Of blessed memory.
In a place now far away that I once called home, a beloved sister was memorialized by her adopted family. Wherever she was there was both mirth and seriousness, and I am sure that she will be remembered that way as her adopted family recounts her life. But my life as a vagabond has passed, and I shall not travel again, so my spiritual family in that far city will continue the tradition without me. I would have delighted in being there for the bittersweet time of remembrance.
I remember once traveling down to New Mexico with her and some other congregants to visit a converso congregation there, and the love they all had for her and the joy she brought … and the twinkle in her eye as she came up to me while I was delivering possibly the most inarticulate teaching I had ever presented in my life, and letting me know that my fly was undone!
And the late-night drive home singing, talking and just being with those I loved so dearly.
.הִנֵּה מַה טוֹב וּמַה נָּעִים שֶׁבֶת אָחִים גַּם יַחַד Ps 113:1
“How sweet it is to be sitting, surrounded by all of your brothers!” goes my favorite translation of this ancient passage in Psalms.
Shalom, most beloved sister. One day, others will close my eyes in this world, and Messiah will open them in Olam haBa and I’ll see you once again, Miss Priss.
Until then, Shalom, my sister.