Soon, inevitably, I will be part of the afar I came from. But I can make my life into something that matters — by connecting to You

When you’re precariously posed at the brink of a new year, the future is scary to contemplate. As you get older, you realize just how much is at stake. Life itself is, of course. But so is every other factor and facet of our lives. Nothing is forever. And nothing can be anticipated as inevitable, either.

A week before Rosh Hashanah, I got a phone call. It was one of my closest high school friends. Her voice, normally cheerful, was morose. “Freida Rochel’s father was niftar,” she told me hoarsely. “He was sick for three years. They kept it a secret. She never even came to seminary.”

I hung up, sank down on my bed, and buried my face in my hands. I had never been close with Freida Rochel. She was a happy girl who never seemed to be struggling with something so difficult. And now, at the start of what was supposed to be her seminary year, her world had crumbled.

My heart ached for her. As I sobbed, I prayed that I hadn’t added to her pain over the years by saying something insensitive. The thought that I might have said something to hurt her was excruciating.

As I tearfully mouthed words of Tehillim, I davened for Freida Rochel’s father to have an aliyas neshamah and for her and her family to find strength. To find comfort. Pouring my tears into tefillah helped me feel that I was partnering with them from afar, both in pain and in prayer. I achieved closure that way. But that mournful night gave me a new perspective on approaching the Yom Hadin.