I just came back from the funeral of the mother of a good friend of mine. It was the first time I’ve been asked to be a pallbearer and to help fill in the grave. His mother survived Auschwitz, emigrated from the Soviet Union, returned to her pre-war home to see neighbors wearing her clothes (which she had sewed herself), raised five children (one of whom is significantly mentally retarded), supported Israel in a big way, and participated in communal life here and was highly regarded by all…I think I’ll stop thinking that my life is hard. It was a sobering moment.

Advertisements