My Father, Dayan Grunfeld

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That night, when Rosh Hashanah was over, I called my father. I asked him how he was feeling. He had given a sermon in shul, davened before the amud and blown the shofar.

I told him I wanted to come to see him.

“No” he said, “your place right now is with your wife and your son. I will see you tomorrow at the brit.”

He died that night.

At the brit the next morning, our baby son was given the name Ishai, after my father.