Knowing that hundreds of us were making our way on foot to the last remaining Wall made it all connect somehow. I had to come back
Every Shabbos at 8 a.m. Chaya bursts forth, waving her arms overhead frenetically and intoning some well-meaning but inane advice to all assembled
She looks old. My Heddie, my baby. The joke curdles. Hip hip, whatever, hip hip hooray. We’re all aging here in this old house
Do I have that same kavod? Though I’m dressed more appropriately, I’m watching from the sidelines and can’t even manage to be wholeheartedly present
On Pesach, Chumie counted Sefirah, on a transcendent Leil Shimurim she medically shouldn’t have lived to see. And the next night. And the next
Wasn’t that just her point all along? To cater to those who never succeeded before?
