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She holds the coat close. It smells of mothballs and blind faith

The night before it began, my husband reminded me, “No talking tomorrow”

Is it even meant to return to normal — or is this supposed to be leading us somewhere else?

My doctor said I was in perfect health. But I could barely move

Then came the phone call. “Rivkie, it’s Chana. I cannot believe what I just heard”

Where I had once pulled the purse strings, I now had to open them wide for the jingle of donations