Parashat Beha'alotecha: This One's For You, Dad

 Dedicated to the memory of my dear father, R’ Yitzchak Asher ben Yechezkel Shraga on the anniversary of his passing.

Dear Dad,

I’m writing to you because you’ve been on my mind throughout the last year, particularly over the course of this week.

I am writing these words on Tuesday evening, in the knowledge that in just over 48 hours, I will be reaching the end of my year of aveilut/mourning for you.  I will mark the occasion by switching off the electric light imprinted with the words ‘Ner Neshama’ – ‘a light for the soul’ at the end of the day, once darkness has fallen.

The light has remained on since 3^rd July last year, corresponding with 14^th Tammuz which was the day your soul left the home it had inhabited since the end of 1927.

Actually, I’m not being wholly accurate.  The light was damaged when your step great-grandchildren dropped a board game on it causing a temporary blip!  Thankfully Benjamin, Stephnie’s youngest son and Adam, Gabrielle’s boyfriend, worked their magic to restore it. Sorry about that!

As you know, in this week’s Parasha of Beha’alotecha, we read that G-d told Moshe to instruct his brother Aharon on the process of preparing and kindling the Menorah for its daily use in the Mishkan. These instructions were passed on to his sons and descendants.

To this day, every shul in the world has a ner tamid/everlasting light to remind us of the Menorot in the Mishkan and Batei Mikdash/Temples.  This is in addition to our recreating the act over the eight days of Chanukah in our homes.

Dad, you know that in Judaism, we put great emphasis on the importance of light.  Every Friday night, we light candles in honour of Shabbat and bid farewell to our holy day through the kindling of the Havdalah Candle the next day.

We appreciate that, just as wicks or candles bring light to the world, so do people.  When you smiled, your soul shone through your eyes.  You lit up a room and brightened the mood.

Your ner zikaron, though small and placed in the corner of our living room, has been a lasting reminder of how missed you are and the modest light it emits has been a constant reminder that, by your loss, our lives have been darker.

The practice of lighting a Yartzheit candle for a departed relative on the Hebrew anniversary of their passing probably goes back to Mishnaic times, whilst the lesser known minhag/custom of keeping a light on in the home for a year is more recent.  In the past, Chabad communities would ensure that a candle was lit over the period of the year in the shul.  These days, we use electric memorial boards instead.  They are probably safer too!

A contemporary Rabbi, the Nitei Gavriel, Rabbi Gavriel Zimmer, who lives in Boro Park (which isn’t far from where you lived) quotes the Ruach Chayim (Rabbi Chaim Palagi d.1868) who was the Turkish (and therefore Sephardi) Chief Rabbi of Smyrna as being the source for this custom.  I remember when you honoured your parents by keeping a light on for an entire year upon their passing (along with mum’s departed relatives).

Dad, you and mum provided much of the spiritual light that powers me today.  You encouraged me to develop my knowledge and share it with others.  You lit the internal menorah that burns brightly inside me to this day, replicating the beautiful acts performed by Aharon as described at the start of Beha’alotecha.

I therefore feel a modicum of sadness knowing that when I push that switch, the light that served as a bridge between the day you passed away and the end of my year of mourning will be extinguished.

The consolation I will have lies in the knowledge that, although the physical light will return to the drawer that keeps it safe on non-Yartzheit days, the spiritual light that I received from you will never be diminished inside me.

As Jews, we understand the concept of darkness.  At times like these, it sometimes feels that we are enveloped deeply inside it.  But, dad, you always taught me that each day brings new hope and you made me realise that we should be thankful for the light we are blessed to have through the family we have and the friends we treasure.

Sure as last summer was followed by autumn and then winter, before I knew it, spring had arrived and now, in early summer, it is the time for me to end my year of mourning for you.

I want to start this new year remembering you without the bitterness of mourning and although that means moving on, it also gives me the opportunity to bathe in the light that you provided for me.

Thank you, Dad and take care of Mum up there for me.

Your loving son, Claude.

Shabbat Shalom.