Some post Rosh HaShanah thoughts

This was a powerful Rosh Ha Shanah for me. Like every year I went down to the Hudson River  to do Tashlich along with my family and what felt like the rest of the Jewish world that resides in the neighborhood.

Every year it is a profound act. Each year I run into people who I have not seen for a long time. Often there are fellow parents from my children's various preschools.  Hugs and kisses are exchanged and we catch up on one another's lives. 

This year, as I embraced people from nearly every corner of my life in New York I was distracted by the spectacular light .  Earlier during our time by the river the light glowed golden. 

As the conversations grew longer the light kept changing  and the sky kept changing. We kept stopping our catching up to admire the sky. Of course, because it was Yom Tov, I didn't take photos but these photos from other moments will have to suffice despite their being completely insufficient  to show what the sky actually looked like.

We went home and served dinner to a table full of people we love.

The next day we were back at services. the custom at our synagogue is on the second day of the holiday recent bar-mitzvah kids lead much of the service.

As the kids who read the haftara began their reading of Jerimiah 31, I heard in my head as I read along the words the voice of Itzy Schwartz who so often read this haftara in Quincy during my growing up. Itzy was a surgeon. He was tall, a flashy dresser and had a voice that was loud but sounded like it came from under a large pile of pillows. 

Itzy read this haftara  as his wife Ruthy, Rachel  in Hebrew was dying. Itzy read that   haftara  and wept as he read the lines about the Biblical Rachel weeping over her children. As the kids in my shul chanted the haftara I didn't hear them but I heard Itzy.

 While the kids were chanting the haftara I happened to turn to look back and I saw something that made me gasp.

From the corner of my eye I saw the tallit that I had made several years ago for my friend Mindy who died earlier this year from the same horrible brain tumor that John McCain has. 

The tallit was being worn by Dina a fourteen year old whose family was very close to Mindy especially during her waning days.  A little later in the service during the hubbub of returning the Torah scrolls to the ark I went over to let Dina know how touched I was to see her wearing  Mindy's tallit.  Mindy had led kid's services for years and her high Holiday services for kids were legendary. Having a bit of her at services just felt so right. It felt even more right that Dina was the person to wear the tallit.

My emotions were just too strong to get those thoughts out of my face so I just burst into tears after I got about half of a sentence out.  Dina burst into tears as well. We embraced. Soon were both able to express our thoughts about the moment, about Mindy and her tallit more or less coherently.

As I get older the High Holidays are spiced more and more often with the memories of the past, with people no longer living. Along with the liturgy we recite each year I remember watching my mother in law singing Aveinu Malkeinu for the last time after I had sung it with her over and over to revive her dementia addled memory. I remember's Itzy blowing his nose and wiping away his tears. I remember the fear in the pit of my belly as my father blew shofar hoping he would do a good job. I remember all the years Mindy would re-join the adult service after giving her all  to two different shifts of the kids' service. 

All of it gets mixed up with the liturgy with the melodies and with the meals.

Shana Tovah