It's customary, on the yartzeit, (the anniversary) of a parent's death, to go to the synagogue to say a special prayer. I was in the middle of the Caribbean on my father's yartzeit, and so chose to honor his memory in synagogue this morning.
It was a busy morning in the synagogue, with several of us observing a yartzeit, one celebration of a new grandchild, and a bar mitzvah. And afterwards, we all had bagels and coffee.
And I found myself talking to Helga, whose father and grandfather were taken from the family home on Kristallnacht, and sent to concentration camps. She was a very young child, but she remembers the Germans breaking into her home, she remembers one of them kicking the china cabinet with his black boot.
She tells me that her original birth certificate, buried in her safe deposit box, bears a Nazi swastika, a reminder of who she is and what she has endured.
She listens to one of our fellow congregants rant about how Trump "can't be an anti-Semite, his daughter is married to a Jew and raising her children Jewish, how his organization employs many, many Jews."
But she is afraid.
She has seen all this before.
life in and around NYC is insane
- contemplative mood
- Two turkey dinners and Chinese food
- Dr. Strange (spoiler alert)
- Weeki Wachi
- Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them (spoiler a...
- So about that vacation
- Gotta love free samples
- the rituals of mourning
- One Day at Universal Studios
- So...about that vacation
- Laugh out loud moment of the day ...
- Inferno (major spoiler alert)
- Texas Roadhouse
- A swastika on her birth certificate
- The death of America
- Election Day
- Stefan & Aniston's Sports Bar
- Rest in Peace
- back from vacation
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