No, not quite. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus was alive to start with. My shawl was not alive. And it's still not alive.
BUT, thanks to the encouragement of friends, I have a wearable shawl. My (and Denise's) most heartfelt thanks go to Cindy the Super Shawl Saver. Cindy gave me permission to do what no knitter ever should, and what I had never even considered (because I'm such a proper knitter, y'know), and because of that, I could tackle the holes.
Eight of them. Yes, I know I said 5 or 6 ... but eight holes got mended. The cause, near as I can figure, was wetting, blocking, wetting, and .... whoosh ... 16 strands parted like roving while getting gently squeezed. ('Scuse me while I go put my newly mended shawl into a colander so it can safely drip damp).
Here are today's repair photos. Before on the left, and after on the right. The ruler is in there for scale -- one fixed hole is above, and one fixed hole is below.
This hole, to the left, was the first one I saw in the shawl, and the first one I tackled with my Arsenal of Tools. See the tiny needle? See the thread through it? No --that's my yarn. It's tiny too. See the nassssty severed ends? My fix isn't invisible, but I think it will do.
And the last hole. The second hole I saw. The one that looked Miserable. The one that was miserable. It's not all better, but it's a rough representation of what the pattern is supposed to be. I am quite content to live with it.
The shawl is laying upstairs to dry now. I am not blocking this under tension, ever. I saw plenty of roving-esque spots that are holding together by neighborly love and kindness, and I have no wish to go through the past 48 hours again.