Chana* began volunteering in the pediatric oncology ward, sitting beside frail little patients, holding their hands, softly singing. Soon she became one of the most devoted volunteers—staying overnight so exhausted parents could rest, spending Shabbos in the hospital when needed, and becoming a familiar face at Sloan Kettering and Hackensack. It was emotionally draining, yet it filled her with purpose. She laughed and cried with “her” children and their families, celebrated small miracles, and davened through setbacks.
Slowly, a thought began to take shape: Maybe this is what I’m meant to do. Accounting had never made her heart come alive like this. Despite her parents’ hesitation—“After all that schooling for accounting, now this?”—she enrolled in nursing school. The workload was grueling, but her determination never wavered.
Nurses told her that her volunteer work was the best training she could have for her chosen specialty, pediatric oncology. During that time, she met eight-year-old Hudis*, whose smile could light up a hospital room. When treatments stopped working, Chana became like family—playing games, making her laugh, and sitting through long nights at her bedside. Hudis’s parents, overwhelmed with seven other young children, leaned on Chana for help.
Often, she’d relieve Hudis’s uncle, Sender*, a quiet man who learned or said Tehillim beside her bed. When she took over his shift, he’d greet Chana with a soft nod—“Rough night. She coded twice.”
Chana one commented to Hudis’s mother how she marveled at how Sender, a young married man, was so devoted to Hudis, leaving his wife and children to sit nights in the hospital.
Hudis’s mother told her, “Sender isn’t married. He got divorced right after his chasunah—his wife had hidden a severe mental illness. He never speaks badly of her. Such a tzaddik.”
Chana was stunned. She assumed he was married because of the tallis bag he always carried, on his way to Shacharis after a night’s shift. She would have never guessed. She had always recognized Sender’s calm strength and shining middos. Now she saw him differently—someone who’d endured pain yet carried himself with quiet dignity. Half-jokingly, she told her parents, “If he weren’t divorced, he’d be perfect.” Her mother was not amused.
Hudis’s condition worsened, and unfortunately, she was niftar. Chana was heartbroken and stayed close to the family through shivah. Weeks later, Hudis’s mother called. “Chana... my brother Sender would like to meet you. Would you consider it?”
Chana froze. She thought long and hard, sought hadrachah, and everyone said the same: Sender was exceptional. His divorce wasn’t his fault. His middos and devotion to learning spoke louder than anything else. Chana agreed to meet him. When they met—something just clicked. Their values aligned. A while later, they were engaged.
It’s been ten years. They have built a beautiful family. Sender learns in kollel; Chana works part-time as a pediatric oncology nurse. Every day she thanks Hashem for orchestrating events to bring her together with Sender, and for giving her the clarity to see beyond externals.
Reprinted from the Parshas Vayeira 5786 email of The Weekly Vort. Excerpted from the ArtScroll book – “Another Handful of Stars.”
