Everyone's Zeidy

Everyone's Zeidy

There are days where you act like a crazy twenty something year old; having fun with friends, staying out late at night, traveling, thinking that you have all the time in the world to fulfill your dreams.

While this is a fine attitude on the one hand, on the other hand, we have so much riding on us.

Today is my Zeidy, HaChazzan Yosef ben HaRav Yaakov Aryeh z"l's third yarzheit.

When my Zeidy was alive, everything made sense. Our mesorah/tradition flowed from him and whenever I had a question about Judaism or life, I would always go to him. When asked what true love was really about, instead of giving adjectives, I would say "just look at my Zeidy and grandma. That is true love."  When he passed away in my grandmother's arms three years ago, all those years of Zeidy's teachings became real. We were now the holders of the tradition and had the responsibility of preserving it, living it, and passing it on. 

Pesach will never be the same without Zeidy glowing with happiness at the head of our table adorned in his white kittel; nothing is really the same. My brother made a siyum tonight in his memory for the elevation of his neshama. Zeidy would have loved shmoozing/conversing with all of the bachurim/young yeshiva students that filled our house tonight. His eyes would have lit up when he would find a friend in the room to become his chevrusa for the night. He was once a yeshiva bachur himself but his yeshiva days were cut short because he was sent to a slave labor camp. 

Zeidy could speak anyone's language, he could dance at anyone's wedding. He talked torah, any sugya from the gemara, chassidus, every type of Judaism, music, politics, hockey, and philosophy....name it and he could talk about it.

My friends drove up from Baltimore to attend the funeral which took place in New York. They said, "we had to come to Zeidy's funeral because he was our Zeidy too." He was everyone's Zeidy. He would smile when my friends would come over and he would ask about everyone's well being. He was just so loved. 

May his neshama have an aliyah and I hope he is comfortable and happy, wearing his favorite 

sweater, learning and singing with his father who was killed in Auschwitz, eating his mother and grandmother's cheese buns, and getting into mischief with his sweet brothers who will forever remain teenagers in my mind because they all perished in the Holocaust at the height of their youth. 

Dear Zeidy, I will be returning to Poland this summer. Last time I went to Poland to visit the "grave" of your family in Auschwitz, I was able to call you after the trip to tell you I arrived home safely. You were there to give me a bracha before and after the trip...yisimech elokim kisara rivka rachel and leah...in your Hungarian/yiddish accent; everything sounds holier in a Hungarian accent. This time, I am going alone. There will be no bracha from you. There will be no phone call from you to console me over the fact that there is no matzevah/headstone for your family and the 1.5 million victims who perished al kiddush Hashem in Auschwitz. It will be very difficult but I will channel your strength and faith making sure that they are never forgotten. 

May Zeidy's neshama have an aliyah always, and Zeidy, please know that you are sorely missed by your adoring fans; your grandchildren and everyone who thought of you as their Zeidy.