"Rabbi, do you make house calls?" the man named Mike on the other end of the phone wanted to know. "My dad was never religious, but he said he'd like to see a rabbi before he dies. He's living with us now, and he can't get out any more. Please?"
The address was on a winding, urban, L.A. canyon road. I knocked, and Mike let me in.
"Dad, the rabbi is here to talk to you," he said loudly over his shoulder.