The Day Itamar Woke Up: A True Story of a Child's Healing

It started like any ordinary morning. Three-year-old Itamar went off to kindergarten, as usual. Around noon, his teacher called to say he had a slight fever and didn’t look well. We picked him up, thinking it was just a virus. We gave him water and let him rest.

By the next morning on Friday, Itamar was completely apathetic. He wouldn’t drink, barely responded, and we knew something was wrong. We rushed him to the doctor, who immediately sent us to Kaplan Hospital’s emergency room. The doctors there saw his condition and quickly admitted him.

They tried talking to him, calling his name. Suddenly, he started convulsing. His arms and legs shook, and his eyes rolled back. The doctors called for the intensive care team. Within seconds, medical staff filled the room, connecting him to an oxygen bag. I was asked to wait outside. I could hear them saying he was in serious condition and they needed to stop the seizures.

Itamar was taken for a CT scan. The results were normal, but he was still convulsing, unconscious. He was rushed to intensive care, connected to machines, and treated with antibiotics to protect his brain.

On Shabbat morning, the doctors did a spinal tap. That test also came back normal. The deputy head of intensive care explained: "We still don’t know what’s wrong. He’s unconscious, and we’re very concerned. We need an MRI." But no hospital was willing to do one on Shabbat.

Toward Shabbat afternoon, I walked home to check on our daughters. After Shabbat ended, I rushed back to the hospital. As soon as I entered the ICU, a nurse asked, “Are you Itamar’s father?” I nodded. “Did anyone update you yet?” My heart dropped. “No, what happened?” She hesitated. “Go speak with the doctor… or your wife.”

I ran down the corridor. My wife was crying. “Hadas, what is it?” She looked up and whispered, “Gabriel, they found inflammation in Itamar’s brain.”

I sat beside her, stunned. “But they said we needed an MRI!” She explained that while I was gone, they took him to Wolfson Hospital, and the MRI showed inflammation throughout his brain. I tried to stay strong and comfort her. “Hashem is with us. There are children who recover fully from this.”

She shared how after the scan, she begged the doctor to just tell her if they found anything. He looked down silently. That silence said it all. She cried the whole way back in the ambulance.

Later that night, the neurologist called us into his office. “Itamar has brain inflammation. It’s widespread. That’s why he’s unconscious. We’ll begin steroids and antibiotics, but we don’t know what will happen. He needs a lot of tefillot (prayers).”

We went outside, looked up at the sky, and prayed. “Hashem, whatever You decide, just give us strength.” We felt calmer afterward. We sat by Itamar’s bed all night, singing his favorite songs and reading him stories about tzaddikim (righteous people), hoping he could hear us.

The next morning, I visited a few rabbanim for their blessings. They gave us words of hope. Strengthened by their brachot, I returned to the hospital. But Itamar was still unconscious. The deputy director told us again how serious his condition was. “He should have woken up by now.”

We read Pitum HaKetoret, the section from the Torah that describes the incense offerings, known for its spiritual power to stop illness. We also consulted with Rabbi Firer, who said the treatment at Kaplan was the best option. The doctors ruled out any connection to the liver illness Itamar had as a baby.

“Two rare illnesses in one child?” one doctor said. “We’re a rare family,” my wife answered with a smile.

“Doctor, I know the situation looks bad,” my wife said, “but we believe in miracles. We believe Hashem will help Itamar heal.”

By Monday morning, the doctors were more worried than ever. “He’s sinking deeper into sleep,” they said. “He’s not responding to the treatment.” After they left, my wife sat beside him, holding his hand and whispering tearful tefillot: “Hashem, bring him back to me, please!”

The nurse finally convinced her to rest. At 4 PM, she was woken up by calls from the nurse: “Itamar’s mother! He’s awake!” She ran into the room and saw his eyes open, a small smile on his face. Tears flowed as she kissed him. “There is none besides Hashem,” she whispered.

The medical staff gathered around, shocked and emotional. He soon fell back asleep, but the next morning, he woke up again and this time, he began to heal rapidly. Within three days, he was walking, eating, and even talking again. One doctor said, “I have tears in my eyes. It’s unbelievable.”

On Shavuot, I brought Itamar to the hospital synagogue for the reading of the Ten Commandments, a known segulah (spiritual remedy) for healing. Soon after, he was transferred to Tel Hashomer for rehabilitation. But when we arrived, the head of the department looked at him and said, “He doesn’t need rehab. Take him home.”

Two weeks later, we returned for a checkup. The senior doctor finally shared what we hadn’t known. “According to the MRI, we were sure Itamar had brain damage. The inflammation covered almost his entire brain. We were preparing to tell you there was no hope. But instead, he woke up and healed. It’s a miracle. There is no medical explanation.”

And that’s when we truly understood the miracle that Hashem had given our family.