YK wrapup

Last night, for one second, I glimpsed eternity.

I had decided to use my great-grandfather's kol nidre machzor for the first time. He had a complete set of machzorim (holiday-specific prayer books) which I now possess, they are the only thing of his that our family still has. My middle name, Marc, was chosen to honor Max's memory. And so I decided that if the kol nidre volume was in good enough shape, I'd try using it. It was, and I did.

Near the end of the Amidah prayer, I got to the words lanu ulvaneinu ad olam, "they belong to us and our children forever." At that moment, it hit me: this book probably hadn't been used in the eighty years since Max Bissinger died. The trace DNA on these pages belonged to a grandfather my mother never met, but a fraction of whose genes were once again being left on the pages. The last eyes to read these words were German eyes that would never see the Nazis rise to power; but of Max's four children, two would be murdered for their Jewishness.

Standing next to me was my precious son, who is learning how to take his place as a Jew. And just as my great-grandfather could not see the future, neither can I be certain where my great-grandchildren will be, what their religious identity will be, and what steps will take them there. We had a small detour, between Max and me. Who knows what shape the path will take?

And for that one moment, I saw the sweep of history. I realized what a tiny speck I am on the timeline of my family, tracing back four millennia to Avraham, and forward, God willing, into a vast future --- and yet, as tiny a speck as I am, I am not insignificant, for I am this generation's link, connecting that long past to that unknown future. Without me, the past loses some of its purpose; without me, the future is impossible.

How unworthy I am, and how vital I am.

YK wrapup

Last night, for one second, I glimpsed eternity.

I had decided to use my great-grandfather's kol nidre machzor for the first time. He had a complete set of machzorim (holiday-specific prayer books) which I now possess, they are the only thing of his that our family still has. My middle name, Marc, was chosen to honor Max's memory. And so I decided that if the kol nidre volume was in good enough shape, I'd try using it. It was, and I did.

Near the end of the Amidah prayer, I got to the words lanu ulvaneinu ad olam, "they belong to us and our children forever." At that moment, it hit me: this book probably hadn't been used in the eighty years since Max Bissinger died. The trace DNA on these pages belonged to a grandfather my mother never met, but a fraction of whose genes were once again being left on the pages. The last eyes to read these words were German eyes that would never see the Nazis rise to power; but of Max's four children, two would be murdered for their Jewishness.

Standing next to me was my precious son, who is learning how to take his place as a Jew. And just as my great-grandfather could not see the future, neither can I be certain where my great-grandchildren will be, what their religious identity will be, and what steps will take them there. We had a small detour, between Max and me. Who knows what shape the path will take?

And for that one moment, I saw the sweep of history. I realized what a tiny speck I am on the timeline of my family, tracing back four millennia to Avraham, and forward, God willing, into a vast future --- and yet, as tiny a speck as I am, I am not insignificant, for I am this generation's link, connecting that long past to that unknown future. Without me, the past loses some of its purpose; without me, the future is impossible.

How unworthy I am, and how vital I am.