In Memoriam, My Father

It's been a long time since my last post. And the longer I go without writing, the harder it is to get back into it.

But tonight begins the observance of my father's yahrtzeit, the anniversary of his date of death according to the Jewish calendar, the 11th of Iyar. And Tuesday, May 13, was the fifth anniversary of his death according to our calendar. He passed away on a Tuesday, so this year marked a rare coincidence of date and day of week. And last Friday, at my synagogue, the rabbi read his name out loud as one of the many people for whom yahrtzeit would be observed in what was the week ahead. To help mark the occasion, I sponsored the kiddush after services and, to elicit his presence, also brought some extra food that my father loved and shared with us: chocolate babka and two large pastries filled with cocoa and poppyseeds, respectively. I would have purchased another poppyseed pastry - which wasn't nearly as moist and flavorful as the ones my father would bake himself - but I got the very last one. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be. Those purchases, plus the special memorial candle that I lit tonight, came to $19.67 exactly. That is the year I was born.

At synagogue last Friday the rabbi, with his eye on the clock, rushed through the mourner's kaddish, the normally meditative prayer we also recite during the yahrtzeit. The fast pace threw me off and left me feeling disoriented, disappointed and somewhat violated, as I hadn't had enough time to properly articulate each word. The moment in the kosher grocery store when the clerk said, "Your total is $19.67" had had more spiritual resonance.

On Tuesday, the American anniversary, I was fully immersed in creating mosaics and preparing for an upcoming art show when my cell phone rang. I saw it was from an old friend, who normally doesn't call.

"Is something the matter?" I asked her, wondering if she had phoned to share difficult news.

"No," she said, "I just remembered that today is the anniversary of your father's death."

"You're right," I said. I was surprised and appreciative that she remembered and surprised and relieved that I wasn't dwelling on it. I was glad to discover that I had been so engaged in what I was doing and in thinking about the future that I was not so focused on his passing, as I had been in previous years.

My father used to quote the passage from Deuteronomy 30: 15-19, "And you shall choose life." My brothers and I had it inscribed on his headstone.

And I honor him tonight, on his yahrtzeit, by again choosing to write.