I see Rafi's eyelids fluttering, so I bend over and give her a kiss.
"Good morning," I say. "You're a beautiful little girl."
"Are we gonna die?" she asks.
I've heard this before. "Not today," I say.
"Not this year."
"Not this year?"
"Not for a long long time."
"When? In what month are we going to die?"
"Nobody knows. Nobody knows when they're going to die, but I wouldn't worry about it."
"You wouldn't worry about it? Well, I would."
I give up, leave the room, tell my husband. "I can't argue with that."
"'Because I said so,'" says my husband. "People would be happier if they could accept it. But not from their politicians."