"Binny, there's something I have to tell you."

They were sitting in the same dairy restaurant they'd been to on their first date, at the very same table. He looked at her and realized that what she was about to say was serious. It was a bl.u.s.tery night, and there weren't many people out. They had enough privacy to talk about anything, and he had had some plans of his own regarding a topic. But she had beaten him to it, and by the look on her face, his guess was that his agenda would have to wait.

"I want to go to college." There, I've said it, she told herself. The act is over.

He was speechless, as if he hadn't heard.

"Binny, I want to go to college, and I also want to go to medical school." There was no way he didn't hear that.

The dumbfounded expression left his face. "Oh," he said, wearing his disappointment. "I see."

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I..." She stopped herself mid-sentence.

"You?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?" His tone was serene, but she could tell he was shaken.

"Of everything, I guess. I know that this changes things, that you probably won't want to see me anymore." She became tearful.

He didn't know how to react. He felt deceived; he felt sad; he didn't want to lose her. He had planned to ask for her hand that night. And now this. Suddenly, he began to swell with anger. How could you do this to me, he thought. "How could you do this to us?" he said.

She was silent.

He stared into s.p.a.ce for a moment, then stood up and gathered his things. "Come, I'll take you home," he said, putting on his coat.

Without another word, she complied.

They left the restaurant, and kept silent as they walked the three blocks to her apartment. At the front door to her building, he politely said good-night. She could see that he was trying to control the hurt that she had brought upon him.

She kept back her tears, turned from him, and walked into the building. She stood, waiting for the elevator, flushed with anguish. And terrified of how her parents would react.

The following morning, the phone rang in the Weissman home at six o'clock. The rabbi was preparing to leave for the morning prayer service at the synagogue; Rachel and Hannah were still in bed. Hannah was awakened by the ringing, but Rachel had already been up, she hadn't slept at all.

From her bed, Rachel was able to hear bits and pieces of her father's end of the conversation. "Vhat do you mean?" "Yes, I see." "Of course, I vill talk to her immediately and find out vhat happened." "No, you didn't disturb me at all." "I vill certainly phone you as soon as I know something myself."

After he hung up, Rachel overheard a conversation between her parents: "Who was it?" her mother asked.

"Reb Blesofsky," her father answered.

"Well, what did he want?"

"He said that it is ois shiddoch, the match is finished, over."

"Ois shiddoch! How can that be? They seemed to like each other..."

"He said he didn't know vhy, only that Binny had called him last night and told him it vas off. That's all."

Sometime during their conversation, Rachel had gotten out of bed, and had walked to their bedroom. She was now standing in the doorway. They looked at her, waiting for her to say something.

"I told Binny last night that I want to go to college. To medical school. To be a doctor."

Lost in her own thoughts, she ignored their reactions. She held back her tears, and added, "I don't think he wants to marry me anymore." She stood there, almost dazed for a moment, and then began to cry.

Hannah jumped out of bed, went to her, and held her, trying to console her. Isaac remained seated on the bed, visibly shaken.

"Papa," Rachel said, regaining her composure.

The rabbi didn't answer.

"Isaac," Hannah called out.

Still blank.

"Come," Hannah said to Rachel, "we'll go to the kitchen and talk there." She began to escort her daughter to the kitchen when a faint voice said, "Vait!"

They turned and looked at the rabbi. "It vill be okay," he said. "Vhatever you vant, Rucheleh, as long as you are happy. It vill be okay."

He stood up, walked over, and held his arms out. Rachel stepped into his embrace, and wrapped her arms around him. They held each other tightly, wordlessly. Hannah watched, her heart feeling heavy. All that could be heard was their crying.

Standing in prayer, draped in his tallis and tefillin, Rabbi Isaac Weissman was unable to think of G.o.d. He yearned for the serenity that his prayers usually brought, but his mind was distracted, tormented by images from the past. He knew he couldn't erase the images, he had tried to so many times and had failed. They were part of him, now and forever.

A room illuminated by candles; a familiar woman sitting across the table; a two year old boy sitting on his lap, tugging at him as he sang Sabbath melodies.

Flames from outside a window; a door burst open; soldiers storming in. A dark, crammed cattle car; a woman beside him; a boy in his arms.

Echoes of wailing; a line; hundreds standing in the cold; soldiers with guns; a man with a list in his hand.

A boy and a woman at his side; a man pointing to the left.

A woman and a boy being dragged away; a soldier's hand against his chest; a struggle; screaming.

Darkness.

He tried to reach into the darkness, to bring back the boy and the woman, just as he had tried so many times before. But, as always, his mind was empty, blank. They were lost in the darkness.

Suddenly, he felt tightness in his chest. Difficulty breathing. He sat down in a chair, and one of the other men in the synagogue noticed he was sweating and pale. The man walked over to inquire if he was okay. Some other men saw what was happening and gathered around.

"It's nothing," he said, laboring to speak. "I'll be fine, I..." He tried to catch his breath, but never finished the sentence.

He regained consciousness in the hospital, lying in a bed beneath a plastic oxygen tent, tubes in his arm and electrical attachments affixed to his chest. Through the tent he could see the distorted images of his daughter and wife standing beside him. He attempted to maneuver his hand outside the tent to touch them.

"Stop! Yitzchak. Just relax, don't move," Hannah said.

He complied, resting his hand by his side. Then he tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Papa."

He looked at Rachel.

"Don't speak, Papa. You need to save your strength. You're going to be okay."

He managed a smile, more for her and Hannah than himself.

"Papa. I want you to know that I've reconsidered. I've thought about things, and I really don't need to go to college or be a doctor."

Her mother looked at her, astonished.

"I'm going to marry Binny, so don't worry. I'm going to marry Binny, and you're going to have plenty of grandchildren to look forward to. You just get well, okay." She struggled to keep her smile.

He wanted to speak. To tell her that she didn't have to do this for him, that he would live no matter what, that she shouldn't blame herself for what happened. He wanted to say all this, and more, but was unable.

A nurse entered the room. "Oh, you're awake, Rabbi Weissman. Good," she said as she came around the other side of the bed. "Everything is going to be fine, you've had a heart attack, but you're doing well and it's going to be okay." The nurse smiled rea.s.suringly, turned to Rachel and Hannah, and added, "I think we need to let him rest now. The doctor will be in soon to check on him."

"Yes," Hannah responded, placing her arm around her daughter. "He needs to rest." She looked at Isaac. "Yitzchak, we're going to be in the waiting room down the hall. We'll be back after you rest." To the nurse, she added, "Would you kindly ask the doctor to find us after he sees him?"

"Of course."

Rachel and Hannah went down the hall to a small visitors' lounge. It was empty, except for a seemingly healthy patient in a hospital gown, sitting in a corner by the window, reading the newspaper. They smiled at the man as they entered, and he smiled back before returning to his paper. They sat next to one another on a couch, as far away from the man as the room would permit. Hannah tried to speak softly so as not to disturb him. "What is this you're saying about changing your mind?"

"I don't have to go to college, it's not that important."

"It seemed like it was important this morning."

"Things have changed."

"Look, Rachel, you can't blame yourself for what has happened to your father..."

"I can't?" Rachel interrupted. "Why not?"

"Because it's not your fault."

"Right." Sarcasm.

Hannah realized that her daughter wasn't going to listen to reason. She thought of postponing this talk until later. Rachel began to cry. Hannah reached over, took Rachel in her arms, and held her. The man by the window got up and left.

They sat for a few minutes until another man in a white coat appeared in the lounge. He was a short, thin, bespectacled, and balding fellow, somewhere in his early thirties. Rachel recognized him from around the hospital; she realized he was Doctor Levine, the chief resident in cardiology. "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Weissman?" he asked.

"Yes." Hannah stood up to greet him.

"I'm Doctor Levine. I'm handling your husband's case." He recognized Rachel and greeted her with a smile.

"How is he doing?" Hannah asked, skipping formalities.

"Right now, he's out of the woods. But I'm afraid he's had a rather serious heart attack, and it's hard to tell what will happen."

"What does that mean?" Agitation.

"Well, in situations like this, it can be touch and go for several days."

"You mean he may die?"

"I mean," he hesitated, "it's unlikely, but possible. We need to watch him carefully, which-I can a.s.sure you-we're going to do. I'm afraid that's all I know. Does he have a family doctor or an internist?"

"No, not really. None of us have ever been ill. We've always used Doctor Bronstein for Rachel, and once, when my husband had a bad cold, Doctor Bronstein gave him some medication, but that was it."

Doctor Levine listened without surprise. He was used to hearing things like this from the Hasidic Jews. They trusted in G.o.d a bit too much, he thought.

"Well, that's fine. I'll be following him while he's in the hospital, so there's no need to worry."

No need to worry; that's just great, Hannah thought. My husband may die and there's no need to worry.

"Would you tell Doctor Schiffman that we're here?" Rachel asked.

"Oh yes. You're one of her volunteers, I recognize you from the ER. I'll let her know right away. I'm sure she'll be up to see you." He turned to Hannah. "You can go back in and see him in about an hour, but keep your visits short. I want him to rest." With that, he turned and left.

Hannah walked over to the window and looked down at the street below. "I told him he was working too much, running too much," she whispered to herself. "I told him to take it easy, but he wouldn't hear of it. He just wouldn't listen. He's so stubborn, so d.a.m.ned stubborn!"

"I'm sorry, Mama. Now, Papa's going to be sick and your life is going to be hard. I'm sorry I did this to you." Weeping.

Hannah turned to Rachel and shook her. "Rachel, there's nothing for you to be sorry about. Your father is going to be fine! He's a strong man, and he's survived a lot more than this."

"I'm sorry, Mama, I should never have told him that I wanted to be a doctor. I'm going to marry Binny, I promise. I'm going to make Papa happy. He's had such a hard life; he deserves to be happy."

Hannah realized she was getting nowhere. Rachel, my little Rucheleh, such a beauty, so smart, so much pa.s.sion for life. And so stubborn, like her father. They embraced, and as they turned around, they saw Doctor Schiffman standing there.

"I didn't want to interrupt," the doctor said.

"It's okay," Hannah answered.

Rachel was shocked, and wondered just how long Schiffman had been there.

"I just pa.s.sed Doctor Levine in the hall and he told me," Schiffman said.

"We asked him to," Hannah replied.

"Is there anything you need, anything I can do?"

Hannah thought for a second. "No, but thank you."

"Doctor Levine is an excellent physician. He's the chief resident in cardiology. The rabbi couldn't be in better hands." She looked at Rachel. "If you need to talk, you know where to find me. I'll stop in on the rabbi often and make sure he's okay."

Rachel nodded, but was still wordless.

"I have to get back to work, but I'll see you both soon," Schiffman said. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Don't worry, the Rabbi is a fighter," she continued, "He'll fight and win. He's going to be fine." She turned to leave, and added, "I promise!"

At that moment, Hannah Weissman finally understood what her daughter had seen in this woman doctor. She understood, and even felt jealous. But, more than that, she was proud. It would be no embarra.s.sment to have a daughter like that.