Bound in the bonds of life

I have known RuthEllen my entire life. She is the daughter of my mother's dear friend Temi. The reality is, That despite our knowing one another all of my life, we have probably had fewer than a handful of conversations with one another.

She was and still is about ten years older than I am and she was out and about in the universe, going to college, getting married and having a career while I was still a not very interesting little kid living at home.

Ruth Ellen and Loren Ostow masterminded the saving of the Temple Beth El windows and the fact that instead of being condemned to a pile of rubble they are now part of the collection of the museum at HUC in Cincinnati. We spent a day or so together during those festivities.

Earlier this year we were in touch so I could visit her mother Temi. Several weeks ago I sent RuthEllen the post I had written about her mother's death. In response, RuthEllen sent me back a message that had me weeping on the downtown platform of the 96th street stop of the IRT.

The other day I received a package from RuthEllen and a note.

In the package, there was this necklace.

RuthEllen asked me to think of the necklace as a hug from her mother. I immediately put it on. The necklace is a bit heavy and the bone beads sit flat against my skin. I worked away and thought about Temi as I worked. I also kept thinking about the text of the El maleh rachamim, the prayer we recite in memory of the dead.

Exalted, compassionate G-d, grant perfect peace in Your sheltering Presence, among the holy and the pure who shine with the splendor of the firmament, to the soul of our dear ________ who has gone to her eternal home. Master of mercy, remember all his worthy deeds in the land of the living. May her soul be bound up in the bond of life. May her memory always inspire us to attain dignity and holiness in life. May she rest in peace. And let us say: Amen.

I thought about the line about binding the soul of the dead with the bonds of life. I thought about how this necklace ties me to my memories of Temi.

My husband's Aunt Yettta never married and never had kids. After she died I began wearing some of her sweaters and shawls to events she would have loved to attend. I used to wrap my youngest in Yetta's pink mohair shawl when he was out in his stroller on frigid days. We used to call it being wrapped up in Yetta love.

I love having this opportunity to bring my friend, my mother's buddy, Temi with me, t keep her memory alive in a small way.

I leave in a few minutes to a class and plan to wear the necklace, and take Temi with me.

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