Oded Zend: "I Am Proof You Can Succeed in Life Without Fingers"

Imagine a child abandoned in a hospital, without fingers and with leg disabilities. What are the chances of such a child succeeding in life? Yet this is exactly what happened with lecturer Oded Zend. Oded, who recently published the book "With Zero Fingers," in which he narrates his life story, says in a conversation with 'Hidabroot': "My success is entirely due to the hand of divine providence that assisted me every step of the way."

Zend's life story is a whirlwind. He was born 52 years ago at the Soroka Hospital in Be'er Sheva. "I was born without fingers, and alongside that with a disability in my legs," he recounts. "I was the second son born to my parents, and when I was born, my father and mother took my disability harshly. They believed they would have a healthy child and never imagined their newborn would come with such a 'dowry' of problems. Between struggle and denial, they chose denial." Indeed, their reaction was hard to digest: "After 24 hours from birth, my mother disappeared from the hospital, leaving me alone in the nursery—a day-old infant."

Looking back, Zend gives them the benefit of the doubt. "You have to understand those were different times," he points out. "There wasn’t a support system for children with health issues like there is today. They faced a completely different reality than what we know, so I hold no grudge against them. Moreover, as a Jew who believes that everything is from above, I have no doubt that this was destined for me by divine providence."

"After my mother abandoned me, I was left alone in the hospital. Meanwhile, the hospital tried to figure out what to do with me," he recalls. "It's easy to understand the situation I was in, a child without parents is not treated as he should be." The hospital's staff tried to find an adoptive family, but the helpless infant who lay in the ward remained there for many long days. "Parents want to adopt a child to succeed in life, no one wants a disabled child," he says with acceptance.

(Photo: Courtesy of the Interviewee)

The Cancelled Adoption

How did you eventually find an adoptive family?

"Luckily, there was a religious nurse at the hospital who decided to offer me, as a mitzvah, to her aunt and uncle living in Bnei Brak. Her relatives had been married for 15 years without children. As I learned later, she suggested they adopt me, gently persuading them there was a matter of kindness here, while also being able to feel the satisfaction of raising a child. They thought about it and finally decided to adopt me."

But then a twist occurred, and the potential adoptive parents discovered they had been blessed with a pregnancy. "We don’t know the calculations of Heaven, but perhaps it happened because of the mitzvah they planned to do," Zend observes. Regardless, the idea of adoption was off the table due to their changed circumstances. "It wasn’t that they didn’t want to; they actually planned to continue with the adoption, but their doctor advised them not to. 'It's not the right time,' he clarified, and I remained at the hospital for the time being."

However, divine providence led the uncle of the nurse to share the situation with a friend at his workplace. "He came to work that day with a worried expression," Zend recounts. "His friend, upon hearing the good news, wondered why he looked so sad instead of rejoicing over being blessed. In response, he shared the situation that had arisen and his sorrow over leaving me at the hospital after he and his wife had already bonded with me during the adoption preparations. Thanks to this conversation, the friend directed him to someone who would eventually adopt me."

"He was a righteous man who survived the horrors of the Holocaust," Zend refers to his adoptive father. "He and his wife had children, but they thought to adopt me as an act of kindness, as mentioned earlier, after hearing about the case from the intended adopter who was blessed." Rabbi Zend and his wife decided finally to adopt Oded after learning that only Christians would agree to adopt children that no one else would, with the intention of converting them, God forbid."

The rest, as they say, is history: At 6 weeks old, Oded came to his adoptive parents' home, to the family that was destined to become his: "They had five children before me, and I was the sixth and final child to join the family."

Before we continue the story, Oded wishes to focus on the unique character of his adoptive father: "He passed away three years ago, at the age of 93." His mother, may she be well, still gets to see the joy from her adopted son and his children. Speaking of his father, who took such a decisive step, he recounts: "He was a Jew who took care with his words. Not only did he not speak *lashon hara* (evil speech), he also did not utter unnecessary words. He buried his parents during the Holocaust with his own hands and did not complain. After he immigrated from war-torn Europe, without any extended family who were all murdered in the Holocaust, may God avenge their blood, he joined the Yeshiva 'Sfat Emet,' becoming a Gerrer Hasid."

"I remember he would rise every morning around 3:00 a.m., to serve his Creator. In earlier years, he even volunteered with an organization promoting Shabbat observance on Bnei Brak's roads (of course, these were different times when it was not so taken for granted, D.P). There was only one problem with him," Oded laughs, "he wouldn’t engage in idle talk, so no one wanted to volunteer with him..."

The Kindergarten Teacher Who Overcame Stigmas

Can you describe how it feels to be adopted?

"I had a very warm and loving home. I felt very good with my adoptive parents and never felt different. The struggle was more outside than inside, because there were people whispering behind my back that I wasn’t part of the family. I would hear their whispers, and it hurt me greatly. But I'm sure no one intended to offend me or do it maliciously."

Yet, despite the adoption, Oded's significant challenge was and remains the absence of fingers.

What was the reaction to your hands from those around you?

"This accompanied me always, and I expand on it in my book. I’ll give a few examples: When my mother first took me to kindergarten, she realized firsthand how difficult it is to raise a child without fingers. The teacher she approached to enroll me was very alarmed and said to her, 'Under no circumstances, your son will not attend my kindergarten.' It is important to note that fifty years ago all kindergartens were private, and the teacher feared it would hurt the reputation of her kindergarten. She claimed that it could harm the other children, so she could not accept me. Of course, my parents had no choice but to raise me at home without me attending kindergarten."

Fortunately for the family, at that time there was a kind-hearted teacher named Tova Hershkowitz, a Chabad Hasid, who agreed to accept the disabled child. "She only asked that I not come on the first day of school, so the children could get used to the place. And it worked. When I arrived at the kindergarten, the teacher wisely sat me next to her and gave me different responsibilities, allowing the children to come close to me despite my limitations. Parents told the teacher that their children came home saying there was a child in kindergarten without hands who knows how to draw...

"From there, I continued onward through the regular path. Of course, here and there, there were 'incidents,' but not much beyond that. The problems arose mostly at the beginnings: In first grade, I remember kids asking me various questions, like whether my fingers had broken. It didn't offend me; I told them with a child's innocence that with Hashem's help, when the Messiah comes soon, I would be like everyone else."

"In later childhood, whenever I walked down the street, or went to the synagogue or any new place, I would be scrutinized. It only took one child to see me and focus on my hands for others to join and stare at me as if I were a display doll. The worst was when I was alone, feeling exposed alone to all the children. All I could do in those moments was pray silently to Hashem, asking for help. I must note that from this situation, I felt a very strong closeness to God."

(Photo: Courtesy of the Interviewee)

The challenges continued when Zend moved onto the yeshiva: "Again, I began with friends who didn’t know me, and I remember how often it arose who the guy without the fingers was. Luckily, I had friends who knew me beforehand, which cushioned my entry into the yeshiva. On this background, I recall a funny anecdote from those days, in which there was a guy who feared touching my hand, possibly thinking he would catch something from me. However, at one instance when I emerged from the dormitory kitchen, that guy approached from the opposite direction. A mutual friend who knew me previously took the opportunity to break the ice. He said, 'You haven't been introduced yet,' and casually combined our hands in a mock handshake. From then on, that guy’s apprehension disappeared."

The matchmaking phase was also complex for Zend. While all his friends got engaged and married one after another, he was left behind. "I married almost at 25. The proposals that came were not very good, so I had to wait until then. That period wasn’t easy. I strengthened myself in faith and even utilized my time to obtain an ordination. Later, I published a book from my studies during that time, from which hundreds of copies were sold."

A Meeting with a Struggling Family

Do you feel that you've also received heavenly gifts along with the challenges?

"Undoubtedly, all these challenges gave me life perspectives and maturity," he replies. "Once a person is exposed to many things, it toughens them. The disability also gives me strength to understand those around me better. I developed a kind of sensitivity to the human soul. Another gift I received is the ability to be independent. It was hard to find work as an employee, and only because of this I am independent today."

Zend mentions another event where he saw special personal providence due to his condition: "In one of my bachelor years, a matchmaking proposal emerged which eventually fell apart due to my disability. I found it very hard in those days. Years later they called to apologize, after a few years of marriage without children, fearing that I held a grudge against them."

Overall, Zend sees his disability as a mission. "Today I volunteer in hospitals, where I see people who've had their arms or legs amputated. I also notice the differences between my state, where I never had fingers, to those who did and now have to adapt to the lack, which is much harder. I try to comfort them as much as I can and teach them that you can learn to live with it."

In one instance, he was invited to a family that had a child born without fingers. "It was a very dramatic meeting," he recalls. "The child had a similar story to mine, with both his hands and legs. He was five months old, and the whole family was struggling to get back on their feet after the event. A friend arranged the meeting, and I came to the family to talk and soothe. What especially intrigued them was seeing what an adult person looks like who resembles their infant in condition."

"I’ll never forget that meeting. They began asking questions like whether I can open a bottle or a bag, or if I can write. I assured them that I could, and I saw them gradually relaxing."

"Before I left, the mother told me it was very hard for the children to go outside with the child. I gathered them and said that at first, everyone will look and talk, but eventually, they’ll get used to it, and it will become much easier for them, at least in their environment. Then I learned they weren't taking the child to family celebrations, nor allowing babysitters into their home because of him. Sadly, I told them that if they had hidden me, I wouldn’t have reached where I am today. They answered, 'Your parents didn’t care because they were your adoptive parents; here, this is our biological child.' Their answer surprised me for a moment, but then Hashem gave me the right words, and I said, 'Perhaps you should also give this child up for adoption, so the adoptive family won’t be ashamed of him?' At that moment, they all said they didn’t want that, and they wanted the child with them. I believe this realization brought a significant change there."

Is there anything you find particularly challenging?

"I cannot roll a Torah scroll. In the past, there was an incident when I arrived at a synagogue where on Mondays and Thursdays they honored young men with rolling the Torah scroll. Often, I would step out when it was time for rolling, but once I didn’t get out in time and was invited. I signaled I couldn’t, and the prayer continued."

"Towards the end of the prayer, an elderly man approached me and began scolding, to protest the Torah scroll’s dignity, noting it is forbidden. Initially, I tried to evade, but seeing he persisted, I took my hands out of my pockets, and he, in response, was very embarrassed and left."

In conclusion, Zend's message is to judge everyone favorably: "If a person receives a test—they should know they are not given a test they cannot withstand. They should accept it and learn to live in the present, not in the past."