What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?

Five years ago, this month, we got our youngest daughter, Shaina’s devastating BPAN diagnosis. I remember the suffocating realisation that our lives would never be the same. I worried how we would manage as a family and how I would maintain my role as a rabbi. I was terrified that our community members might feel they could no longer impose on us for guidance and support.

Deeply anxious, I reached out to a rabbi I greatly respect. He listened compassionately to my concerns and then stunned me with the words, “One day, you will thank Hashem for this experience”. I was confused. How could he suggest that we would ever be grateful for this heartbreak? At that moment, I was hurt. His words felt like a sharp disconnect from our pain. But somewhere deep down, I hoped, even believed he could be right.

Fast forward five years.

Shaina is a tremendous blessing- For our family, our community, her school, her medical team and the hundreds of strangers privileged to cross her path.

We understood that Shaina’s journey to change our lives. We didn’t anticipate that it would be for the better. We have learned patience, a new language, and how to see the world through innocent eyes. We have met beautiful people and shared profoundly meaningful experiences.

Her journey challenges us daily. Managing her five-times-a-day medications, multidisciplinary therapy and regular checkups is draining. Worrying about her next medical emergency or potential regression occupies too much brain space. We are learning to appreciate her small but significant developmental milestones and are thrilled that this year has been hospital-free. We have learned acceptance and deepened our faith.

Shaina’s unpredictable outbursts or social awkwardness—like lying on the floor in a busy restaurant or hugging strangers—are part of our daily lives. I used to worry that people might judge us. But now, we see these as opportunities to practice patience, acceptance, and humour. Shaina has become an unscripted ambassador of kindness, eliciting love and compassion from everyone she meets.

I worried that Shaina’s health could weaken our communal connections, but she has helped us forge deeper bonds. People have reached out, offered support and been more open about their challenges. In her unique way, Shaina has shown us what community is truly about.

At this time of year, we read about the ten trials of Avraham. Avraham’s trials strengthened him because each one drew out new depths of courage and faith. Like the tests he faced, our challenges may seem poised to break us. If we choose to, we can use them as opportunities to elevate us.

Five years on, I agree with my rabbi. What we feared might disable us as a family and community leaders has strengthened us. The Hebrew for a test is nisayon, which derives from the root nes – a flagpole or a miracle. Challenges threaten to break us, but they invite us to rise to heights we never imagined possible.

When we recognise that tests come from Hashem, we appreciate they are invitations for growth and personal miracles. We can survive our challenges. With the wisdom of Torah, we can learn to thrive because of, not despite, them.