The first Shabbat in Elul, two weeks after my father’s death, my family gathered around the Shabbat table. Everyone was home from summer camp and jobs, and for the first time in months, all the members of our immediate family filled their traditional seats. As we chanted Kiddush, I began to cry. The sweetness of the moment was overwhelming. All those I love gathered together, in our home, celebrating Shabbat.I thought ahead to Rosh Hashanah Dinner. It never occurred to me that last year would be the last time. Who would I sit next to in synagogue? What will the Holy Days feels like without a parent to call, to cook, to take that precious Rosh Hashanah walk?
As I cleaned out my parents’ apartment, I found a bag of place cards, one card for each person who had ever attended one of our family Pesach Sedarim over the past 50 years. They were stained with wine and horseradish, but felt very real and alive as I looked at them. I remembered their faces and smells and voices. As so many of them passed away, my parents had learned how to carry on – and to create new holiday memories even when their parents and other loved ones were no longer there to celebrate with them.
I will miss my parents terribly this Rosh Hashanah, and I will look around the holiday table into the faces of my wife and children and cry in joy for the privilege of carrying their Yerusha (inheritance) forward.
Rabbi Daniel Freelander is Vice President of the Union for Reform Judaism.
www.urj.org
