Tchakhla Rachel and Avraham Yosef

My sister was six months old. I was eight. We hospitalized her due to dysentery at Bikur Cholim hospital in Jerusalem, the same hospital she was born in. For three days, Mom went there twice a day, and her health quickly improved. On the fourth morning my mom was told, “go, bring some clothes and take her home”. Mom went to get clothes and returned to the hospital. The girl was no longer there. “Where's the girl? You told me to bring clothes and come get her, so I did”. One of the nurses said, “we’re sorry but the girl has died”. Dad arrived. He told them, “if the girl is dead I want to see her body”. They said, “we already buried her”. Father believed them because they were Jews in the land of Israel. He wanted to say Kaddish on her grave. They said, “we already have”. It was peculiar, but father believed them, or maybe he couldn’t believe otherwise. I told dad, “they’re lying to you. The girl hasn't died, they’re making a fool of you”. I was little and I went with Mom to see her every day, and that's what I told him. He told me, “it’s not possible that they would lie to me here”.

Before she passed away, my mom told me, “keep looking for her, she’s still alive”. Dad has also passed away, only us siblings are left. We only want to know that she’s alive.