Let My People Go
Looking for Jews, I scrolled through the contacts in my phone.
It was time, once again, for my annual “Happy Passover :)” text message.
I zipped through the A’s, B’s and C’s, but when I got to the D’s, my heart sunk into my guts and I nearly asphyxiated.
I saw “Dad”, and for the tiniest of micro-seconds, the impulse to text him shock-waved through my body as if he was sitting at the kitchen table reading the New York Times and eating a burnt bagel sliced into threes.
But reality kicked in and caught up with me towards the end of that quantum time wrinkle.
I breathed a solid breath and skipped ahead to the R’s to find my dad’s best friend.
If anyone knows what it’s like to miss my dad, it’s him. They were pals since the second grade.
We chatted back and forth a bit and it was, to say the least, really nice. He’s kind of like a conduit for me. And I have to level with you, tears are now on my cheeks as I type this.
He wished me a Happy Passover and I resumed my messaging in alphabetic order.
For those of you who don’t know, or need a refresher course, the holiday is called Passover because the Angel Of Death passed over the Jewish homes when carrying out the tenth plague.
But I got news for you, he’ll be back. For all of us.
I’ll try to live as kindly, forgivingly, gratefully, gracefully, lovingly and thoroughly until it’s my turn.
Maybe you can try as well.
We owe it to our loved ones, lost and current, and we owe it to ourselves.
thank you as always,