“Ribbono Shel Olam,” I screamed, “just fix it! I don’t know how You’re going to do that, but fix it! My children need a mother! I need a wife!”
I
t was several weeks before my younger sister’s wedding and my wife Tamar and I had booked tickets to fly in from Eretz Yisrael with our three little boys ages seven five and two.
We hadn’t left Eretz Yisrael in five years and we were really excited to finally visit our relatives in America. In advance of our trip Tamar being the perfectionist that she is had prepared meticulous lists of where we would go whom we would visit and what we would do. Everything had been planned perfectly with no detail overlooked.
As part of our trip preparations Tamar who was three months pregnant at the time went for a checkup and ultrasound. With three complicated births and a miscarriage behind her she wanted to make sure everything was okay before she boarded the plane.
When she called me at work to tell me that the ultrasound technician was concerned about something and was sending her to the hospital for further testing I told her I was coming right over.
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