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Two days before Pesach, my daughter slammed her finger in our front door.

She’s a very stoic sort usually, so when she started squealing and saying ‘ow’ loudly I paid attention. Her finger started spurting some blood, she started freaking out, and I knew there was a trip to Terem on the cards, even though I HATE going near any Western medical doctors for any reason.

Before we left, I doused her finger with some helichrysum essential oil, because I know that takes down swelling and promotes bone healing, and I also spent another five minutes poking her uninjured hand with my Su Jok probe, to start stimulating the healing process in her injured finger ‘electrically’.

The last and most important thing I did was ask my husband to immediately make a sizeable donation to Rav Berland as a pidyon Nefesh payment for my daughter. (You can read more about how a pidyon Nefesh works, and why it’s so important, HERE.)

Let’s be clear that my daughter is used to my weird ways with her health issues, but still got a little impatient that I insisted on stabbing her with my Su Jok stick before we got to the ER.

“I’m doing this to give you the best possible chance of healing without the doctors going off on one,” I told her.

But she wasn’t impressed.

We got to Terem, and as I wrote a little while back, after an X-ray, a tetanus shot, and a big speech about why my daughter needed a whole bunch of antibiotics and an urgent visit to an orthopaedic surgeon two days later, we got discharged with the prognosis that she’d sustained an open (or compound) fracture.

I got home, googled ‘compound fracture’ and grimaced. It sounded pretty bad. It’s when the bone breaks, and then breaks through the skin in an open wound, which can be very susceptible to infections, and much harder to heal than a regular fracture. All the American sites warned me sternly that I’d need surgery to deal with a compound fracture (gulp).

The British NHS website was much more down to earth, and explained that surgery was sometimes necessary in complicated breaks, but very often not. (Phew).

I tried making the appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon, but in the meantime no-one was answering the phone, even after I hung on the line for ages. Pesach was approaching, so I decided to take a wait-and-see approach and try to make another appointment after Seder night had passed.

In the meantime, I prayed on my daughter’s health and finger –

That it would heal, that she wouldn’t get an infection, God forbid, that the antibiotics shouldn’t stuff up her health in other ways, God forbid; I used helichrysum essential oil instead of the antibiotic ointment, and I continued to stab her other hand with my Su Jok probe, to stimulate her body’s own healing response.

A few days later, her finger looked really, really good (relatively….). Hmm. She told me it wasn’t even hurting now. Hmm. I took a deep breath and called up the orthopaedic surgeon to make the appointment.

As I mentioned previously, I generally hate Western medical doctors, and the ones in Israel are often particularly arrogant, fear-mongering and generally horrible to deal with.

So with some trepidation I showed up to the appointment, prepared to defend using germ-killing essential oils instead of antibacterial creams, and prepared to argue that my daughter didn’t need urgent surgery on her finger…

The doctor we saw was a really cool, older guy who was not at all from the ‘fear-mongering-surgery-at-all-costs’ school. He took one look at my daughter’s finger, poked it a bit, asked her if it hurt, pulled up her x-ray, then told us something amazing: There was no fracture.

Not even a regular one, let alone a compound one.

She didn’t need any more bandages, treatment or even special precautions with her finger. And she probably also wouldn’t even lose her fingernail. I was astounded!

The pidyon Nefesh with Rav Berland had clearly kicked in, and God had done a miracle for us. Back in Terem, I’d argued about the antibiotics, which is when they went to town on me (and my daughter…) and told us she’d probably need surgery blah blah blah… and it was an open fracture blah blah blah… and they’d checked it all on the x-ray blah blah blah….

Was the miracle that they’d made a mistake in Terem, and told us it was fractured when it wasn’t? Maybe. Or maybe, it really was fractured back then, but now it wasn’t. Either way, I was thrilled.

There’s an idea that when God does a miracle for you, you should publicise it. I decided to write this up to encourage you, dear reader, to put God and pidyon Nefesh in the picture as much as possible with your own health issues.

The more we make space in our lives for the miracles to happen, the more we’ll see them.

One of the reasons I love going to Uman with a group, as opposed to on my own, or just with my family, is because I always hear such amazing stories from the other people in my group.

I want to share a couple of the ones I heard on my latest trip with you here, one today, and one tomorrow:

Story number 1

Ilanit comes from Tel Aviv. She showed up on the bus to Uman replete with fashionable UGG boots; fashionable pompom hat; fashionable stretch leggings; and a whole bunch of expensive jewellery, to boot.

She’d bought her three Tel Aviv roommates with her (also with their UGG boots) and this is her story:

Two years’ ago, after 30 years of marriage, her mother decided that she’d had enough, and was filing for divorce. Ilanit was 24 at the time, and she says she took it really hard, to see her whole family life being ripped apart.

She’d never been to synagogue in her life, but she found one in her neighbourhood, sat there, and cried her eyes out. While she was sitting there, she saw a copy of the ‘Tikkun HaKlali’, the 10 psalms that Rebbe Nachman prescribed for fixing our souls at their root, and said them. Then, she made a promise to Rebbe Nachman that if he got her parents back together, she’d come and visit him.

A few weeks’ later, she got a phone call from her mother, who was sitting having breakfast with her father, having decided to reconcile with him.

“What happened?!” a stunned Ilanit wanted to know.

“Don’t ask!” her mum replied. “I don’t really know! But we’re back together.”

That happened on a Monday, and Wednesday, she flew out to Uman, to keep her promise.

She came back this year with her three roommates, to say thank you for saving her parents’ marriage.

Story number 2

There was a frum couple, already in their early fifties, who showed up to the grave with a stack of fliers to give out, and two babies. The fliers told their story: They’d been married for more than two decades, and hadn’t had any children.

They’d tried everything: there wasn’t a doctor, a specialist, a rabbi, a segula that they hadn’t tried to merit having children. They’d literally spent hundreds of thousands of dollars flying all over the world, trying to find the person, the solution, that was going to enable them to have children.

One day, the couple met a Breslever chassid, who told them they needed to go to the biggest doctor in the world. The man was all ears: who was he? Where did he live? The chassid told him: ‘Rebbe Nachman, in Uman’ – and by his own admission, the man was pretty turned off.

After all, they’d already tried every rabbi, every Admor, and no-one had been able to help them.

“Ah, but Rebbe Nachman is a doctor, not just a Rebbe. He’s going to fix your problem at its root.”

The man was still not very impressed, but his wife felt it was worth a shot: why not? They’d tried everything else. Finally he agreed to visit the grave in Uman, but on condition that he was only going to stay for 10 minutes.

The couple arrived, and he reminded his wife to be waiting outside for him, promptly, after 10 minutes.

The man stepped into the enclosure around the kever – and immediately started crying. He stood there, sobbing from the depths of his heart, for two and a half hours solid, without keeping track of the time.

Suddenly, he looked at the clock, and realised his wife had probably been waiting for him, and wondering what had happened to him, for two hours already.

He rushed outside to find her – and just at that moment, he saw her coming out of the entrance to the women’s section. Turns out, she’d also stepped inside, and started sobbing hysterically. She’d only just come to her senses, and was rushing outside to find her husband.

A year later, the couple were blessed with twins.

They came back to Uman to say thank you to Rebbe Nachman for their miracle, and to share their story.

I just came back from my seventh trip to Rebbe Nachman’s grave in Uman, and as usual, it was quite a trip.

Each time you go to Uman, it’s a whole different experience. I went with a group headed up by Rav Ofer Erez, and the Rav explained that each time you come to Uman, Rebbe Nachman is working to open up new paths in your heart, in your soul, and in your life.

When I first heard this idea (on trip number 6, last year) – I actually didn’t so believe it. I’ve had trips where I’ve gone and come back, and apparently, not much really changed tangibly- at least, that I could obviously see and experience.

But the last two trips have proven me completely wrong, and Rav Erez completely right.

After trip number 6, this is (a partial list…) of what happened to me:

  • I broke my foot
  • I got really ill and thought I was dying
  • I made a whole load of teshuva (as a result of 2, above), which meant making peace with people I swore I was never going to speak to again
  • I moved to Jerusalem
  • I moved again, within Jerusalem, four months later
  • I opened a new business in the Old City, with my husband
  • I closed the new business in the Old City, as it flopped spectacularly
  • I had massive tests of emuna, and thought I was turning into a heretic G-d forbid
  • I quit my eight year long stint of writing for Breslev world
  • I encouraged my husband to get his smicha, and become a real rabbi
  • I realised I didn’t (actually, couldn’t) be chareidi
  • I started a new blog (emunaroma)
  • I retrained as an aromatherapist, and then retrained again as a energy tracker, and then retrained again, in energy psychology
  • I tried to be an official emuna coach
  • I stopped trying to be an official emuna coach

I’m leaving out a lot of big stuff that’s too personal to write, even for me, but you can see that a lot of earth-shaking stuff happened in the last ten months.

It’s the day after I came back from trip number 7, but I can already tell you that my whole life has changed around again, and is on a completely new track. How do I know? Isn’t it too soon to tell?

Not really, because this time I realised that all the massive challenges I’ve had the last few years were all actually only good. They were all designed to break my heart of stone, and to help me break a massive, and massively negative internal pattern that has been governing my life since childhood.

The short version of this trip to Uman is that I spent a whole day literally crying my heart out, and then felt so much better, happier and lighter. G-d, Rebbe Nachman, restored my faith in Tzadikim; restored my faith in G-d’s goodness, kindness and justice; and filled me up with hope and emuna again that my ‘real life’ is going to be amazingly good again.

How that’s actually going to play out in my life, my career, my family life, my bank account, I have no idea.

But one thing I can tell you: I didn’t ‘do’ anything this trip to Uman. I just sat there, and got fixed, finally.

I came with a whole bunch of anger, resentment, heresy (probably) and despair, and I left with hope. And if that isn’t an open miracle, then I don’t what is.