It started with a car door.
A woman parked her car and swung her door open just as we were passing. It hit our vehicle hard. Instead of apologizing, she insisted we had driven into her door. She threatened to sue us. I was furious. I told my husband we had to fight back, to take her to court. But he refused.
My husband avoids conflict – not out of weakness, but out of strength. He chooses peace over pride. He said, “Let it go,” and continued driving, even with the damage glaring back at us. Out of respect, I let the matter rest. But inside, I still wanted justice. So I turned to prayer.
I asked G-d to find another way – maybe someone else would hit that spot, and then the car would get fixed. It was a strange prayer, but I meant it sincerely. And then, the next day, something even stranger happened.
While driving, a car next to me swerved – no reason, no signal – and slammed right into the exact same spot. The driver, a young woman named Liora, jumped out, apologizing repeatedly. She said she was new behind the wheel and didn’t want to go through insurance. “I’ll pay whatever it costs,” she said.
It seemed as if my prayer had been answered. We exchanged contact info, and I told her I’d speak to my husband. But when I explained the situation to him, my husband said gently, “You know we can’t take anything from her. That spot was already damaged. According to Jewish law, we can’t accept payment when the harm can’t be clearly traced.”
I was stunned. Everything had lined up so perfectly. My heart cried, This was your chance! But my conscience said otherwise. I wrestled with the decision. It was hard – harder than I expected. But in the end, I called Liora and told her she owed nothing. She was shocked.
“You’re the most honest person I’ve met,” she said. “Because of you, I promise I’ll fast next year on Tisha B’Av.” I didn’t expect her to mean it. But a year later, as the fast ended, I told my husband, “I wish I could know if Liora kept her word.” Just then, a message popped up on my phone.
It was Liora. – and more. She had started keeping Shabbat. “All because of your honesty,” she wrote.
That same evening, during the fast, I had been reading about Tisha B’Av and came across a verse in Zechariah 8:19, a prophecy I had never seen before. It reads:
“Thus says the L-rd of Hosts: The fasts of the fourth, fifth, seventh, and tenth months will become times of joy and gladness, cheerful festivals for the house of Judah. Therefore, love truth and peace.”
It was as if the words had been written about my own journey. The decision I had made the previous year – on that very same date – had been one of truth and peace, even though it came at a cost. And now, through Liora’s transformation and this teaching from Zechariah, I understood something deeper: G-d desires not just ritual mourning, but honesty between people. The fast itself is meant to lead us toward integrity and compassion.
My husband, a devoted Talmudist, had quietly led me toward this truth without force or pressure – simply through his own unwavering integrity. And because of that, a broken moment was mended in ways far greater than a car could ever show.
This is the story that taught me what balance really means: choosing truth over impulse, restraint over revenge, peace over proof. Balance leads to peace. And peace – I’ve come to believe – is the reason the world was created for.
