18 Years to the Day

Eighteen years seems like a long time, almost a generation. That's how long ago and far away my lovely father died. And yet he is often present in my life. His essence may be evoked in myriad ways, e.g., memories, Piglet, old friends, particular places, QPR, certain movies, music, and photographs.

Here's the thing, and it's happened a couple of times now. Sometimes he pops up in photos unexpectedly. For example the shot above we saw first in the Shoah museum in Washington DC. It is a Jewish Schools Sports Day c. 1937, in Berlin. We looked at it briefly as we walked by, and then my mother exclaimed, IT'S ALBERT! Bottom right-hand corner with the glasses. That's him.

Today I was once again looking at images from the 3rd march from Selma to Montgomery in 1965. I've shared previously some shots that vindicated my father's claim that he was close enough to MLK to have a chat and share a snack. This time I had a look at some video footage I found online.

Would you believe it, there he was again! Blink and you will miss him, but near the end (just below the YouTube arrow in the screen grab above), pale and bespectacled, his face appears briefly right behind Dr King.

I'm not ascribing any great meaning to this. But I do find it comforting to see him giving me a little wave now and then.

The loss is not so acute after 18 years, but he is still profoundly missed. On a quotidian level, just being able ask questions or to share things I've done, or to get a hug; and in terms of life, the universe, etc., to hear his thoughts on all that's going on in the world these days.

Meanwhile, I was able to visit the graves of both my parents last week. L & I said kaddish, and spent some peaceful time there amid the stones and the roses.

HaRav Uri ben Alexander Ziskind v'Sara Dina, zichrono livracha.

[If you cannot click the video, you can copy & paste this link:  https://youtu.be/fgywPx6Cv-g ]

Sadness and Good Memories

As I write, many of my classmates are at Temple Emanu-El in New York City, receiving their honorary doctorates for 25 years of service to the Jewish people. This is actually the 26th year since the above photo was taken. We had an online ceremony last year, but with the return to in-person gatherings, we were offered the opportunity to join this year's honourees.

I have written elsewhere about the celebrations. I would like to note that at our online Kaddish minyan this morning, whilst I was delighted to be congratulated by my minyan mates, I also had the honour of leading Kaddish for our service.

In the photograph, in the back row, with the white hair and beard, you see Rabbi Ariel Walsh. In the front row, second from the right, you see Rabbi Suri Friedman. The two of them were present last year at our Zoom ceremony, but they have both died since then. In the front row on the far right you also see Rabbi Joel Braude. He died in 2014.

As we celebrate our contributions, and hope that we have the chance to continue, we remember our classmates. And so we said Kaddish for them at the minyan today. May our memories of them continue to bless us.

How Can It Be Already a Year?

About 10:30 am last year on the second of October, I was in Bologna Airport, waiting for a flight to London. The doctor had told us the day before that our mother had only a few days left to live. My phone rang as I stood by the gate, and my sister told me that our mother had just died. 

It is now one year later, and we shall recite Kaddish for the first yahrzeit at Shabbat/Succot services this weekend. Apart from that, I have little to say. Lockdown made a mess of our experience of time this year, but even so that moment in the airport seems so recent.

Nu, I have chosen a picture to share that recalls a lovely moment we had together here. Mummy was visiting Modena, and we popped into the forno round the back of the Albinelli market for a bit of a snack, and found this brand of tomato sauce on the shelves. I often called her Mutti, even before we got our German passports, and managed to persuade her to pose for posterity.

Missing making new moments like these, but blessed with many memories. Mi manchi, Mutti.

Someone Was In This Place and I, I Did Not Know

Photo credit: Chad Grey Jet Pazaol

During a Zoom Shiva minyan today, we were asked if we had anything to share before saying Kaddish - a reading, a poem, something. We heard two wonderful poems, and then I decided to stick my oar in. 

I don't have anything so beautifully crafted to offer, I said, I just wanted to tell you something that happened this afternoon when we went to do a big shop at the supermarket. The way the car licence plates are in this city, each one begins with 2 letters. As we were driving around, we kept seeing plates that began with the beginning of my mother's name, Evelyn. (in fact, I did say to L that if anyone had ever tried to address my mother as "Ev", they would have been fixed with a steely glare. Nevertheless it was clear to me that all the EV's we were seeing were referring to her)

We were on a mission to find the ingredients and baking tools to make our first ever cheesecake, in honour of the festival of Shavuot this week. My mother's cranberry cheesecake (a recipe from the New York Times in the early 1960's) is legendary. We decided that these signs were friendly messages of encouragement from her for our cheesecake ambitions.

I didn't want to sound flaky in front of my colleagues, but since my parents have died, I have seen their initials on car licence plates as them waving hello to me. I never noticed these letter combinations when they were still living, but now they jump out at me all over the place. I find it quite comforting to receive these greetings.

That's what I told the minyan. And then, one of our colleagues noted that the messages have always been there, but it took the mourning for us to look at the world around us in a different way. She offered Biblical examples, such as Jacob's dream (Genesis 28:  10-16), to illustrate the idea that after an intense and life-changing experience we see the world in a different way. She said it with more elegance.

So maybe, for those of us mourning, it may be of comfort to consider that all the signs we see in the world around us that remind us of the pain of our loss in these early weeks and months may one day become the catalysts for happy memories.