I opened the door — and found four men on the steps: my father-in-law and three Hatzalah members

“Hey, I’m the wife of the man who was shot. If you want the story, drive me to the hospital”

I’ll never forget the first time our oldest went to Shabbos Shacharis with my husband.

“Efraim Shalom wants to come to shul with me,” Eliahu said that Shabbos Chazon morning 16 years ago.

“Bring breakfast,” Eliahu instructed.

Efraim Shalom, then seven, packed some Cocoa Pebbles in a bag, and the two of them left to Yeshiva of Far Rockaway, a three-minute walk from our home. Eliahu remembers it was scalding outside, one of those stifling August mornings, and eerily silent.

I had told the women on my block that because Sunday was Tishah B’Av, and we wouldn’t be hanging out, they were invited for coffee and cake at my house 9:30 Shabbos morning. At nine a.m., one friend came by — she had heard about the get-together, but didn’t know what time it was called for. Ten minutes later, there was another knock on the door.

“Why bother setting a time if no one comes then?” I mumbled as I rushed to see who was there.

I opened the door — and found four men on the steps: my father-in-law and three Hatzalah members, one of whom was Uri Katz, a family friend. I immediately realized that Eliahu and Efraim Shalom weren’t with them, even though Eliahu davens with my father-in-law.

This isn’t good, I thought.