The Way of Flame [antikvár]

When I was twenty-three (many years ago), I went to Europe and then traveled overland to India. It was a sad and bitter time for me. My father and grandfather, both of whom I had been very close to, had died within months of each other. My grandfather died quickly and without pain, but my father had a hard dying. He struggled like a fish gutted by a hook and beating against the bottom of a boat, desperate to live. But the decision for him to die had already been made. As the saying goes, one cannot swap jokes with death, nor can one make deals with the malach hamavet, the angel of death. I sought consolation and relief. But the methods accepted by American Jewish culture for easing my pain did not seem to address the questions I was asking. I needed insight that would