I understand that she wants to tell me something. I stroke her hand and force myself to be patient as she struggles to form words

“Mommy? Mommy!” I say. Two tears travel slowly down her face. I jump up and bend closer to her. “Ima! Ima! Mommy’s crying!”

Yael’s proud of herself and I’m glad. This little girl’s come a long way since her first day when she hid under the table

“Goodbye, Mommy,” I say. “I have to go now but we’ll come back every day until you are better and can leave this hospital”

Yael’s dark brown eyes meet mine. I can feel her rapid heartbeat. “It’s going to be okay,” I promise her, “Ima’s going to be fine”

Tears spring to my eyes. What kind of bar mitzvah will I have? I turn away, trying to hide my reaction to the judge’s words

Ima looks upset. “He said,” she whispers, “that he’s willing to trade. He will get his son and we can keep his daughter.”