“Call me when you can, I have bad news,” the message read. 

I hadn’t heard from this colleague since I performed her grandson’s bris six months earlier. I called right away. 

“The beautiful boy you were the mohel for passed away — sudden infant death syndrome,” she told me. 

It was the last day of shiva, so I grabbed my coat and headed out.

The 50-minute drive was eerie. At this point in the season, Israel should have felt like summer — not a cloud in the sky, no wind, and warm temperatures. But the wind howled, clouds blanketed the sky, and even a light rain began to fall. 

I crossed paths with the family’s rabbi in the parking lot. “There are no words,” he said as he shook his head, looking at the ground. Having spent most of my career helping families welcome their newest members into the........

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