Latkah’s survival inspires newborn hope in Chanukah miracles

Reflecting on my littlest miracle, as I celebrate the 12th birthday of the baby who we so fondly named “Latkah” while still in the womb; the little bundle expected to be born on the last day of Chanukah. 

After a healthy pregnancy and a planned C-section, little Latkah entered this world on a rainy Thursday morning. He took his first breath, and realised that his tiny lungs just weren’t doing the job. Unbeknown to us, this little guy had contracted a virus from me in utero. The Adenovirus, a normal flu-type virus, while mostly harmless, is potentially fatal to newborn babies. 

Whisked off to neonatal ICU, where he would spend the next two weeks fighting for every breath and for his life, there was no time for skin on skin, sleepy cuddles, or bonding time. Latkah was up for the fight of his life. And so were we. 

Lying in the Parklane Clinic, trying to recover from the caesarean and anaesthetic, I recall hearing the nurses wailing and yelling in the passages as it had just been reported that Nelson Mandela had passed away. I couldn’t help but feel annoyed that they were mourning the death of a 94-year-old man, while my baby hadn’t even lived for 24 hours, and it wasn’t clear that he would. 

By Saturday night, we were advised by a great rabbi to name our baby, which is usually done only on day eight when a baby is circumcised, and to “pray for a miracle” through the hands of our incredibly wise and kind paediatrician, Dr Jack Kussel. 

Choosing a name on the spot was easy. I had been praying all day, “El Chanan. G-d have mercy. Find chayn [favour] in this little boy, and heal him.” 

His name would be Elchanan! 

Nothing can prepare a mom for the sight of her newborn lying among endless machines, tubes and wires, all fighting to keep him alive and heal his little body. 

I remember looking around ICU at all the tiny premmie babas and begging my 3.6kg, chubby cheeked oke, “Come on Latkah! Look how big and strong you are, lying next to all these little chickens. How can they be doing so well, and you are the sick one in this room?” 

Our beautiful community rallied. Groups of women and men were saying psalms and praying for the speedy recovery of Elchanan ben Chava. 

Thanks to the brilliant doctors at Parklane Clinic, the incredible nursing staff, and the grace of G-d, we miraculously brought our boy home two weeks later. Even Dr Kussel was amazed that such a sick baby could make a 100% recovery with no long term health issues at all. 

When G-d gifts us with an open miracle, it’s incumbent upon us to publicise it. It’s for this reason that we light our menorah in our windows every Chanukah – to make sure that the miracle of Chanukah and the survival of the Jewish nation can be remembered for all to see. This is why I wish to share Latkah’s story: to let people know that miracles do happen, and we cannot lose hope. 

Our beautiful boy radiates the gift of life that he has been given. His face shines with the “chayn” that I prayed and cried so hard for Hashem to find within him 12 years ago. Everyone he meets is taken by his gentle mischievous smile and sparkling eyes. I would be lying if I said that my parenting of Elchanan isn’t slightly different to that of my other three zuliks. He tends to get away with a little more, and he knows it. I just have a soft spot for this little fighter who almost wasn’t. 

May he grow up to be a pillar of the community that prayed for him, and may his life and impact on this world surpass even that of the late, great Nelson Mandela. 

• Casey Shevel, otherwise known as #momofboys, is a mom, author, speaker, matchmaker, dating coach, and lover of all things heart-shaped.