The night of the speech, I still couldn’t talk. But I couldn’t cancel, either
Two years ago, I arranged a conference in the Catskills for Mikvah USA’s educational division. The week before the conference, I got sick. With a conference to run, I didn’t have the luxury of laying in bed, and by the second day, I was so run-down, I developed laryngitis. Somehow, I made it through.
Afterwards, I stayed in the Catskills for one more day, as I was scheduled to speak for another group of women about taharas hamishpachah. I didn’t know how I was going to speak; I literally couldn’t get a sound to emerge from my throat. Still, I wanted to try. I went to a friend, and she served me warm water with honey, Ricola drops, and some other concoctions we heard might help bring my voice back.
The night of the speech, I still couldn’t talk. But I couldn’t cancel, either.
The women were waiting, the organizer was counting on me, and it was too late. I sent up a heartfelt tefillah to Hashem, and set out for Fallsburg, NY. When I stood up and held the mic, I closed my eyes and imagined Hashem speaking through me. And words came out — strong, clear words — for 45 minutes straight.
Create a free account to keep reading.
