We land and head straight for Ichilov hospital. Shealtiel is frighteningly still, white, surrounded by beeping — blood pressure, intracranial pressure — all hopelessly out of whack.
WHAT’S IN A NAME? The name we are advised to add is not “Chaim” or “Refael” but Chizkiyahu. This too is auspicious as the rabbi who makes the change points out for now his name — Shealtiel Moshe Chizkiyahu HaLevi — is an acronym for simchah. I hold onto that
I n the wee hours of morning as the world slumbers the phone rings shrill. I fumble out of sleep and into a nightmare.
“Your son’s been in an accident. He’s in critical condition. Come.”
We rush to the airport and take the first flight out of London to Israel the terse conversation with the hospital pounding in my head.
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