A dear Jew who lives in Cleveland (yes! even there people study Zera Shimshon) relates the following:
It happened not long ago, one afternoon, when my two-year-old daughter simply vanished. At first, during the first few minutes, we began to search calmly throughout the house — both floors, the basement, the yard surrounding the house, the kitchen, the bathroom, the closets, and every corner or crevice where she could have crawled into. But as the minutes went by and she still didn’t appear, I turned to my Jewish neighbors and to my relatives who live nearby, as well as to all the members of the synagogue where I pray, asking them to come and help in the search, which by then we had to expand to a larger area.
Dozens of Jews came to the area and began to search; everyone was tense and filled with anxiety. I felt that with every passing minute I was beginning to lose my mind — each moment meant fewer chances of finding her. At the same time, we called the local police, who also gave instructions and joined in the search efforts. But the baby still wasn’t found.
After more than two hours from the beginning of the incident, I was completely bewildered; I felt I could no longer do anything. Thoughts of the worst, Heaven forbid, began to invade my mind. I told myself: I no longer have the mental strength to keep searching, but I can still say Tehillim (Psalms). I took the book of Tehillim with the commentary of Zera Shimshon — a book very dear to me, which I always use in moments of favor or distress to arouse Divine mercy. I try to pray only with that book so that, while reciting Tehillim, I may also awaken salvation through the merit of the Zera Shimshon, by studying passages of his sweet and wondrous insights into the verses.
So I did in that moment of anguish, the likes of which I had never experienced; each passing instant felt like an eternity. I began to recite chapters of Tehillim and to study the explanations and teachings of Zera Shimshon, calmly and with focus — as much as possible in that state — for several long minutes.
And behold, one minute (just one!) after closing the book, my nephew came running toward me with the baby in his arms — healthy and strong. It turned out she had fallen asleep under the sofa, a place we had certainly checked before, but since she was covered with a blanket, we thought there was nothing there and didn’t notice her.
“Yeshuat Hashem keheref ayin” — “The salvation of Hashem comes in the blink of an eye.” A phrase of faith that we always repeat now took on a tangible and living meaning.
