The Late-Night Call

A 2:30 a.m. phone call from Mom, a frantic drive to the hospital in the rain, and a quiet prayer along the way.

הַטֶּלֶפוֹןha-TE-le-fonצִלְצֵלtzil-TZELבִּשְׁתַּיִםbish-TA-yimוָחֵצִיva-KHE-tziבַּלַּיְלָה,ba-LAI-la,וְקָפַצְתִּיve-ka-FATZ-tiמֵהַמִּטָּה.me-ha-mi-TA.הַלֵּבha-LEVשֶׁלִּיshe-LIדָּפַקda-FAKחָזָקkha-ZAKכְּשֶׁרָאִיתִיkshe-ra-I-tiאֶתetהַשֵּׁםha-SHEM"אִמָּא""i-MA"עַלalהַמָּסָךְ.ha-ma-SAKH.הִיאHIבָּכְתָה,bakh-TA,וּבְקֹשִׁיu-ve-KO-shiהִצְלַחְתִּיhitz-LAKH-tiלְהָבִיןle-ha-VINמָהMAהִיאHIמְנַסָּהme-na-SAלְהַגִּיד.le-ha-GID.אַחֲרֵיa-kha-REIכַּמָּהKA-maשְׁנִיּוֹתshni-YOTהֵבַנְתִּי:he-VAN-ti:אַבָּאA-baבְּבֵיתbe-VEITהַחוֹלִים,ha-kho-LIM,בַּמַּחְלָקָהba-makh-la-KAהַקַּרְדִּיוֹלוֹגִית.ha-kar-di-yo-LO-git.הִתְלַבַּשְׁתִּיhit-la-BASH-tiבִּמְהִירוּת,bim-hi-RUT,חָטַפְתִּיkha-TAF-tiאֶתetהַמַּפְתְּחוֹתha-maf-te-KHOTוְרַצְתִּיve-RATZ-tiלַחֲנָיָהla-kha-na-YAבַּגֶּשֶׁם.ba-GE-shem.בַּדֶּרֶךְba-DE-rekhלְבֵיתle-VEITהַחוֹלִיםha-kho-LIMהִתְפַּלַּלְתִּיhit-pa-LAL-tiבְּשֶׁקֶט.be-SHE-ket.לֹאLOהִתְפַּלַּלְתִּיhit-pa-LAL-tiכְּבָרke-VARשָׁנִים.sha-NIM.כְּשֶׁהִגַּעְתִּי,kshe-hi-GA-ti,אַבָּאA-baכְּבָרke-VARהָיָהha-YAבְּהַכָּרָה.be-ha-ka-RA.הוּאHUחִיֵּךְkhi-YEKHאֵלַיe-LAIבְּחֻלְשָׁהbe-khul-SHAוְאָמַר:ve-a-MAR:"אַל"alתִּדְאַג."tid-AG."בְּאוֹתוֹbe-o-TOלַיְלָהLAI-laלָמַדְתִּיla-MAD-tiכַּמָּהKA-maחַיֵּינוּkha-YEI-nuקְצָרִים,ktza-RIM,וְכַמָּהve-KA-maחֲשׁוּבָהkha-shu-VAכָּלKOLשִׂיחַתsi-KHATטֶלֶפוֹן.TE-le-fon.

The phone rang at half past two in the morning, and I jumped out of bed. My heart pounded hard when I saw the name "Mom" on the screen. She was crying, and I could barely understand what she was trying to say. After a few seconds I understood: Dad was at the hospital, in the cardiology unit. I dressed quickly, grabbed the keys, and ran to the parking lot in the rain. On the way to the hospital I prayed quietly: I had not prayed in years. When I arrived, Dad was already conscious. He smiled at me weakly and said: "Don't worry." That night I learned how short our lives are: and how important every phone call is.