Surreal

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it feels surreal, like he’s just in the bedroom, taking a nap. He’ll be up in a minute. At times it’s like this past summer never happened, we’re just the girls, getting ready for passover, he’s just in the next room, preparing himself. and then the seder comes, and he’s not leading it, I am. I expect him to walk in, sit down, and in his own way, lead the seder. I try so hard to live up to his example, to make him proud, to continue the tradition. but i wish, i would give anything for him to lead it again. Did I really do a good job? Did I remember all the pieces, did I do it right? did i add enough of my stuff? did i keep enough of his?
I come home and I expect to see him waiting for me, give me a hug, welcome me home. It doesn’t feel real, but it’s all too real.

8 months

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8 months ago, tomorrow, he died. Tomorrow, I’ll lead the Seder for the first time. I’ll step into his role. His last email to me was about passover, about wanting to lead the Seder together, lead for a new generation, for our family. Last year, I was in Jerusalem, our family was scattered, not tegher for seder. this year, we’re here, but missing a piece. It is hard to believe that 8 months ago my life was so different. And now, i sit here, anticipating another first without him.
I’m sitting outside, on our new deck, taking in the gorgeous Michigan spring- and I feel unexpectedly calm, peaceful. It’s almost like he’s here, lurking, watching over us, making sure we’re o.k. laughing at our mistakes in covering the counters or making the charoset. And who knows, maybe tomorrow night when we open the door for Elijah, the smell of his cigarettes might pour into the room. Who knows!
Here’s hoping I fill his shoes well and make him proud. He’ll still be leading with me, in each of our hearts. As we embark on this journey from slavery to freedom, from clutter to open space, may we be disentangled from the chains of the past and soar freely into the days of our freedom and future.

Renewal, Rebirth, Remember – Pesach 5768

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A year ago, you were here, you both were here. A year ago, life was normal, comfortable, safe. I was in Petra, enjoying life, taking in the beauty of the world, amazed by the wonders of God’s creations. You were in Detroit, celebrating your birthday, your anniversary, your life. Little did we all know within a matter of months, this life would be different.

This year, I prepare for Passover without you, without your support, energy, enthusiasm. This year, my passover cleaning is more about cleaning out the emotions, taking stock of how I feel, and the space you filled is ever more present.

Spring is about renewal, rebirth, and all I can do is remember. Remember what was, what I miss, what will never be again. I remember years past, years of love, happiness, joy, laughter. This year, there will be no birthday phone call to you, daddy. This year, there will be no anniversary call to papa. This year, I am here, last year, I was in Jerusalem. Last year, you prayed we would be together again, you asked on God’s will to lead a seder with me again. This year, we know this will never be the reality. While I will carry you in my heart, you will be there, you won’t be there for a panicked moment before the seder to remind me of the kiddush nusach, you won’t be there to argue with, to smile with my learning, to guide me. This year, when you tell your child on that day, you won’t be there to tell me, you won’t be there to bargain with for the afikomen.
This year, my rebirth is as a new person, a daddy’s girl learning to live without her daddy. This year, we remember not only our going out from Egypt, but the loss of another generation at our seder table. This year, we welcome in, not only Elijah, and all who are hungry, this year we welcome in the spirit, and memory of another generation who has returned to the dust of the earth. This spring, the regrowth isn’t just within nature, it is within ourselves, the healing of a broken heart.

This year, I am a slave to memory, a slave to mourning, a slave to my heart. This year, I go out from my own slavery, into the world anew, a world I don’t know. I am a slave going into freedom, I am experiencing an exodus. I am scared, sad, confused and afraid…

The MeaningS of Life

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This past Shabbat I spent the weekend on a retreat with high school students delving into the possible meanings of life. Is it community? personal talent? prayer? wisdom? Friends? Education? How do we make our lives meaningful? What is the sign of a meaningful life?
At the same time, I have been listening to my father’s Eulogy. What did I say about him, who was he, how will he be remembered? What did our rabbi say about him, how was he perceived outside the family? What was the meaning of his life? And then, there is that moment of worry, what is the meaning of my life, how will I be remembered? How do I want to be remembered?
7 months have gone by since I first heard my dad’s eulogy, since I first thought about how to remember him, how I wanted to share his life with those who came to the funeral, how I wanted to share this incredible bond I have with him in the collective memory of my community. Each time I listen to his funeral service, I am proud and sad. Sad that he is lost in our world, that the work he was doing will never be completed, sad that his beautiful smile and loving soul will only live on through memory, not physicality. And at the same time, I am proud, proud of who he was, proud to call him my father, proud of how I memorialized him, proud of all that he did in the world. Is this how he wanted to be remembered? I don’t know. Is this who he thought he was? I dont’ know. But he was an incredible man, an inspiration to so many.
So, what is the purpose, meaning, business of life? I don’t have the answer. Maybe it’s doing the work that was done before us and continuing it throughout generations. our work is never done. Maybe it’s finding that community that will overwhelmingly come out to support you in a time of need, to hear what your life is all about. Maybe life is about making meaningful connections, to people, to a higher being, to the world. Life is about living, however and whatever that means for each individual.

Not There

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Last week I had a moment where I longed to be in Jerusalem, where I wanted to be there, in Israel, in the city I had made my own a year ago. I felt guilty, I lived in Jerusalem for 9 months and not a single attack on my city, and here, a year later, 8 were murdered doing what I was doing. 8 innocent students, murdered while studying the same texts I study, sitting in a room. I feel guilty that I was safe, that I can learn safely here in America while my colleagues don’t know what might happen as the day progresses. I am sad, for my city, my state, my people. I know life goes on, but this incident makes me think. What kind of a world am I living in, that innocent students become targets of political gain? Here in America college students are murdered on the side of the street for money, there in Jerusalem, for studying in the wrong place at the wrong time. Violence surrounds us, takes us by storm, and yet, we continue learning, we persevere. Learning at the yeshiva in Jerusalem will go on, learning at universities will continue.
I blogged before I left Israel about this guilt, this feeling of pain knowing that I was safe, I was “lucky,” nothing happened while I was there. I still feel this way, I am not there, I can only share the pain, the disbelief from a distance. I can only hope that it will be good….