The crowd that had gathered was hungry, thirsty. Many were old; their clothes hung on them. Ancient mournful melodies filled the air. People wept. They wept for their dead, for all the dead. They wished to remember them all, the millions and millions in all the thousands of years. Too many to remember by name, souls like grains of sand, like the numberless galaxies in the heavens. The act of remembering seemed like an act of defiance. Against tyrants, against time, even against their god himself it seemed.
Grief. And purification. As it was in those days.
As it is today in 5769 / 2008.
Does one wish for Mazel Tov or toast L'Chayyim during Yom Kippur?
Posted by: David J | October 09, 2008 at 05:31 PM
A sincere gut yontiv is always appreciated.
Posted by: terence | October 09, 2008 at 05:35 PM
Gut yontiv, reb Terro.
Posted by: David J | October 09, 2008 at 07:05 PM