Yesterday I prepared for Dad's first yahrzeit by baking the onion cookies and lighting the yahrzeit candle that burns for 24 hours.
This morning I got up early to attend morning minyan. A few friends joined the regulars so that we'd have a minimum of 10 Jews in order to say kaddish. And there were two other people with yahrzeits today.
When we got to the point in the service where we recite El Maleh Rachamim (God full of compassion), I decided to chant the prayer myself. It was a somewhat surreal moment. I was holding the very large and heavy sefer Torah, following each word in the prayer book with my finger so that I was sure to pronounce it correctly, and trying not to be so emotionally overwhelmed that it interfered with my ability to chant.
I shared that my dad loved being a Cohen and that he loved to potchkey around in the kitchen. Hence the onion cookies.
After the service ended, we ate onion cookies spread with butter or cream cheese, some coffee or orange juice, and toasted my dad.
The yahrzeit candle is still burning....
Showing posts with label yahrzeit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yahrzeit. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
May his memory be a blessing
Here are some favorite memories of my dad, as well as some photos from over the years.
My mom has most of the photos from when they were young, but over the years I have snitched a few. This is one of my favorites. Here Dad is age 12 (still in short pants, so we know it was taken before his bar mitzvah).
My dad was very proud of his service to his country during World War II. This was taken in 1945 with his parents.
My parents visited cousins in California in 1985. Ray and Dad used to play cribbage together all the time.
You can see the passion my dad brought to his marriage with my mom in this pic, taken at the surprise 36th anniversary party Susan, David and I threw for them in 1985. Why a 36th anniversary party? Susan and I were too young to plan their 25th, and to tell the truth, we missed their 35th. So throwing a double chai 36th anniversary party seemed like the best choice.
This is of course the father-daughter dance at our wedding in 1995. When my dad suffered his stroke in 1989, he confided to me that he was worried that he wouldn't be able to dance with me at my wedding.
While we were dancing, Dad accused me of leading. I insisted I was NOT leading. I asked, "What dance are you doing?" Dad said, "I'm doing the foxtrot." I shot back, "Dad, they're playing a waltz!"
At their 50th wedding anniversary party, the air conditioning in the hotel had gone south and we were all sweltering in the Cincinnati summer heat. Not Dad!
Rik took this photo of Dad tinkering with the old 8 mm film projector. When Susan and I were kids, a favorite family pastime was to watch home movies. Mom, Susan and I would sit on the steps leading down to the basement. Dad would set up the projector on the ironing board and pull out an old free-standing screen.The movies were shot on 8 mm and Super 8 film. Mom and Dad would reminisce over the oldest films, taken when they were teens and first married, then we would retell the stories of family vacations. Talk about early adopters -- my parents had a "video" camera in the 1940s!
Dad, zichrono l'vrachah, may your memory be a blessing to all who knew you.
My mom has most of the photos from when they were young, but over the years I have snitched a few. This is one of my favorites. Here Dad is age 12 (still in short pants, so we know it was taken before his bar mitzvah).
My dad was very proud of his service to his country during World War II. This was taken in 1945 with his parents.
My parents visited cousins in California in 1985. Ray and Dad used to play cribbage together all the time.You can see the passion my dad brought to his marriage with my mom in this pic, taken at the surprise 36th anniversary party Susan, David and I threw for them in 1985. Why a 36th anniversary party? Susan and I were too young to plan their 25th, and to tell the truth, we missed their 35th. So throwing a double chai 36th anniversary party seemed like the best choice.
This is of course the father-daughter dance at our wedding in 1995. When my dad suffered his stroke in 1989, he confided to me that he was worried that he wouldn't be able to dance with me at my wedding.While we were dancing, Dad accused me of leading. I insisted I was NOT leading. I asked, "What dance are you doing?" Dad said, "I'm doing the foxtrot." I shot back, "Dad, they're playing a waltz!"
At their 50th wedding anniversary party, the air conditioning in the hotel had gone south and we were all sweltering in the Cincinnati summer heat. Not Dad!
Rik took this photo of Dad tinkering with the old 8 mm film projector. When Susan and I were kids, a favorite family pastime was to watch home movies. Mom, Susan and I would sit on the steps leading down to the basement. Dad would set up the projector on the ironing board and pull out an old free-standing screen.The movies were shot on 8 mm and Super 8 film. Mom and Dad would reminisce over the oldest films, taken when they were teens and first married, then we would retell the stories of family vacations. Talk about early adopters -- my parents had a "video" camera in the 1940s!
Dad, zichrono l'vrachah, may your memory be a blessing to all who knew you.
Onion cookies and memories
Beginning tonight and lasting until sunset tomorrow is the first yahrzeit for my father. In his memory I will light a candle tonight, go to shul in the morning, recite El Maleh Rachamim (God full of compassion), and share a memory or two with the morning minyan.
And of course I will bring the onion cookies. A recipe my father persuaded his mother to share, these savory biscuits are a staple every year when we break the fast after Yom Kippur. Today I made a small batch to share. Spread with cream cheese or butter, with a cup of coffee or some orange juice, they are a taste of heaven and the perfect way to remember my dad, who loved to cook and bake his special dishes.
And of course I will bring the onion cookies. A recipe my father persuaded his mother to share, these savory biscuits are a staple every year when we break the fast after Yom Kippur. Today I made a small batch to share. Spread with cream cheese or butter, with a cup of coffee or some orange juice, they are a taste of heaven and the perfect way to remember my dad, who loved to cook and bake his special dishes.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Rabbi Charisse Kranes - may her memory be a blessing
Today is the 20th anniversary of my dear friend Charisse's death. She died erev Shavu'ot 5749 (1989).
Charisse and I knew each other from when I was 12 and she was 14. We grew up in Young Judaea together, attending Cincinnati YJ club meetings, Central States regional conventions and activities, and Camp Tel Yehudah in Barryville NY. I followed in her footsteps and didn't attend the Young Judaea Year Course in Israel but instead went to the Machon lemadrichei chutz la'aretz (The Institute for Youth Leaders from Abroad).
We sang, we talked, we ran around and had fun. I loved brushing her long, thick brown hair. She carried a toy Jeep at conventions and took the wheels off during Shabbat so it couldn't go for a ride. It didn't matter that I was two years younger or she was two years older. And when we had finished college and Charisse was in rabbinic school, she would come to visit me in Columbus OH on her way to her part-time student pulpit in northern Ohio.
One summer Charisse had a student congregation in Traverse City MI. I drove up to Michigan's lower peninsula and found my way to Traverse City, home of local cherries. Charisse was staying in a tiny apartment located in the old, small synagogue. We had a most wonderful time together.
While writing her rabbinic thesis Charisse began to complain of stomach pain. Everyone thought it was due to the stress of graduating from rabbinic school and looking for a job. She found a position as assistant rabbi at Temple de Hirsch Sinai here in Seattle. (I was still living in Columbus.)
Only a few weeks after arriving in Seattle, Charisse was diagnosed with cervical cancer. The stomach pains turned out to be a tumor the size of a grapefruit. My great shame in life is that when she asked me to come to Seattle to be with her during a round of chemotherapy, I begged off, saying I couldn't afford it and couldn't take the time off from work. I only wish I had had the sensitivity to really hear her fear and sadness and been able to respond to them. But Charisse didn't hold a grudge.
Throughout the four years Charisse battled this cancer, she lived life to the fullest. She married her graduate school sweetie, Winston Pickett, while still in cancer treatment and was a beautiful bride. (We went to lunch the day before the wedding and in the ladies' room at the restaurant, she said, "I simply must scratch my head," pulled off her wig and scratched vigorously.) Her two wigs each had a name for when Charisse felt like being someone else. Charisse never lost her sense of humor about it all.
Some time later, she was living in California but had a high holiday pulpit in Hawaii. She called me one afternoon when I was preparing to lead services at Hillel, saying she couldn't remember how to sing Kol Nidre and would I sing it into the phone for her? Ironically, Charisse was the one who taught me to chant for the high holidays. I still have the recording she made for me of all her favorite nusach and tunes. If I ever figure out how to upload music to this blog I will share it.
Charisse was gifted with a most extraordinary voice. She was an inspiration for Bonia Shur, music director at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, and recorded for him. Some of my fondest memories are of just singing together at a Young Judaea meeting or at camp.
It's been twenty years since Charisse died, and when I said kaddish this morning for her yahrzeit, tears came so strongly to my eyes that I could barely read the words. I miss her still and wish we could have shared these past twenty years together -- my move to Seattle, marriage to Rik, frustration at infertility and cancer diagnoses.
Charisse and I were supposed to grow old together, still laughing and singing into our 80s. Now I have no life expectancy, having outlived all the statistics for women with metastatic breast cancer, and I don't know how many more birthdays I will celebrate. No matter how many or how few, they will be without Charisse -- and that's something I will never get used to.
Zichrona l'vracha -- may her memory be a blessing.
Charisse and I knew each other from when I was 12 and she was 14. We grew up in Young Judaea together, attending Cincinnati YJ club meetings, Central States regional conventions and activities, and Camp Tel Yehudah in Barryville NY. I followed in her footsteps and didn't attend the Young Judaea Year Course in Israel but instead went to the Machon lemadrichei chutz la'aretz (The Institute for Youth Leaders from Abroad).
We sang, we talked, we ran around and had fun. I loved brushing her long, thick brown hair. She carried a toy Jeep at conventions and took the wheels off during Shabbat so it couldn't go for a ride. It didn't matter that I was two years younger or she was two years older. And when we had finished college and Charisse was in rabbinic school, she would come to visit me in Columbus OH on her way to her part-time student pulpit in northern Ohio.
One summer Charisse had a student congregation in Traverse City MI. I drove up to Michigan's lower peninsula and found my way to Traverse City, home of local cherries. Charisse was staying in a tiny apartment located in the old, small synagogue. We had a most wonderful time together.
While writing her rabbinic thesis Charisse began to complain of stomach pain. Everyone thought it was due to the stress of graduating from rabbinic school and looking for a job. She found a position as assistant rabbi at Temple de Hirsch Sinai here in Seattle. (I was still living in Columbus.)
Only a few weeks after arriving in Seattle, Charisse was diagnosed with cervical cancer. The stomach pains turned out to be a tumor the size of a grapefruit. My great shame in life is that when she asked me to come to Seattle to be with her during a round of chemotherapy, I begged off, saying I couldn't afford it and couldn't take the time off from work. I only wish I had had the sensitivity to really hear her fear and sadness and been able to respond to them. But Charisse didn't hold a grudge.
Throughout the four years Charisse battled this cancer, she lived life to the fullest. She married her graduate school sweetie, Winston Pickett, while still in cancer treatment and was a beautiful bride. (We went to lunch the day before the wedding and in the ladies' room at the restaurant, she said, "I simply must scratch my head," pulled off her wig and scratched vigorously.) Her two wigs each had a name for when Charisse felt like being someone else. Charisse never lost her sense of humor about it all.
Some time later, she was living in California but had a high holiday pulpit in Hawaii. She called me one afternoon when I was preparing to lead services at Hillel, saying she couldn't remember how to sing Kol Nidre and would I sing it into the phone for her? Ironically, Charisse was the one who taught me to chant for the high holidays. I still have the recording she made for me of all her favorite nusach and tunes. If I ever figure out how to upload music to this blog I will share it.
Charisse was gifted with a most extraordinary voice. She was an inspiration for Bonia Shur, music director at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, and recorded for him. Some of my fondest memories are of just singing together at a Young Judaea meeting or at camp.
It's been twenty years since Charisse died, and when I said kaddish this morning for her yahrzeit, tears came so strongly to my eyes that I could barely read the words. I miss her still and wish we could have shared these past twenty years together -- my move to Seattle, marriage to Rik, frustration at infertility and cancer diagnoses.
Charisse and I were supposed to grow old together, still laughing and singing into our 80s. Now I have no life expectancy, having outlived all the statistics for women with metastatic breast cancer, and I don't know how many more birthdays I will celebrate. No matter how many or how few, they will be without Charisse -- and that's something I will never get used to.
Zichrona l'vracha -- may her memory be a blessing.
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