My Toronto cousin picked me up from my Tibetan friends in time for a family brunch with other cousins, the Catholic side of the family, who had driven over from Niagara to visit me. My diet changed abruptly from Tibetan momos and temos to Kosher-style bagels and lox. Choosing sleep over going to Kol Nidre services, I felt obligated to attend synagogue most of the following day. My cousin Carol and I arrived just before Yiskor, the memorial service for the dead and ill. We weren't there but a few minutes when a commotion erupted a few rows down and over from where we sat. People rushed over—doctors, a nurse, family members—which shocked congregants, because 92-year-old Holocaust survivor Jack had passed out. The rabbi delayed services while the EMTs carted Jack off, followed by a retinue of relatives, to the hospital.
Services resumed more somberly and earnestly than earlier amongst this relatively older congregation. Even I became much more reflective and nostalgic as the cantor sang the songs of my childhood.
After a break, Carol and I walked the five kilometers from home back to the temple to hear the blowing of the shofar, the Jewish wake-up call that stirs Jews to mend their ways and repent: "Sleepers, wake up from your slumber! Examine your ways and repent and remember your Creator." On the way to the temple, we passed numerous signs advertising prefabricated sukkahs to celebrate the next Jewish holiday, Sukkot. On a similar hike in my Georgia neighborhood, I would pass abundant signs stating, "We hang Christmas lights."
Once inside, I looked to where Jack had fainted earlier in the day. Jack was back, his grandson standing next to him. Carol sighed with delight. "Jack is the sweetest man. I prayed he wouldn't die today."
"Why?"
"Jack had been in the gas chamber at Auschwitz on Yom Kippur during the Holocaust. A German soldier pulled him out to be his helper. His family did not believe that G-d would let him die on Yom Kippur."
In those few days with my cousins, I found myself reminiscing about happy recollections of our shared past and thinking back to my Jewish childhood, my father, and my own spiritual path.
Hebrews 11:1 – "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."
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