A few weeks ago I commemorated the 10th anniversary of my father passing away. As is custom in my faith on the evening before the date and the morning and afternoon of the actual date special prayers are said that supposedly elevate the soul of the deceased. In order to say these prayers ten men over the age of thirteen have to be present to hear and answer these prayers.
Last time I checked ten men don't live under our roof and I am the only permanent male resident there who has witnessed his teens, albeit many eons ago. So the logical place to find ten men who will answer your prayers is at the local synagogue. So on a Monday after work, Tuesday morning early, before work and then later in the afternoon that same day I trudged off to my place of worship and duly found others looking for prayers , a few answers and some comfort. I did what I had to do because I had the utmost respect and admiration for my late father and if I can play a small part in elevating his soul then that contributes greatly as pay back for all he did for me when I was growing up.
When I came home from praying for my father the first night I also lit a remembrance candle at home that burns for 25 hours covering the entire anniversary of his death. As is customary I said my father's name as the candle burst into flame and chanted a memorial prayer out loud that focuses on the deceased's resting place in the next world. My kids weren't at home at the time as they were engrossed in their after school activities ranging from ice hockey to tennis. My apartment was void of other humans and peaceful and this moment of tranquility gave me the perfect opportunity to reflect on both my father's life and the legacy he left to his children and grand children. This brought a rare glimpse of a smile to my face as during the organized prayers I was quite solemn and melancholic.
The peace and quiet was suddenly interrupted by a stampede of children and accompanying adults , and the noise levels reached such a crescendo that I was worried that the flame on the candle would be overwhelmed by the explosion of sound, thus extinguishing my father's memory forever. I managed to persuade everyone to lower the tempo a touch without going into detail and was successful in reducing the decibel level to something reasonable. For the rest of the evening no one paid any attention to the candle or where I had been as the normal routine of dinner, homework, showers and reading took prominence over any flickering ambers.
The next evening I returned home from the last of the services where my late father was remembered, emotionally and physically exhausted from the whole experience. This time my apartment was overflowing with people, most of whom I knew well. Everyone seemed to have a play date, including the babysitter. My wife had friends over as did my two daughters. I walked into the kitchen to find my youngest son, aged seven, standing over the dimly flickering remembrance candle, playing with the melted wax. I told him not to do that as it was disrespectful to my father's memory. He gave me a vacant stare and replied that he had no clue what I was talking about. I sat him down at the dining room table and explained to him that once a year I have to go to synagogue three times in a 24 hour period and attend services and say special prayers as well as lighting this candle at home.
After a brief pause in the conversation he lifted up his head and looked straight into my eyes and said, "Daddy, when you die I am not going to do any of this. It sounds really boring." He got up and walked away before I could answer him. I guess my soul will be hovering somewhere near ground level during my eternal rest.
