18TH TISHREI YOM HILULA of RABBI NACHMAN BEN
SIMCHA
It does not get any better than this.
He places his head in the nook of my neck-dozing yet
Still clutching me with his short arms.
It does not get any better than this,
A happiness I never experienced before-deep penetrating
satisfaction- simchah, an experience that echoes 'this is
what have lived for all along-for this very moment'
All has been worth it for this little child, all the pain of the
past the discomfort in being alive, the deep wounding, all
worth it.
It beats even love-making!
So this is naches!
The Divine Child lies on my shoulder-what a zechus.
I feel so blessed. I cry in joy. Thank you God!
For this moment, thank you! I am truly at one with this
Child-of-God, I wish only to nourish him, his growth, his
becoming, my desires melt away- he is my only focus now,
the future, my flesh and blood, my kinsman, I would truly
die for him.
Another moment; another head lying on me,
This time it’s my father in law's.
The white-haired Patriarch lies in my lap, in the succah,
second day Yom Tov, after suddenly feeling feint. The
normal chit chat suddenly broken by an impending sense
of foreboding, all goes quiet as we busy ourselves in his
immediate care. The succah becomes transformed making
way for the ambulance crew, the stretcher and the
paraphernalia of medical equipment. Such is the norm for
the management of near-syncopal episodes in modernity.
A strange feeling and a bond, my teacher, father-in-law,
mentor, often feared, now lies flat on makeshift chairs
cradled in my arms. White beard squared at base, pasty
forehead, still possibly unconscious, ashen-faced. Is this
the end-so much history between us! Has it all come down
to this moment? I too am powerless over his life.
Ambulance on its way we wait and listen for its siren in the
neighborhood streets. There is a strange calm in the
succah now, nothing to do but wait. So ironic that his life,
his purity and obstinate righteousness, his halakhic
precision, his erudition and Talmudic mastery, his delight
and sense of pride at having married into the Beis harav,
Malchus, now lies prostrate in this succah on my lap, in his
83rd year, face up, almost fearless, as if accepting
gracefully whatever is in store.
Life is so fragile, and I lie strung between the two of them,
one a child, an infant less than a year old, the other a
patriarch-hoary headed and a sage of a generation,
respected by all. Both heads lay on me, strung between
generations, one in the nape of my neck, filling that
angular gap perfectly with his little keppie, the other
cupped in my palms as we cool his forehead with cold
compresses. One the past-full of tradition and erudition,
Rabbinic splendor, the other a promise of the future, a
knowing look in this infants eyes when he gazes upon you
as if he has the secrets-a compassionate eye- followed by
a royal gestured wave.
Do I even remember dada holding me as an infant? My
other grandfather was killed 8 years before I was even
born. I have no memory as I search for body imprints of
such paternal connectivity. I only remember Nana in my
body.
It does not get better than this -
Chained before and after in a link of fathers and sons I
have finally found my place this succos in this long line
that stretches back into antiquity and forward into the
misty future.
I am so grateful to God for this
I am so grateful for this simchah in my heart
I feel equally privileged to have served both sage and
grandson holding their heads, their beings, in my hands.
For this alone
For this moment in time
It was worth having been created
It remains eternal.
