From when I was 15 years old, I knew I wanted a frum life
Then my younger sister wisely asked me if I’d be able to cope over a three-day Yom Tov without any updates on my father’s condition, and I decided to fly in for Rosh Hashanah. I spent Shabbos at the hospital with my father and mother, eating the food the rebbetzin of the Orthodox shul in town brought me.
Throughout the day, my father drifted in and out of a coma. My siblings and I sat on chairs near his bed, alternatively murmuring to him, to each other, and in prayer.
Suddenly, my father called out, “Did you remember Avinu Malkeinu?!”
We were startled. “Of course, Dad!” we answered.
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