And how she had yearned for him.

  She had wanted every aspect of Asher: the abundant good and the scant bad. She had come so close to having it all.

  Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, her tears ceased. An eerie calm enveloped Ruth. A fleeting shadow in the room's corner and an odd tug in her chest went unnoticed.

  “Let go, Tovah,” Ruth murmured to her sister.

  Tovah complied, gently unwinding her arms from around Ruth's neck.

  Wordlessly, Ruth rose. She guided her younger sister to their father; Tovah clasped his hand, pressing against his side. While the doctor led the way, Ruth took a different path. Unbeknownst to her family, she headed down another hallway and stepped into an elevator.

  A peculiar serenity washed over her. Amidst that tranquillity, a realization crystallized.

  Although she had lost Asher, they could still be united.

  The elevator descended to the ground floor. The scent of orange cleaner permeated the lobby. The intense lighting compounded her tear-induced headache. A family entered, carrying stuffed animals and balloons that declared, "It's a girl!"

  A joy Ruth would never experience.

  Having a child. Building a family. The life she had meticulously mapped out with Asher was now unattainable.

  Exiting to the parking lot, she spotted the keys her father had left on the car's front seat. The vehicle's interior was pristine and odorless. She inserted the key into the ignition.

  The car roared to life. As she departed the parking lot, her father emerged from the hospital's entrance. Their eyes locked through the rearview mirror: his filled with panic and concern, hers with desperation and resolve.

  She accelerated without a second glance.

  Ayalon N directed her to a bridge spanning a tributary of Nahal Yarkon. The car's AC expelled chilled air, drying her tear-streaked face. A faint smile tugged at her lips. She felt a sense of peace.

  A life without Asher wasn't worth living, not in the slightest. But an eternity with her beloved? That idea resonated with a sense of purpose.

  The bridge loomed. Beyond lay the river and the trees of Rosh Tzipor forest. Flooring the accelerator, she sharply turned the wheel, careening through the guardrails in a cacophony of twisted metal.

  With closed eyes and a serene smile, she braced herself as the car careened through the air and plunged into the water.

  7

  Sitting Sheva

  This wasn't the first time Tovah had sat sheva. When she was much younger, her bubbe had passed away. Her ima--mother--too, had died when she was just a babe in a crib. She didn't remember her ima at all.

  Sitting sheva for Bubbe was different.

  This time, it was her sister. It was Ruth.

  Ruth.

  Tovah was at a loss.

  All her life, she had been taught to accept death, understanding that it was both a part of life and a balance. A person could only bear so much grief. Yet, they were taught not to fear or resent the idea of death.

  Sheva began on the day of the burial. Every time Tovah closed her eyes, she envisioned her sister's casket being lowered into the ground, right beside Asher's. It was a double burial: two families mourning together. And now, this.

  For seven days, they would sit sheva. The mourning took place in Abba's home, which also meant Tovah's home. There was no escaping the palpable grief or the oppressive weight of sorrow that seemed to bear down on her shoulders and constrict her throat.

  The home was open to both family and community as they mourned the loss of Ruth Abadi. Her father had placed a low stool near the house phone. Though he had a cell phone, only the home number would be used. It would ring, and he would listen, offering his thanks in his deep, resonant voice.

  Shortly after each call, someone would visit the house, reassuring the family they weren't alone.

  The practice, intended as comforting, became overwhelming for Tovah. She felt an urge to pull at her hair, to shatter something valuable, hoping to be sent to her room just to escape the constant reminders.

  Aunt Maggie arrived with Cousin Tilly accompanying her. Both were dressed in black. Aunt Maggie hugged Abba, whispering something too faint for Tovah to hear.

  Tilly approached Tovah. Their age gap wasn't large; Tilly was closer to Ruth's age. Her smile, despite being tinged with sorrow, was warm.

  “How are you doing?” Tilly asked. As soon as she posed the question, she seemed to regret it, her nose wrinkling as if she could already predict the response.

  Everyone knew the answer. Tovah was perplexed as to why it kept being asked.

  Blinking, Tovah responded, her eyes heavy with unshed tears. “Not great.”

  That was putting it mildly.

  Tovah felt like she hadn't merely lost a sister but a part of herself. It was as if a piece of her heart had been cruelly extracted and discarded, leaving her with a gaping void and an intense sense of loneliness.

  Her hands instinctively pressed to the phantom pain. The loss of Ruth was so overwhelming that Tovah was at a loss for how to cope.

  “I didn’t think so,” Tilly remarked, glancing briefly at the two adults before sitting down beside Tovah. “Have any of Asher’s relatives visited?” Her expression hinted she already knew the answer.

  Tovah was baffled by the tendency people had to ask questions to which they already knew the responses. It seemed pointless. But Ruth had always emphasized the importance of politeness, so Tovah held her tongue.

  “I’ll try to be polite during Ruth’s sheva,” she whispered to herself.

  “His parents had passed away,” Tovah admitted, eyes fixed on her hands, avoiding Tilly's gaze. Ruth had always told her that making eye contact was courteous, but Tovah just couldn't manage it at that moment. Speaking politely seemed more crucial than maintaining eye contact, at least that's what she convinced herself of.

  Tilly nodded. “I know that. But he had numerous uncles and cousins at the wedding. His family was extensive. Have any of them visited? There was that girl in the white coat, and her father, Gerald?”

  “I don’t think he genuinely wanted to convert,” Tovah said with a half-hearted shrug. “And they didn’t seem interested when Abba invited them to sit sheva with us.”

  “None of them?” Tilly asked, her brow furrowed in disbelief. “That seems...heartless.”

  “There was one,” Tovah mentioned, “but I don’t remember his name. I wasn't comfortable around him; he stared too much.”

  The man was noticeably shorter than most, with a broad set of shoulders. He possessed a distinctly sharp nose, and his eyes held a piercing quality. He looked at Tovah as if he sensed she was concealing something.

  Indeed, she was. She had hidden the cigarette. Yet, Ruth assured her, before her tragic end, that the cigarette was not the cause of Asher's demise. That Tovah wasn't to blame.

  While she struggled to fully accept that reassurance, she believed it was crucial to try.

  Tilly frowned, shaking her head. “Even if they disapproved of his conversion, some basic respect wouldn't go amiss.”

  Tovah merely shrugged in response.

  “Sorry,” Tilly said with a gentle sigh. “You probably don't want to discuss this right now.”

  “It’s just... everyone keeps inquiring about my feelings,” Tovah replied. “Of course I'm devastated. Ruth was—” She paused, the words sticking in her throat.

  A palpable sympathy emanated from Tilly, making her eyes look even softer. Unlike her usual self, she wasn't wearing makeup. Just as men observing sheva refrained from shaving, women opted out of cosmetics. Rituals dictated they stay grounded, maintain cleanliness, and avoid footwear.

  These rules and rituals, customs and traditions typically brought solace to Tovah. She relished in the predictability of it all. But this time, the comfort they usually offered felt amiss.

  “Would a short walk help?” Tilly suggested. “Some fresh air might do you good.”

  While Tovah wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea, she felt it was better than enduring Aunt Maggie's redundant condolences and hollow inquiries about her well-being.

  Luckily, Abba consented to their little venture, possibly influenced by Aunt Maggie's approval. The outcome was a refreshing escape to the outside world, enveloped in the golden embrace of the evening sun, and the vibrant pulse of Tel Aviv.

  “Any particular place in mind?” Tilly inquired.

  A hidden lighter, which Tovah had stashed away before the tragic events involving Asher and Ruth, came to mind. She wished to retrieve it. And thus, she directed Tilly toward the synagogue. Despite Tilly's evident surprise, she was quick to agree.

  8

  Pitch-Black Awakening

  When Ruth awakened, she found herself immersed in an inky abyss. A velvety, smothering blanket of darkness enveloped her, so profound she couldn't discern whether her eyes were open or shut. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft, rhythmic cadence of her breathing. It felt surreal, as if she were trapped in a cocoon of nothingness, even though the vast expanse around her hinted she was somewhere immeasurably vast.

  “Hello?” Her voice, tentative and tremulous, seemed to dissolve in the void. “Abba? Tovah? Is anyone there?”

  Instead of a reply, her voice reflected back, creating an eerie resonance that felt both intimate and isolating.

  Panic's icy tendrils started to creep in. “I can’t remember how I ended up here!” Ruth's voice grew louder, more desperate. “Can someone, anyone, tell me where I am? Where’s my family?”

  Still, no response met her cries. Yet, even in this desolate space, Ruth felt an inexplicable sensation that she wasn’t truly alone. An unseen presence lingered just beyond her perception, a ghostly shadow.

  Gathering her resolve, she cautiously stood up, her fingers brushing the delicate lace of her wedding dress, confirming its familiarity. While she didn't seem to bear any physical harm, her shoes had mysteriously disappeared, leaving her feet cold and vulnerable against the intangible surface.

  “Hello? Can anyone hear me?” Her plea hung in the air, echoing with a melodic sadness. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she was about to venture into the vast emptiness when her gaze latched onto a distant silhouette.

  There, shrouded in layers of obsidian cloaks and fabric, stood a figure—tall, imposing, yet oddly magnetic. Its form seemed to pulse with a soft luminescence, casting a gentle glow that beckoned her. The mere sight of the figure, even though wrapped in mystery, soothed her racing heart. Somewhere deep down, Ruth felt that this entity held the key to her lingering questions.

  Ruth's voice reverberated softly, “Shalom!” She extended her hand in an inviting gesture, her fingers dancing through the lingering emptiness.

  The silhouette remained statuesque, not acknowledging her presence.

  Lost in the vast chasm between hope and confusion, she said, “I’m not sure how I landed in this place, but your aura suggests you might know. Can you guide me out?” Pausing for a heartbeat, a sense of urgency edged her voice, “My husband's in the hospital. I need to reach him, to be sure he's okay.”

  Yet, her plea seemed to hang unanswered in the void. As she ventured closer, trying to bridge the distance between them, the figure dissolved into nothingness.

  “No, wait!” Ruth’s voice crescendoed, echoing the desperation in her heart. “You can’t abandon me here!”

  Her heart thudding in her chest, she surged forward, clutching the soft white fabric of her wedding dress to avoid entanglement. Every step felt like a gamble on this seemingly solid yet ethereal ground. The haunting emptiness around her spurred her on, her only guide the fading image of the cloaked figure.

  Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered hope, urging her to trust the solidity beneath her sprinting feet, praying it wouldn’t betray her.

  Miraculously, her surroundings began to morph. The encompassing void gave way to a more defined space. Suddenly, she found herself enveloped by towering walls, reminiscent of an ancient maze. The passage ahead was narrow, its walls seemingly stretching endlessly into the sky, swallowed by an abyss above. The newfound clarity of her surroundings wasn't as comforting as she had hoped, especially when she realized the mysterious figure had eluded her once more.

  “I know I saw you,” Ruth whispered to the unyielding walls, her voice carrying a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “Out there, in the shadows. Can't you show yourself? I'm lost, and I could really use help right now.”

  Yet the silent walls offered no solace, no answer. Only her own voice, echoing back, reminding her of her solitude.

  The eerie silence wrapped around her, amplifying the urgency pounding in her chest. Inhaling deeply, she summoned her inner reservoir of strength and began navigating the labyrinthine passage. Each decision--to turn left or right, continue straight, or retrace her steps--felt like a gamble. The dead ends were cruel, and the stretches that seemed unending, even crueler.

  Endlessly, uniformly gray, the stones beneath her feet and the towering walls on either side seemed to be her only constants.

  Could the maze be a manifestation of her own bewildered psyche? Ruth halted, musing over this thought. Was it possible that she had walked past the exit in her disoriented state?

  Taking a moment to ground herself, she decided on a new approach: she would not wander aimlessly but actively seek an escape. With renewed determination, Ruth turned to retrace her steps, only to find the passage she had been navigating now opened onto a vast, unfamiliar landscape. Illuminated at the distant horizon was the elusive figure, now discernible in the hazy light.

  It appeared masculine, one hand outstretched in a silent summons.

  Desperate for connection, she called out, "Can you hear me?" first in fluent Hebrew and then, hesitantly, in Arabic.

  Met with silence, she half-joked to herself about the likely rustiness of her Arabic--Abba would scold her for that! Taking a tentative step forward, she ventured, "Can you at least nod if you understand?"

  But the figure remained impassive, simply beckoning her. Ruth felt a pull toward him, even though communication was proving to be a challenge. She only knew those two languages. Her father's snippets of Yiddish lessons and her teenage dabbling in English profanities wouldn't help her now.

  Drawn irresistibly forward, the once towering walls of the maze began to recede, transforming to mere waist-height barriers. The strangeness of it all sent shivers down her spine. “Are you here to guide me?”

  From this proximity, the figure resembled a character out of a gothic tale—a dark, shrouded reaper. Yet, against all logic, Ruth wasn’t repelled or frightened. When he extended his hand, it felt surprisingly warm, alive, and human. Without a spoken word, he led her on.

  Suddenly, the firm ground beneath them seemed to liquefy, and they were walking on water—a serene expanse that reflected the pale light from above. Mesmerized, Ruth glanced downward, the undulating water beneath their feet shimmering like a liquid mirror, and then upward, wonder widening her eyes.

  Everywhere she looked, a surreal tableau painted itself in varying shades of gray. It was a world stripped of color, yet the scene was unmistakably familiar. The river, the dense canopy of trees, and looming above, the bridge.

  “This place... I recognize it,” Ruth murmured, her voice tinged with confusion. “What is—”

  Before she could finish, the cloaked figure vanished. A sudden warmth lingered on her palm, reminiscent of the man's touch, sending shivers down her spine.

  “What’s happening?” Her voice quivered, barely above a whisper. A deafening roar echoed, followed by the chilling sound of metal contorting. Eyes widened, Ruth watched in horror as her newly acquired wedding car hurtled through the guardrails of the bridge, its trajectory casting a menacing shadow overhead.

  A scream tore from her throat. As the vehicle plummeted toward the river, a splintering crash rang out. The serene surface she had been treading on cracked beneath her feet, pulling her into its depths just as the car sank. Glimpsing her own face behind the wheel—a face with lifeless silvery eyes staring into oblivion—Ruth was consumed by the rushing current. Before the sheer enormity of the scene could fully register, the abyss greedily devoured her, only to regurgitate her, flailing, in the living room of Asher's residence.

  Drained of all color, the room held a spectral quality. Ruth, drenched and gasping for breath, sat on the floor, a puddle forming around her. The muffled sound of Asher’s footsteps echoed as he navigated the growing pool of water.

  “Ready, Ruth?” His voice was distant, disembodied.

  “Asher!” Relief surged within her as she sprung up, desperate for his embrace. “You're okay!” But her hands met nothingness. A chilling realization dawned. “What's happening?”

  Her double materialized once again, gifting her with a smile—a memory from their third date. They were at his place, with Ruth changing for their movie outing.

  “You look beautiful,” Asher complimented, moving to plant a kiss. But fate had a different plan. He collapsed, lifeless, with her doppelganger following suit.

  Horror-stricken, Ruth stumbled backward. “What's going on? Why is this happening?”

  She collided with a solid warmth. Whirling around, she found herself peering into the depths of the hooded figure's cloak. To her surprise, a striking man with chiseled features, raven-black hair, and piercing dark eyes met her gaze.

  His fingers gently caressed her shoulder, while his other hand rose, silencing her with a gesture.

  Overwhelmed, yet still seeking answers, Ruth whispered, “Please, I don't understand any of this. How did I end up here?”

  He responded with a heavy, contemplative silence.

  “The car accident—it wasn’t real, was it? Because if it was, I’d be gone now. I just—I can’t recall that moment.” Frustration bubbled as she tugged at her hair, inadvertently placing strands between her teeth. “Yet, when I saw the crash, it felt so visceral, like I was behind the wheel.”