The Old Days

The High Holiday season came late that year; there was already a nip in the air at night, and the leaves were starting to turn. Dan Finkelstein, president of the dying Congregation B’nei Yeshurun of Millburg, Pennsylvania, was tired. It had been a struggle to find a rabbi for the holidays this time around. Contacting the major seminaries proved useless. In desperation, he had placed an ad on the Internet. The only responses were from a random Israeli who wanted to be flown in from Tel Aviv, and a Jew for Jesus who, he said, was convinced that God had sent him to teach His people the true way.

On top of that worry, old Arnie Stern passed away four days before Rosh Hashana. By default, Dan presided at the graveside ceremony. Dan was not an especially religious man, but he had once gone to a yeshiva and still knew Hebrew, more or less. In the cemetery, there were already fallen maple leaves decorating the graves, as if nature itself was paying its respects. The sunlight was almost obscenely cheerful. Dan appreciated the irony.

Dan’s eulogy was good, he had to admit it himself, and this despite the fact that the deceased had been a fairly dull man. Arnie had long outlived his friends; there were few mourners present, just the aging son and daughter and three adult grandchildren. At the conclusion of the service, Dan offered them the traditional prayer: May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem. Then the family...