Rosh Hashana was spent at ADC's parents. In addition to the five of us, and the three permanent residents in Omer, his brother's family and in-laws (4+4), were there, not just for the first night, but for all of the first day. Everyone gets on well, so a good time was had by all, until the septic tank gave up the ghost. Too many small children being too conscientious about cleanliness ... fortunately ADC's parents have an en suite shower and toilet that is on a different line.
Our pleasure was dampened by two deaths within two days of each other: my great-aunt N died almost a year to the day of his husband IG's passing last year. Her funeral was on Sunday, the day before Rosh Hashanah, immediately after her daughter from Australia - who had been on her way anyway - arrived. Auntie N had Alzheimer's, and she had not been a full box of chocolates for several years (she once actually gave me a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates which turned out to be partially eaten, and that was one of the first instances of her illness), but before that she had been a very outgoing person, the life and soul of every party. She had a song for every occasion, and always encouraged her grandchildren and great-nieces/nephews to perform, too. She had a good life, and her death was a relief, I believe.
Much more tragic was my mother's best friend, E, dying on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. E was my mother's age, not yet 70, and she suffered a series of three strokes over the course of the past month. Even one stroke is terrifying, especially as she lives alone and her only surviving son lives in Philadelphia (her other son was killed in a border skirmish while doing reserve duty a few years ago). She lost the sight in one eye in the first stroke and the second caused her to become completely blind. I don't know how she would have managed any kind of quality of life, because she would have lost her independence entirely - and she loved reading. My mother was exhausted by Yom Kippur, as she hosted some of E's relatives who came for the funeral, until literally the day before. Furthermore, Yom Kippur is a day that she particularly associated with E, since that was the anniversary of her son's death, and my mother used to visit her with whichever grandchild was youngest, instead of going to synagogue to say Yizkor, the prayer for the dead.
For me, Yom Kippur - the Day of Atonement - is a day of identification with the Jewish people as a whole. I am not observant most of the year (being vegetarian, I keep kosher by default, but no observant person would consider my kitchen to actually be kosher), but on Yom Kippur I fast and spend most of the day in shul. It was a relief to be back home and standing next to my father, after last year in Takoma Park. On the downside, it was ferociously hot - over 35 degrees Celsius when we walked home after Mussaf. I managed to complete a wrap, knitted from the hand-dyed yarn I bought on Friday Harbor and ruffle yarn I bought at Joann in Wheaton, in time to wear in shul, since the AC assumes that you are wearing a tallit, anyway. I didn't have time to block it, though, so it looks at the moment rather like the feather boa Mick Jagger wears in Sympathy for the Devil.
While everything I've described so far was going on, on all the few working days this month I was on the phone and/or e-mail daily with the shipping company and their agents in Israel. Our lift finally arrived on September 1st, but actually reached our home in Jerusalem at 8 p.m. on the 24th - even with the many holidays, that is ridiculous. Apparently there was no problem with customs, but some miscommunication with the consolidators (we had far less than a full container) delayed the Israeli agents, as they didn't want to pay the extra thousand shekels being demanded. The children were overjoyed to see their things again, I was mainly happy that everything arrived the night before - rather than the morning of - our family holiday at the beach, which will be the subject of the next post.
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