Healing from the Heart: A Headache, a Mistaken Word—and a Powerful Reminder from Above

On the 15th of Adar in the year 5746 (1986), while many were still celebrating Purim, a deep sadness spread through the streets of Jerusalem. Just two days earlier, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, one of the greatest Torah leaders of the generation, had passed away in the United States. His holy body was flown to Israel for burial, and thousands came to accompany him on his final journey to Har HaMenuchot.

Even though Purim is a day of joy when mourning and eulogies are usually not allowed, the gravity of the loss was too great. Leading rabbis stood and spoke with broken hearts, honoring the man who had guided an entire generation with his wisdom and humility. When the speeches ended, the funeral continued toward the cemetery, and afterward, many rushed home to resume the Purim feast, torn between celebration and grief.

Not long after the funeral, something strange happened.

One of the men who had attended the funeral suddenly began suffering from terrible headaches. At first, he hoped they would pass. But days turned into weeks. He visited doctors, tried treatments, and searched for answers—but the pain only grew worse. It reached a point where daily life became unbearable, and his anxiety grew with each passing day.

In his distress, he turned to Rabbi Raphael Levin, a kind and sensitive sage known for his deep spiritual insight. Rabbi Raphael had inherited from his father, Rabbi Aryeh Levin, a rare tradition: how to cast a lot using verses from the Bible—a method passed down from the Vilna Gaon to help guide lost souls in times of confusion.

Rabbi Raphael performed the lot and read the verse that appeared:

“And why were you not afraid to speak against My servant, Moses?” (Numbers 12:8)

He looked at the man. “Does this verse mean anything to you?” he asked gently.

The man thought for a moment and shook his head. “No, nothing.”

“Try to remember,” Rabbi Raphael encouraged him. “Did you perhaps say something… maybe even lightly… that could be seen as disrespectful toward a righteous person?”

The man went silent. Then, a shiver passed through him.

“Yes,” he whispered. “At the funeral of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein… the eulogies were so long. I turned to the person next to me and said, ‘It’s Purim today. Maybe it would be better to shorten the speeches, so everyone can go celebrate and fulfill the holiday properly.’”

He hadn’t meant any harm. He wasn’t mocking, just thinking practically. But heaven, it seemed, held his words to a higher standard—especially when it came to honoring a righteous soul.

Without delay, the man gathered a group of ten others and traveled back to the gravesite of Rabbi Feinstein. He stood by the grave, removed one of his shoes as a sign of humility and mourning, and asked for forgiveness with all his heart.

The moment he finished his prayer… the headache vanished.

Completely.

That pain that had weighed on him for weeks, the anxiety that clouded every day—it was gone in an instant.

Sometimes we forget just how powerful our words are, how deeply the soul responds to truth, humility, and respect. And sometimes, the heavens respond with a whisper, a headache, and—when we listen—a healing that leaves no doubt.