W e Jews believe in miracles. The miracle of the oil burning for eight days is as familiar to us as any lullaby. You’d think therefore that by the time adulthood rolled along we would have a firm belief in miracles a virtual expectation of their arrival. But while some of us do many of us don’t.
“I can’t laugh anymore. My heart has a stone wrapped around it. Every time I look at my beautiful daughter — a kind accomplished 32-year-old balaas chesed whose husband walked out on her and their four children — I just want to cry. How can she rebuild her life? What normal man will want to take on the package of her and her children especially since one of her little ones has special needs? It would take a miracle.”
Yes of course — a miracle. As Jews we believe in miracles; we’ve experienced so many of them. In our daily lives we may not need the kind of miracle that defies nature. Often we simply need a miracle like that of the Maccabees’ victory — one that defies the odds. We need something that’s unlikely but not impossible.
“The doctor said that the chances of his survival are less than one in a million. He suggested that we put his affairs in order.”
