means my bracha has been denied. When I get back to Israel, I’m going to have to tell the doctors to go ahead with the amputation. What quality of life will I have now?”
The bitterness and despair in his voice made tears spring to my eyes. I desperately wanted to help him, but I didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Wait, Ziv! When you said your birthday is next week, did you mean your Jewish birthday, or your secular birthday?”
“My secular birthday, of course,” Ziv answered.
“Well, when we’re talking about the neshama, we go according to the Jewish calendar. Do you know your Jewish birthday?”
“Yes,” Ziv replied. “It’s Chof Alef Iyar.”
I grabbed him in a giant bear hug.
“Ziv! Ziv!” I cried joyfully. “Do you know what today is? It’s Chof Alef Iyar! Happy birthday! You were zoche to visit the Rebbe’s Ohel on your birthday, so I’m sure everything will turn out fine. You’re actually 25 today! Let’s say kapitel chof vav, your new kapitel.”
As we read the Psalm together, Ziv’s mouth dropped open and tears ran down his cheeks. The kapitel mentions hands three times, including a specific mention of the right arm.
“I got my bracha,” Ziv whispered to himself, over and over. “I got my bracha!”
Later that day, Ziv called me over urgently. “Look, Rabbi!” He showed me how he was able to wiggle his arm back and forth. “I have movement in my arm! I can’t believe it!”
When we returned to Israel, Ziv went to his doctor.
“Nu?” the doctor asked. “What did you decide about the amputation?”
In answer, Ziv showed off the movement he’d regained in his arm. The doctor sat up straight in his chair and stared in utter disbelief.
“Which specialist did you see when you went to New York?” he demanded, angrily.
“Ah! The most important specialist in the world!” Ziv replied, laughing. “I got a bracha from the Lubavitcher Rebbe!”
Needless to say, Ziv did not need an amputation. He soon regained full control of his arm.
