Tragedies happen every day. It is impossible to turn on the TV or open a newspaper without being bombarded with them. If you stop to think about them, it becomes difficult to get through day-to-day activities without becoming paralyzed from fear. But the miracles, they are a little harder to notice.

The miracles are harder to notice We moved into our rental home right after Pesach. And as with all moves that promise to happen effortlessly, boxes got misplaced, pots were not packed with their covers and the only clothes that could be located were the wrong season. Change of address forms went to someone else's zip code—mail never came. And somewhere along the way I forgot that I was not receiving bills. Locating the toothbrushes seemed much more important. Until I came home to a bright yellow note taped on the front door: "The gas at this residence has been shut off due to a failure to pay" or something like that. I called them right away.

"But I never got the bill, can I pay now?" (in a voice slightly rising with hysteria.) "Yes ma'am." "I can pay next month's, too, just in case." "That's not necessary, ma'am." "Can you turn the gas back on?" "Yes ma'am, first thing tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning! But I have to make dinner. It's not dinner without pasta. My kids will starve. What kind of a mom lets her kids starve!" I yelled all this somewhat incoherently into the phone, getting more and more frantic. "Ma'am, we have a law. We cannot turn your gas back on until one of our servicemen checks the house for leaks." "But there's no leak. I didn't pay the bill. I have to make pasta!" "Have a good day, ma'am."

The next day, the man from the gas company nonchalantly walked through the house. Before leaving, he mumbled something about having our heating unit checked before turning it on.

I don't think about what might have happened This was May. In Texas. The temperature was steadily climbing to a hundred, where it would stay until after Sukkoth. For the next few months, kids would run from air-conditioned insides to ice-blue pools. Women would stop wearing make-up and drugstores would run out of sunscreen. It wouldn't ever get comfortable enough. And the single thought running through my mind was that that night we could have pasta.

It stayed that way until mid-October, when a cold front came in and the thermostat dropped to seventy-five. Seventy-five in Texas, one puts the heat on.

I reluctantly called the heater man, who reluctantly checked our unit. "Ma'am, if you turn your heat on, your family won't live through the night. There's a huge carbon monoxide leak."

I watch my kids eating pasta. Even the older ones use their fingers, and I yell, "We have forks." I smile at their faces all around the table. I don't think about what would have happened if I had paid that bill five months ago.

Instead, I thank G‑d for miracles. The little ones you hardly notice, and rarely understand. The ones that save a life.