A Chanukah Miracle After Years of Tears and Prayer

My wife and I have been married for ten years. For a long time, we tried to conceive a child, but faced many disappointments.

In the early years of our marriage, we were a traditional couple who made sure to keep Shabbat and eat only kosher. As the years passed, we began to feel that maybe this painful journey was a message from Above—that we needed to grow stronger in our observance. We became more careful with the laws of Shabbat, family purity (taharat hamishpacha), and other mitzvot (commandments). With the guidance of a kabbalist rabbi, my wife even took upon herself the mitzvah of fully covering her hair—something very challenging for her, as she worked in a secular environment and we were still waiting for a child.

We went through many difficult years trying to bring children into the world. We met with the top doctors, went through painful and expensive tests, and sought blessings from rabbanim (rabbis). We visited the graves of tzaddikim (righteous individuals), and my wife endured hard treatments that left us emotionally and physically drained. We felt we had reached our limit. We had tried everything, and salvation had not yet come. So we decided to take a break. When we finally felt ready to try again, we were hit with another blow—my wife's beloved father passed away suddenly. She took it very hard, and I did my best to support her and strengthen her faith.

Throughout it all, one verse kept echoing in my mind and heart: “You have turned my mourning into dancing for me.” I held on to the hope that from all this sorrow and darkness, Hashem would eventually send us a miracle.

On the first night of Chanukah, we lit the menorah together. There was a special, indescribable joy in our home.

The next morning, I woke up early for Shacharit (morning prayers), as I always do—but something felt off. My prayers didn’t flow like usual. I pushed through, hoping it was just a passing moment. But it continued. The same heaviness in Minchah (afternoon prayers). All throughout Chanukah, I felt a strange weight during prayer. It was hard to explain.

Then, on the eighth night, a relative said to me, “There’s a special segulah (spiritual merit) on the last night of Chanukah. You and your wife should pray and ask Hashem for what you need.” I brushed her off at first. “We’ve tried all the segulot. We’ve done everything,” I said. But she looked at me and said, “You’ve changed. You’ve come closer to Hashem. Believe, and it will be okay.” Her words touched me, and I decided to try—just one more time.

That night I realized three glass holders were missing from our menorah, so I drove to Bnei Brak at 9:00 PM to buy new ones. When I returned home, we lit all eight candles and I said the brachot (blessings). But once again, I found I couldn’t speak—my prayers just wouldn’t come out. I usually feel connected to davening (prayer), but that night, nothing. So I picked up my guitar and began to sing and pour my heart out through music, right there beside the glowing candles. I started to cry. It was one of the most heartfelt moments I can remember. My wife stood beside me, and I could see that she, too, was deeply moved.

That Friday night, Parshat Vayigash, we went to shul (synagogue) together. Between Minchah and Maariv (afternoon and evening prayers), the rabbi gave a powerful shiur (Torah class). He spoke about Yosef HaTzaddik (Joseph) and how, after years of darkness and suffering, he finally revealed himself to his brothers. The rabbi said that sometimes in life, we go through hardships and don’t understand why—but then Hashem reveals Himself, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

As I listened, I felt as if Hashem was speaking directly to me. My wife, from the women’s section, stood up and pointed at the rabbi, as if to say, “Are you hearing this too?” We both felt it.

The next morning, my wife told me that she had dreamed of her father. He appeared to her with a big smile. She asked him, “Why are you smiling?” and he answered, “Because something good is happening.”

That afternoon, we both felt an emptiness. It was hard to understand the mix of joy and sadness we were feeling—especially after a week of such emotional ups and downs. Before Maariv, I opened a book by Rabbi Lugasi called “Every Delay Is for the Best.” A passage jumped out at me: it explained that Hashem’s timing doesn’t always match our own, but everything is for the best. If we can align ourselves with Hashem’s will, we’ll be more likely to see the yeshuah (salvation) we long for.

I began to repeat the words, “What Hashem wants is what I want.” I said it again and again until I felt it fill me completely. I accepted, from the depths of my heart, that this is what Hashem wanted for me—and that it was good. Before heading to shul, I told my wife, “The main thing is to be happy. Everything Hashem does is good.”

After Shabbat, my wife said she wasn’t feeling well—tired and weak. I suggested she take a pain reliever, but she insisted I go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. I hesitated. I didn’t want to see her hurt again. But she was sure, and asked me to trust her.

On the way to the pharmacy, I was so confused. I started talking to Hashem. “What do You want from me?” I asked. “We’ve tried. I’ve come to terms with our situation. I can’t bear to see my wife cry again.” I came home, and as I walked in, a song played on the radio. My wife took the test, and suddenly I heard her cry out, “I can’t believe it—it’s a Chanukah miracle! A Chanukah miracle!” I dropped everything and ran to her. I was scared—worried she was imagining things from all the pain. But then she handed me the test and burst into tears.

I looked—and I couldn’t believe it. It was real. It was positive. The miracle we had been waiting for had come. In the background, Avraham Fried’s song was playing: “You have turned my mourning into dancing for me.” The very verse I had held onto through all our pain. My wife and I cried, laughed, and held each other. We were overwhelmed. After so many years of waiting, the miracle had finally come.

The next morning, I ran to daven with such joy—and yes, we took another test just to be sure! Then I traveled to the Kotel (Western Wall) in Jerusalem, to thank Hashem from the depths of my heart.

I want to share this story with anyone still waiting for their salvation: There is no despair in the world at all. Hashem sees every tear, hears every prayer, and knows exactly when the time is right.

Happy Chanukah.

This story was published as part of the “Publicizing Miracles” project, where Hidabroot users share the wonders Hashem has done for them. Have your own miracle to share? Email debi@htv.co.il.