As I exited the elevator and entered that alternate universe known as the ICU, I noticed a flurry of activity around Rivka’s room. Medical personnel scurried in and out, and multiple members of what I deduced to be her family kept rushing into the ward.
I was aware of the basic details of the case. Rivka was a young woman who’d suddenly contracted a serious infection. Its progress was swift and brutal, and in a matter of days, here she was, fighting for life. Now, her condition had gone from bad to worse, and those closest to her had had been summoned to face the unthinkable.
I listened in horror as the doctor advised the family to say goodbye. I watched in shock as the nurses emerged from the room, grief evident on their faces. I observed the heartrending scene as they congregated in the hallway — parents, siblings, a husband, swaying frantically in prayer, desperately pleading for another lease on life.
And embarrassingly enough, I, who believes in Hashem, who talks to Hashem, who studies Living Emunah every single night, found myself thinking sadly, But what’s the point? Don’t they realize it’s all over?
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