Our family was hosting several other large families, with a lively crowd of youngsters. We climbed on the beds, jumped on the couch, built towers and tunnels with the various chairs that were at hand. Every available spot was decked with toys, skates, baseballs and jump ropes. An occasional laundry hamper or broomstick had also been enlisted in a number of “construction” projects, not to mention sheets, blankets, clothespins, and...whatever.
Our guests were so much fun, we hoped they’d stay forever.
Suddenly five-year-old Rivki gave a scream. “My earring! Where is it?”
All eyes turned to the little one, who was holding one chestnut-colored braid aloft to expose a delicate, petit earlobe that had lost its gem. We all quickly looked down and all around, but it seemed hopeless – even worse that the proverbial needle in a haystack.
The rowdy games came to an abrupt standstill. Suddenly, we were all silent – and sad.
Rivki’s mother gasped. “Why did I ever let her wear such an expensive set of earrings to this get-together!”
Chani, my ever-capable oldest sister, was the first to break the silence. “Don’t worry,” she reassured Rivki. “We’ll say ‘Amar Rabi Binyamin...,’ and I’m sure we’ll find it!”
I glanced around. The living room, the dining room, the children’s bedrooms...they bore a distinct resemblance to Erev Pesach! How could anyone – even Chani – find a tiny gold earring in this mess?
But Chani wasn’t fazed in the least. “Amar Rabi Binyamin: Hakol b’chezkas sumin...,” she proclaimed as we all focused on her. “Everyone is considered blind until Hashem gives sight to their eyes!”
Then, while Chani was on the floor near the couch (which, for the moment, had been disguised with two sheets and a stool, as a lion-hunter’s tent), the most incredible thing happened.
“Here it is!” Chani’s voice rang out in victory.
All eyes stared in disbelief as she held up a gold earring that none of us had ever expected to lay eyes on again.
Everyone called out at once.
“How did you ever find it?”
“It can’t be!”
“Really?”
Chani was not at all surprised.
“I said ‘Amar Rabi Binyamin,’” she declared, “so of course I found it. Saying ‘Amar Rabi Binyamin’ always works!”
“Not for me!” exclaimed a nearby mother.
“And not always for me, either. I still haven’t found the sugar spoon from my Shabbos cutlery that I lost two weeks ago!”
What was Chani’s secret? The segulah doesn’t consist of merely reciting a few words or sentences. What matters is whether or not the person saying these words truly believes in his heart that the Source of vision – or of any other human ability – is Hashem, and Hashem alone. Hashem knows whether we’re relying on Him and only on Him. If we truly believe that without Him we wouldn’t be able to spot an elephant at close range, the segulah will indeed help, if that is what Hashem knows is good for us right now.
