A post by Maor, Ezer Mizion’s Lego Man
I met Tohar at one of the most fragile and defining moments of her life, when she was already ill. And yet, what I remember most is not the illness, but her light.
She would arrive, week after week to Ezer Mizion’s LEGO building club, a therpeutic program of the Cancer Support Division, with Ohr – her devoted and gentle husband – and with their sweet son, Nitzan, whose eyes sparkled with curiosity. In her arms, she carried little Libby, just a newborn, wrapped in softness and hope. Tohar never missed a session. She insisted on bringing Nitzan, and she would watch him build with Lego as if he were creating entire worlds, her face glowing with pure pride and wonder.
Somewhere during those moments, a quiet, deep bond formed between myself and the family. One you don’t plan, one that simply happens and stays.
Seven years ago, amid everything they was facing, they asked Ohr’s dear mother to embroider a tallit and tefillin bag especially for me, designed with gratitude and meaning.
Ahead of Rosh Hashanah, when Tohar could no longer come because her illness had worsened, her mother-in-law brought it in her place. I remember holding it, overwhelmed. It wasn’t just a gift, it was a piece of their heart. From that day on, it became part of my daily life.
We stayed in touch over the years. Then, just a few days before she passed, Tohar asked something of me, something I will carry forever. She asked that after she was gone, I remain connected to Nitzan. She made the same request of Dr. Bracha Zisser, Director of Ezer Mizion’s Cancer Support Services. It was her last wish, not for herself, but for the people she loved most.
And since that day, we have tried to honor it. Ohr, Nitzan, Libby – always with us, always part of my heart.
A year after Tohar passed away, my tefillin disappeared. I cannot describe the emptiness I felt. Of course, I deeply felt the loss of the tefillin but, in addition, I felt the loss of a deep, deep connection to what I had shared with the family during their most difficult time.
I searched everywhere. I turned the world upside down. Posts, messages, calls, lost and found groups – anything and everything. And then I called Ohr. My voice broke as I told him: The gift is gone.
And then—today. Out of nowhere, my brother-in-law sent me a picture. “Is this yours?” he asked.
A friend of his, who happens to know me, had seen something – a tallit cover with a small embroidered Lego figure. In that moment, my heart didn’t just beat—it pounded. I could barely breathe as I made the call. My voice trembled. A few minutes later, my dear brother-in-law sent me a message: “It’s here with me. Come take it.”
I just stood there, overwhelmed, trying to understand what had just happened.
I called Ohr immediately. We didn’t need many words. We both knew. From now on, every time I take the tefillin out of its bag, I will feel the presence of the family, the family as I had known them, complete and whole.
I will remember Tohar’s strength. Her love for her family. Her quiet, unwavering faith.
And I will try, every single day, to live up to their ideals.
