When Faith Heals: A Mother’s Journey of Prayer and Hope

It didn’t happen during Chanukah, but every year as the holiday approaches, this story fills my heart with hope and gratitude.

I was a mother of four small children. During summer vacation, I took all four to a daycare run by a kind woman who agreed to watch them while I went to work.

I arrived with all four kids. The oldest was only five and a half years old. They ran ahead, opening the entrance door to the building, while I followed behind, holding my youngest, who was just a year and a half. I was sure all of them were already ahead of me, so I stepped inside.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind me, and I heard a piercing cry. It was my second daughter, who was four and a half years old—and she wasn’t with the others; she was behind me.

I quickly put down the little one and ran to her. What I saw was every mother’s nightmare: the top part of her finger was almost cut off, hanging by just a thin thread.

I rushed her to the hospital. She hugged her beloved blanket tightly, screaming, and blood poured from her hand. On the way, I cried and prayed to Hashem, whispering Psalms (Tehillim) and begging for mercy. While trying to calm my daughter, my heart broke alongside hers.

At the hospital, they gave her morphine to ease the pain and rushed her into surgery. The nurse told me, “It’s lucky the head of the plastic surgery department is here today. That’s good luck.”

My daughter was put under anesthesia, and I waited outside, praying, crying, and making promises to Hashem. All I wanted was for my daughter’s finger to be okay.

When the surgery ended, the doctor called me in.

“What does the doctor say?” I asked, my voice trembling with fear.

“The nerve was fully cut. I did my best to fix it… now we just hope for the best.”

I didn’t understand what “hope for the best” meant.

The doctor explained, “We hope the blood supply to the finger will return. If not, the finger won’t grow properly. She also has a fracture.”

“When will we know?” I asked, barely holding back tears.

“In about a month to three months. Come back for a check-up in a week,” he said, then left the room.

I looked up to heaven and whispered, “Only You are the Healer of all flesh and the Worker of wonders.”

My daughter slowly opened her eyes and called softly, “Mom, where are you?”

I bent down and saw a tiny smile on her face. Then she suddenly giggled and said, “Mom, why do you have three eyes? And two noses and two mouths?”

We went home. Her pain was intense, and for three nights, none of us slept well.

I decided I would not give up on my daughter’s finger. I would do what every Jewish mother knows how to do: pray—pray with all my heart.

I began a campaign of prayer. I recited Psalms, lit candles in memory of the righteous (a common Jewish practice to bring merit), gave charity, and most of all, spoke to Hashem with my whole heart.

“Father in heaven,” I prayed, “please let my daughter be able to fulfill the mitzvah (commandment) of separating challah”—a beautiful mitzvah performed by separating a small portion of dough when baking bread. I imagined her lifting the challah portion with her right hand, all her fingers whole and healthy.

I pictured her lighting Shabbat candles, building a warm and holy home.

And I kept praying and hoping.

A week later, we returned to the hospital for an X-ray and to see the surgeon.

He studied the X-ray and said, “Only you religious people see such miracles. Everything is fine with the finger!”

For those of us who believe, no matter where we are, Hashem is ready for us to look up, pray, and ask. And He, the Healer of all, will do amazing things.

This story is part of the “Pirsumai Nisa” project, where Hidabroot users share personal miracles they’ve experienced. Have you had a miracle to share? Send your story to debi@htv.co.il