found nothing, so I brushed it off. I told myself it was just a strange dream.

A couple of days later, again in the early morning, the same tzaddik appeared and said, “Get up and take care of it… you have something.” I jumped out of bed and checked myself again, but still found nothing. I thought I was imagining things.

Then, just two days before the Passover Seder, he came to me a third time. This time, he appeared in full height and clarity. He looked straight at me and, in a tone of urgency, said, “Go to a doctor right away… you have something… get up and take care of it!”

That morning, I decided to do a full check. I examined my hands, feet, head, neck… and then suddenly, I touched a lump near my thyroid. It wasn’t small. It felt large and abnormal. I called my sister, a nurse in a hospital operating room, and asked her to arrange an appointment with a specialist.

The specialist examined my thyroid and sent me for a biopsy. After what felt like endless waiting, the results came. My world collapsed. “The lump is malignant,” I was told.

I went to the hospital, and the doctor said surgery was necessary. My family, and especially my dear husband, stood by my side with love and strength.

On the day of the surgery, I cried out to Hashem, reading Psalms and begging Him to help me. I asked Him to remember the merit of my ancestors and to stand by me. Just before the operation, something remarkable happened. A group of nurses surrounded me and offered blessings and prayers. One even read a Psalm out loud.

The surgery went well. They removed half of my thyroid and sent the remaining part for lab tests.

A week later, I returned for the results. The doctor explained that the disease had spread to the other half of the gland. Another surgery would be needed. I felt broken, overwhelmed by fear. My nights were sleepless.

The day of the second surgery arrived. I was told to count to ten, but by the time I got to four, I was already unconscious. Thank G-d, the surgery was successful.

Once I recovered, the doctor told me I would need iodine radiation, and that I would be in complete isolation for ten days in the hospital’s oncology department.

I prepared myself emotionally. Friends sent me books and newspapers in a box and wished me good health and strength.

During Sukkot, I entered the hospital for treatment. The doctor gave me the iodine radiation, and I was alone in a room with a TV and a remote beside my bed. I decided to watch Channel 2. But when I tried, the remote wouldn’t work. It froze on Channel 97, Hidabroot.

I tried again. Nothing. The channel wouldn’t change.

And then I saw a rabbi on the screen speaking about the end of days. I didn’t know who he was, but I was captivated by his words. It turned out to be Rabbi Zamir Cohen. From that moment on, I spent the rest of my isolation watching lectures by Rabbi Cohen, Rabbi Yitzchak Fanger, Rabbi Avner Kawas, and other inspiring rabbis. I didn’t even think of switching to another channel.

Their words filled me with light, with hope. I can’t describe it exactly. Something deep inside me awakened. I began to pray, and I made a decision to take Shabbat more seriously. I started asking myself: What does Hashem want from me?

From the lectures, I learned that Hashem wants us to come close to Him, and when we drift away, He gently nudges us back sometimes through signs, sometimes through challenges.

I never opened the box of books and newspapers. I left it in the hospital room.

When I came home, I turned the TV straight to Channel 97. I had found something real. Something that touched my soul and strengthened me. Hidabroot became my lifeline to the Creator.

The channel was always on. My son started listening too. Slowly, he became more and more connected to Torah. Today, thank G-d, he is married to a wonderful, observant woman, and their home is filled with Torah and mitzvot.

The Hidabroot Channel gave my son strength. It brought us both closer to Hashem.

May we all continue to grow and strengthen ourselves, without end.

I thank Hashem, and I thank the Hidabroot Channel and everyone involved in spreading Torah in Israel and around the world.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.