Honoring My Father—and Hashem Protected Me

It was just an ordinary day. Before I left for school, my mother told me, “Shira, you’ll need to pick up Yarden from school today because I can’t. I’ll be teaching late.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said. “See you later.”

I told my sister, “Wait for me at the gate when the bell rings, okay?” After we agreed on a time, I headed to school.

When classes ended, I went to our meeting spot—but Yarden wasn’t there. I searched for at least half an hour, walking back and forth, but she had simply disappeared!

I walked to the public phone nearby and called my father. “Dad, I can’t find Yarden,” I said.

He replied calmly, “Look again. Maybe she’s at the meeting spot now.”

I went back and searched the school area again—still nothing. It was like she had vanished. I could feel myself getting frustrated.

“We agreed on this spot! Why isn’t she here?” I thought. “Well, I’ll call Dad again,” I decided. When he answered, I said, this time with less patience, “Dad, I can’t find her!”

He said again, “Go back and look for her!”

Honestly, I wanted to say, “Dad, it’s her problem that she didn’t come. I’m going home!” But I didn’t. Instead, I answered, “Okay, Dad, I’ll try again.”

Quickly—before I could change my mind—I turned around to head back to the school. I remember taking exactly ten steps when suddenly… I heard the terrible screeching of brakes, the shattering of glass, and then—frightening silence.

The entire street froze. It was that kind of silence that makes your heart pound. My whole body trembled. I was too scared to turn around. I just stared straight ahead.

In front of me stood five yeshiva students. I looked at their faces—they were frozen in shock, eyes wide with horror. Two more people nearby stood like statues for five long seconds. It was clear something awful had just happened right behind me.

“What happened?” I wondered. I really wanted to turn around—but I couldn’t bring myself to. I just kept walking to school. And then, who do I see? Of course—my sister. Standing right at our meeting spot, calmly licking a popsicle she had probably bought at the corner store. That’s why she was late!

“Let’s go home, Yarden. You’re late enough as it is,” I told her, and we started walking together.

My thoughts were spinning: “What happened back there? Hashem, protect us!”

As we walked, we passed by the public phone where I had made the calls—and I stopped in my tracks. The phone booth was completely crushed. The car that hit it had its front totally smashed. There was an ambulance, two police cars, and a crowd of people gathered around.

By a miracle from Heaven, I heard that the driver was only slightly injured. If I hadn’t heard that, I don’t think I would have been able to calm down at all.

After a few seconds, I whispered, “Wow. What a miracle. Thank You, Hashem.” I was just in shock. If I had insisted on going home instead of listening to my father, I would have stayed there near the phone—right when the accident happened. And the car… Hashem yishmor (God protect us), it would have hit me.

As I walked home, I couldn’t stop whispering: “Thank You, Hashem.” A special feeling filled me—a feeling I can’t quite explain. It was this strong sense that Hashem, our loving Father in Heaven, had just shown me how deeply He cares for me. How much He watches over us. And that when you do a mitzvah—especially the mitzvah of kibbud av va’em (honoring parents)—you never lose.

And to you, dear readers, I want to say: We don’t need such dramatic miracles to know that Hashem loves us. The fact that we wake up each morning is proof that Hashem wants us to be here, in this world. That He loves us with all His heart.

This story was shared as part of Hidabroot’s “Publicizing Miracles” project, where readers tell about real-life miracles they’ve experienced. Have you witnessed a miracle? Share it with us at: debi@htv.co.il.