As my older brothers and sisters got married, the reality that I never would began to take root. As I was passed over with most everything else in life, I was left home as my younger sister got married and then again as the youngest, my brother, also took a wife. I walked through the house like a shadow, my parents looking at me like I was a burden and doing their best to avoid me. Being the way I was, I could not find a job, I had no friends and I was totally miserable at home. So, at age 23, I concocted a story that I had received an invitation to spend the summer with an old classmate in Israel and my parents simply nodded their heads and encouraged me to stay on if I liked it there. On a sunny day in June, I packed my bags, settled personal business and then boarded an El Al flight for the greatest adventure of my life.
I was shocked and overjoyed to find work and acceptance in a medical facility for wounded soldiers, almost as soon as I arrived in Eretz Yisroel. I became fast friends with the people I worked with, who did not understand why I tried to hide my left side. One day, a badly burned soldier looked at me as I was tending to his wounds, noticing how I burrowed the left side of my face into my neck. Before I could move away, he said I was foolish for trying to hide and that what he saw was a beautiful and caring young woman who, unlike himself, had every possibility to live a happy and purposeful life without any need for shame. His words brought tears to my eyes and I had to quickly leave the room. As I stood in a corner in the hallway, a doctor whom I had assisted a few times
before, came over to me. Oren, a reconstructive surgeon, spoke in a gentle voice and asked me if he could be of help and, in spite of my protests, insisted on offering his surgical services to reconstruct the damage on my face. He believed that he could successfully reconstruct the damaged left side to appear normal and balanced with the right side. When I explained I could not cover the exorbitant expense of such a surgery, he told me that in Israel that wasn’t a problem. So he scheduled me for surgery.
As I was wheeled into the operating room, I was overwhelmed with fright but the love of the staff who saw me as an equal and accepted me unconditionally enveloped me. The surgery took ten hours and I spent another four in recovery. When I came to, most of my face and head was wrapped in bandages and I could only see through my right eye. When it was time for the bandages to be removed, I was terrified. I sat up in the reclining chair as Oren snipped away at the outer layers of the bandages until I could feel the air on my skin. A mirror was placed it front of me, and there staring back, was a face that was understandably swollen and stitched but looked even and symmetrical! For the first time, my tears were tears of pure joy.
Each passing day proved a wonder. A month and a half after the surgery, I was almost completely healed and my friends presented me with a lovely assortment of cosmetics to cover the light scarring which would eventually disappear. Now four months post surgery, the face that stares back at me in the mirror is the face I was always meant to have, not in vanity but with humble gratitude, a beautiful and happy face looking forward to a bright and joyous life. Oren is a constant in my life and, just yesterday, he asked to marry me and, needless to say, I accepted.