Aftermath of a tragedy that struck the Jewish community of Milwaukee

A co-worker's husband went in for bypass surgery a few months ago. The surgery was successful. But, apparently, there were things going on elsewhere in the patient's body. Within two weeks, he'd undergone two more rounds of emergency surgery. She almost lost him. Baruch Hashem (Praised is G-d), he's now home, though it will be months before he recuperates completely.

On July 6, I wrote about my parents. My father's memory is fading rapidly. And my mother is physically frail. They're both in their eighties. To make matters even more unpredictable, they're living in what my son so delicately describes as "a war zone" (Jerusalem).

Do we ever know when the Mal'ach HaMavet—the Angel of Death—is going to come for those whom we care about?

Every time one of us leaves the apartment, I say something nice to my husband (even if it's only "Enjoy your day.") and/or give him a peck on the check. I don't ever want to feel guilty, should it happen, heaven forbid . . .


A few weeks ago, I met the Skier family. About a week later, they lost a friend of 18 years.

I e-mailed them my condolences. Not that I had any words. Nor do I have any now. What can I possibly say?

Just go here.

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