That song keeps Malki going. She listens to it on repeat, the words of Dovid Hamelech providing solace

She’s a real fighter, my friend Malki.

I tear up when I see her message — back in the psych ward, again — a little sad emoji at the end, too bright, too yellow. In a moment I’m transported to an island, Malki’s island — a sea of pain that threatens to engulf the island, waves of fear, of grief, of sorrow. She’s been surrounded by this raging sea for years.

I’ve watched her as she battles the monster that is Depression, the monster that turns my sweet, talented friend into a danger to herself, and then an inpatient in one of the grimmest places on earth. The monster that left her saying in a broken, wooden voice that she has no room for Judaism and its rules anymore. She struggles to remain alive, and I ache as I feel what it must be to keep yourself living each day when the world is so dark.

I don’t want to visit her on that ward. Last time I went, I was shaken to the core. But she’s lonely, and I’m one of few who know where she is. So I take a deep breath, grab my car keys, and off I go.