Yesterday I drove to LA to visit a friend whose father had recently died unexpectedly. It was Friday and I knew that I needed to go, but at the same time, was dreading the drive there and back, alone and in the inevitable traffic that the weekend brings.
My friend is Jewish. His father survived the Shoah, the Holocaust. We sat in his home and he showed me his family tree on his father's side. Utterly amazing to see the impact that the Nazi's had--on the family tree, there was a Star of David for each member of the family that was killed in the Holocaust. Looking at roughly a dozen families, fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers. . .nearly all were wiped out.
Dan, my friend, showed me his Eulogy. In it he ended by talking about an image he had of his father chasing a fly around the kitchen of his home in the Boston area. He would jump around and chase it until he could cusp it and then set it free outside. For someone who was a survivor when everyone he loved was killed, life was that important--even the life of a fly.
It's funny how there are times when we think of our own hardships, of what we are giving up to "give" something to our friends--a little time in the car for me. Really, it was me who got something, who gained a little more life from the story of a survivor who has passed on.
winter shiva home
survive the shoah not life
covenant endures
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