Granted, Hashem’s miracles are not all created equal. The nissim recounted in the Torah, particularly the esser makkos, kriyas Yam Suf and the many miracles that defined the lives of the dor hamidbar are unparalleled in contemporary times.
Then again, the incredible events of the Six-Day War and the heroic rescue at Entebbe remain awe-inspiring for both Jews and non-Jews alike. More recently, the unbelievable success of the Iron Dome and the countless survival stories of Operation Protective Edge are nothing to sneeze at either.
My personal miracles are admittedly not on such a grand scale. But, one does not have to be a rocket scientist or have supersonic vision to perceive the nissim that Hashem performs for us daily, albeit in a more subtle and private fashion.
One past Shabbos is a perfect illustration.
Aside from hosting nephews on both sides of the family as well as a son’s friend who joined us for lunch, I had a neighbor’s bar mitzvah penciled-in on my calendar.
A lovely family that resides in our building complex was making their very first bar mitzvah, and we were genuinely happy for them. Although the couple and their lovely children are significantly younger than we are, and we have consequently never been particularly close, this simcha was especially unique.
First of all, the bar mitzvah is their only son, flanked on either side by their beautiful soft-spoken daughters. Second, they had recently endured severe illness and major surgery, with exemplary faith and fortitude that were an inspiration to one and all.
Both my husband and I wanted to participate in their simcha and celebrate this wonderful milestone with them. As a rav of a shul some distance from our home, however, my husband finds it challenging to schedule-in local simchas on a busy Shabbos. I therefore advised him to stop by their house to wish them a hearty mazal tov after he returned from davening at his own shul.
The bar mitzvah invitation specified davening at 8:15 a.m. in a nearby shul housed in a rav’s home, followed by a kiddush in a simcha hall further up the hill. The shul was just a short walk from my apartment, and I have a strict policy of avoiding indulging in a kiddush spread, so it was a no-brainer for me to choose the former venue.
After spending some time on Shabbos morning davening brachos and setting up for lunch, I was suddenly seized with a strong desire to hurry over to the shul. When I arrived moments later, I heard Kaddish through the open window and then, remarkably, the bar mitzvah boy was called up for his aliyah. I scurried inside just in time to catch the moving moment and the requisite candy throwing that followed.
After wishing mazal tov to the radiant mother and proud aunts and grandmother, I slipped out and returned home to finish davening and preparing for my guests. Considering that I ordinarily suffer from a definite sense of bad timing, the morning’s events left me smiling broadly and shaking my head in disbelief.
Surprisingly, my husband and one son arrived home over half-an-hour earlier than usual. I excitedly shared my perfect-timing story, but my better half one upped me easily.
He was on his way home, taking his usual route down from shul, when he unexpectedly met our downstairs neighbor, practically blocking his path. The two schmoozed and exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes; then my husband politely excused himself, explaining that he was in a rush to get to our mutual neighbors’ bar mitzvah celebration.
“What do you mean?” replied our Israeli friend, with a quizzical look on his face. “Their kiddush is taking place right here, now…” With that, he turned and gestured toward the building he had just exited.
