Is it true that love is blind? Doesn’t it hurt her anew every time she thinks of how her son rejected the world she chose?

As told to Rachel Newton

My brother slides his smartphone out of his pocket in a fluid motion and bends his head toward the screen.

“Nachy!”

He jerks up, alarmed at the horror in my whisper.

“What’s the matter, Raizy?”

I point my chin at the clock, trying not to alarm my mother. “It’s Yom Tov!”

Nachy throws a glance at the window, a blush crawling up his cheeks as he notes the darkened sky.

“I’m sorry, Raizy, I’m so, so sorry. I lost track of time. I would have never…” He’s so upset he can’t look at me.

It’s true. He would never touch muktzeh in our house on Shabbos, never use his phone in front of me on Yom Tov.

And yet he’ll walk out of here, leave my mother’s sick bed where I’ve been trying to keep her out of the emergency room, and drive the car parked outside to his home in the suburbs.