Beloved family

My husband Bob left me a wonderful family! His daughter, Deborah, who lives in New York, was the first person to come enjoy my wee guest room here in my apartment in Jerusalem. She was extraordinarily lucky — the winter weather held back its worst, and it was mostly sunny and even relatively warm while she was here. She arrived on a Friday morning, and Hagai — her nephew, my grandson — picked her up from the airport. He kindly stopped for me at the super, and even agreed to an additional stop on Rehov Emek Refaim at one of the natural foods stores. (I live within walking distance of four natural foods stores — but with my full agala it was delightful to have a car at my disposal.)

Deborah and I spent the first day chatting and preparing Shabbat dinner. I was chopping vegetables in the kitchen when we received a shocking phone call — news that my sister-in-law, Phyllis, had died suddenly at her home in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Among my family, Deborah and Phyllis were my closest supporters after Bob’s death. Their frequent phone calls were a life line for me during the hardest times, and contact with them both has continued to be an important part of my life. Deborah had just been out to see Phyllis, to help her think about her estate and prepare for the end of her life. She was nearly ninety one and had not been well — and yet, had continued her life with as much vigor as she could, visiting and hosting friends and getting out and about. Indeed, we learned that on the day she died, she had had breakfast with a friend, lunched with another, and was preparing to go out for dinner when she apparently keeled over of a fatal heart attack. As Deborah said, it was not entirely a surprise that she died –and yet, we were all surprised, as she sometimes seemed ageless and eternal.

Somehow, Deb and I pulled ourselves together to receive granddaughter Yochi and her husband Yoni and two year old Golan, grandson Hagai, and two of my friends from Pardes, for Shabbat dinner. It was a warm and friendly gathering, and yet Phyllis’s presence, for me at least, hovered around us, throwing a shadow behind our songs, our conversation, our meal, our blessings. Still we sang (in harmony, thanks to my grandson-in-law), we talked long and late of many things including Phyllis, we ate good roasted vegetables and baked chicken with Moroccan spices, and we sang our brachot and were glad for each other’s company.

On Shabbat day, Deborah and I attended no services and no meals, but slept in as late as we could, ate together, and took a long walk through the nearby neighborhoods. Deborah made and received phone calls about Phyllis. We packed for our journey ahead. My mind felt full of endings and beginnings, grief and anticipation. Life is a strange experience, but we are lucky to have our family and our friends to go through it with us…