Jacksonville, FL – The first prayers over, Rabbi Yaakov Fisch smiled, bowed his head and spoke with a soft voice.
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One year has passed, he reminded the Etz Chaim congregation one recent Friday night, since a driver ran down Orly Ohayon and her mother as they tried to cross the street to attend Yom Kippur services. One year since Orly’s pelvis shattered. One year since Esther Ohayon died.
On Sept. 13, 2013, just after sundown on Yom Kippur in the Hebrew year 5774, the synagogue experienced a great tragedy, the rabbi said during this year’s Yom Kippur service. That tragedy transformed Jews across the city and continues to transform Orly.
Orly can’t talk about that night because she doesn’t remember it.
She doesn’t remember why she and her mom were running late to service. She doesn’t remember waiting for the traffic lights to change. She doesn’t remember hurrying across San Jose Boulevard, trying to make it to synagogue. She doesn’t remember the gold Toyota Camry. She doesn’t remember the car slamming into her so hard she flew into the air, landing nearly 90 feet away.
She remembers that two days of her life fast-forwarded and erased before she awoke in a hospital room heavily drugged. She immediately noticed who wasn’t there.
Where’s my mom? she asked. Where is she?
Rabbi Fisch told her.
Under the fluorescent lights, Orly felt the room spin, and then she felt the loneliness, and then she felt like nothing would be the same.
Orthodox Jews closely follow the Jewish law, and that means they cannot work after the sun sets on Friday or on holy days.
On the Sabbath, Orthodox Jews cannot create energy. If a light is left on, it cannot be turned off. If a light is left off, it cannot be turned on.
It means they can’t drive to synagogue after sundown, and so they tend to live close together in neighborhoods stemming off Haley Road, across the street from the synagogue.
It also means on that Yom Kippur, Esther and Orly Ohayon couldn’t push the crosswalk button that gives about 50 seconds to cross San Jose Boulevard.
Instead, they had only about 11 seconds to cross eight lanes and a median.
Michael Fortunato was 66 when he hit them. Florida Highway Patrol found that his eyesight was bad, and he should’ve been able to stop with 34 feet to spare.
Four years earlier, he had hit and killed a 6-year-old only a few blocks away. Law officers gave Fortunato a traffic ticket for the crash that injured Orly and killed her mother.
After Esther Ohayon’s death, transportation officials installed camera sensors that automatically detect when someone approaches. It allows Jews to engage the walking signal without violating Judaic law.
Esther Ohayon was as protective as any mom. She’d already lost her husband to lung cancer when Orly was a toddler.
For eight years, Orly and Esther lived alone together. Orly’s three older siblings lived in Israel. Last year, Orly was 16.
Her mom still walked her to the school bus stop, and she walked her across the street
The two had prepared for the 25-hour fast ahead. Another Yom Kippur, Esther posted on Facebook, without her husband singing the holiday tunes she loved.
The last thing Orly remembers her mom doing was a ritual that set aside money to give to charity after the holiday ended.
She then remembers the week after the accident: Teens from the Etz Chaim synagogue came to her hospital room. They hung prayer texts around her bed in honor of the Sukkot holiday.
She remembers the three or four months she could not walk. She exercised in a wheelchair. She remembers reciting the Asher Yatzar, a prayer said every morning and after using the bathroom.
“Baruch ata Adonai, Rofeh chol basar u’maflee la’asos,” she said, careful to really mean each word.
“Blessed are You, God, who heals all flesh and acts wondrously.”
The days in the hospital bed, in the wheelchair, on crutches, she thanked God her body still worked.
A month after Yom Kippur, she came home in a wheelchair.
The house — her mom and her dad’s dream home — felt eerie, empty. It’s a big house, 2,200 square feet. Her oldest sister and her other siblings rotated in from their homes in Israel to take turns caring for her, but what was missing always seemed obvious.
Orly’s mom used to wake her every morning. When the alarm goes off, Orly thinks of her mother.
Her mom loved to cook and loved to bake. Sunday meant grits, eggs and orange juice. Now, when she grabs cereal in the morning, Orly thinks about her mom.
Every time she reads the Psalms. Every time she walks to synagogue. Every time her muscles ache.
She tries to keep the lessons she learned from her mom alive. It’s important to keep the house clean every day. It’s important to prepare for Sabbath meals all week. It’s important to remember loved ones.
Traditionally, Jews light a candle once a year for their loved ones who’ve died. Esther lit candles every Monday, Thursday and Friday, making sure she never forgot her husband. Orly continues the tradition, lighting candles now for both her dad and her mom.
Orly feels like the year went by in a blur.
At first, one goal drove her: walking again.
As she recovered, one day faded into the next. Finally, she could walk.
Then her goal was to run. Now she can run, kind of.
Physical therapists work with her twice a week. Her ankle still hurts.
In the spring, the National Conference of Synagogue Youth appointed her president of the southeast organization.
She shared her triumphs with friends, rabbis, family.
There were times she’d see her sister and in a moment of confusion call out.
“Oh, Mommy-” and then she’d realize her mistake.
“Why didn’t he let my mom live?” Orly asked the day before the Hebrew anniversary of Yom Kippur. “There’s always good intentions with everything that He does.”
On the holiest day of the year, the day of judgment, the day of atonement, the day when Jews reflect on death, “He wanted her. Her mission ended. She served God well.”
Still, every day, Orly recites the morning prayer. She thanks God for healing her.
She has grown closer to her community. She has grown closer to God. She has learned what it means to depend on the Lord and thank him even in trials.
Look across the globe, she said, and Jews came together because of a 16-year-old girl and a mom they’d never meet.
Look across Jacksonville, she said, Reform Jews, Conservative Jews, Orthodox Jews and Hasidic Jews all come together during the year and vowed to observe more laws in honor of Orly and her mother.
Yom Kippur is supposed to be a happy day. To be happy on the anniversary of her mom’s death, Orly really had to search.
“This time, we have to do a double-take,” said Rabbi Fisch. “We have to really think about why we’re happy. We can’t take anything for granted. In a sense, it’s made the holiday more meaningful.”
“When Orly went through what she went through, it launched something huge,” said youth Rabbi Shaya Hauptman. “The idea is to continually grow and use the inspiration to carry on.”
“We take it day-by-day,” said Orly’s oldest sister, Ilana Ohayon. “We look forward.”
“One day, you could be walking in the street,” said Orly. “The next, you’re in the hospital being told your mother passed away. Your whole life has changed.”
Even though the Ohayons have experienced so much death, Orly said her mom set the tone. Focus on life, not on death. Focus on what you can do, not what could’ve been.
Before Yom Kippur this year, Orly reflected on how fragile life is.
She asked God to grant her clarity, to help her grow in her relationship with Him this year.
In the year since the crash, the Etz Chaim Jews have hired Florida Highway Patrol troopers for the holidays. The families wear reflective vests. They walk in large groups.
On Yom Kippur this year, like every week on Sabbath, a group surrounded Orly as she walked in the footsteps of where her mom died.
The Jews wore their finest clothes for the holiday. White dress shirts. White ties. White gowns. They gave up food, water and sleep, striving to strip themselves of their human nature.
God transforms them, the Jews learn, like angels, majestic and pure.
And on that very day one year ago, Esther Ohayon prepared for that transformation just before her life ended.
Wow.
The driver, Michael Fortunato, who has bad vision, and has already killed two pedestrians, within the last five years, is still allowed licensed to drive a motor vehicle, by the state of Florida? How is that possible? How does he get liability insurance? Can someone please explain that phenomenon?