They Said She’d Never Live. Now She’s a Genius

I was in my 21st week of pregnancy, our third child. At home we already had a daughter and a son. My husband and I were on our way to an anatomy scan, filled with excitement. All I cared about was finding out if we were having a boy or a girl.

The doctor smiled at first but then his smile faded. On the screen, the baby’s head appeared black with no white, and I could feel that something was very wrong.

They called it hydrocephalus, an excess buildup of fluid in the brain. The body produces a fluid called CSF, which is supposed to flow between chambers in the brain. But in our baby, the fluid wasn’t draining. It was just collecting. And I was only 21 weeks along.

The doctors saw that the chambers in the brain were already enlarged. The situation would only get worse. They sent us straight to a fetal brain specialist. Then we spoke with rabbis. And again, more doctors.

The conclusion was loud and clear: end the pregnancy.

We were stunned. Why?

Because, they told us, there was almost no chance this child would have a normal life. The predictions were terrifying. They said she would likely be in a vegetative state, unable to function, possibly connected to machines for the rest of her life. The biggest "danger," they warned, was that she would live and that would be an unbearable emotional burden on me as a young mother.

We went to the top brain specialist in Israel. We spent a month and a half’s salary for a private, 40-minute evaluation. He looked over the scans carefully, then sat down and said with quiet seriousness: “If you were my daughter, I’d personally take you to terminate this pregnancy. And do it quickly.”

But I couldn’t accept it. This was my baby. I could feel her moving gently inside me. How could this be the end?

He looked at me again. “I’m not religious,” he said, “but I see you’re wearing a head covering. So I’ll tell you this: Pray. Pray to your God. It’s the only thing that might give you strength right now.”

We kept praying. We visited graves of tzaddikim (righteous people) and sought blessings from Torah sages. The choice still felt too heavy.

The day before we had to make a decision, we went to Rabbi Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, one of the greatest Torah sages of the generation. He listened quietly as we described the diagnosis and the pressure from doctors. After a pause, he said something that changed everything:

“If your five-year-old child were hit by a truck and became completely disabled, would you kill him because it’s hard for you? Just because you can’t see this baby yet doesn’t mean she isn’t already a person.”

That was it. Our hearts settled. The decision was made.

The rest of the pregnancy wasn’t easy. We were afraid. But we also felt peace with our choice. We knew we were protecting someone special.

She was born in the month of Adar, just as predicted. Later we’d laugh that it fit her personality exactly. She’s precise and strong-willed.

Her early years weren’t simple. Until age two, we were constantly driving back and forth to Ichilov Hospital. At two, she had surgery to insert a shunt into her head to drain fluid from her brain. That shunt will stay with her forever.

At age five, as part of a special medical study, her IQ was tested.

The result? A gifted child. A brilliant mind. A little girl with a genius-level IQ, now on the path to higher education.

The doctors were partly right. She was born with fluid in her brain. But the outcome? Not even close to what they predicted.

Instead of a child who would never speak or walk, we got a child who inspires everyone around her with her wisdom, maturity, and joy.

In a few weeks, we’ll celebrate her ninth birthday. Every day with her feels like a miracle.

Of course, there are challenges. She still undergoes surgeries. Her legs don’t work as easily as other children’s. But the light she brings into our lives can’t be measured. She’s full of life and energy. And what she gives our family, her siblings, her parents, our whole community is priceless.

I didn’t ask for a miracle. I didn’t expect one. I didn’t believe everything would turn out perfectly. I just prayed that Hashem would give me the strength to care for this child with love and dignity.

I didn’t ask Hashem to fix things. I just wanted the strength to carry out the mission He had given me.

And He gave me so much more.

Sometimes we don’t realize how much strength we have until we’re tested. Everyone has it, we just need to believe that if Hashem gave us a challenge, He also gave us the tools to rise to it.

I don’t know what our lives would look like if she hadn’t been born. I can’t even imagine.

I look at her brothers and sisters. They help her naturally, without being asked. They carry her backpack, give her a hand when she’s climbing stairs, look out for her. It's all automatic. It’s part of who they are. This experience has shaped our family in ways that are deeply beautiful.

It’s easy to focus on what’s missing. But I’ve learned to look at the good and the good is always there. You just need to make space for it.

When you do, Hashem sends so many blessings in return.