Bread in the Water

I have a memory of walking from the synagogue to the water and throwing bread into the Hutchinson River. I am sitting in the middle of the congregation, bored out of my mind, while listening to old men crow about. There is singing that sounds like perpetual sadness and pain. There are questions being asked after we stand up and sit down and stand up and sit down over and again. “Turn to page 169” in a book that is bound backwards from what you know in school. “In Hebrew we say…” and the men all say words I don’t know or understand. The only time I understand what is being said is when the Rabbi tells us why we are here today.

On the right we are all men and boys with a wall that separates us from the women. The wall is on the right of me and if I look through a crack, I may find my little sister peeking through to find me. She caught my attention signaling with her eyes that she didn’t want to be there either. Years later, I’d find myself in another synagogue in Norfolk, Virginia. It was traditional conservative, but women could sit with men in this one. The Rabbi said, “If the only day you come to synagogue is today, you are making a mistake as this is the most difficult and miserable day to come.”

I ask myself inside, why would I put myself through this? Sitting here as an adult, I hate it as much as I did when I was a child. There were always three reasons that I went, aside from the fact that as a child I had to go. The first is that I felt responsible or guilty if I didn’t go. It would definitely weigh on me if I didn’t at least fast. The second is the Rabbi spent time finding some really good stories to share. These guys spend all year studying and finding ways to help people, they have some pretty good stories lined up. I enjoy those and generally learn from them. The third reason is bread in the water.

I am back in the small old synagogue underground down below the streets of Section 5. Just for a moment, I pause, I look at my grandfather’s name which is on the wall. There is a plaque with his name on it hung with many other names. Today it is lit up by a small, tiny light bulb. As I stand before it, I feel the tears welling up and this great pain inside because I miss him so much. Who would I become? Who am I meant to be? I didn’t have enough time with him. My connection with this synagogue, the one I was Bar Mitzvah’d in was a connection to him. It was his name on the wall, it was a place to remember him in the same way a person would climb up a mountain and feel something special as they reached the top. It was a small journey but powerful.

None of the people heading out of the building knew anything about how I felt. I’d follow them, the old people barely able to walk. In a line, crossing through a fence where a hole was cut, heading out towards the river. It was a short journey, but it felt like forever. The swans and Canadian geese were there to greet us, and the bread wouldn’t last long. The Rabbi led them in prayers and tossed the bread in some cadence aligned to what he would say.

I stood on the outside of it and waited. I stood away from them because I didn’t feel the connection to them. I felt a connection to my grandfather. The bread represents sins as I recall, and we tossed the bread away as we seek to toss our sins away while asking for understanding. The Rabbi said that we can’t undo what we have done but we can recognize it and apologize. We can learn from our mistakes and work hard to do better but we can’t be absolved of them. If we wronged a person, we must work it through with the person we wronged not G-d.

The memories are really just flashes of what I can recall. Mostly, I remember how much I hated being there.

Today, I understand only a little bit more than I did when I was a child. In Judaism, individuals may have a relationship with G-d. I take this as a guiding principle for the way I behave and what I believe. Beyond this, the idea of being “chosen” is akin to being an older sibling. As a big brother to my sisters, I have a responsibility and I do take this to mean that I do whatever it takes to be there for them. Finally, we are responsible for what we choose to do. We are responsible for our behavior. We are responsible and accountable for our actions. It is healthy to stop, learn, reflect, and reorient ourselves towards being better and doing better. It is also important to be mindful of what we have done but not drown in it.

The old building still stands but the synagogue is now a church. I’ve gone a few times to see if they left the plaques on the wall, but I assume they didn’t. Why would they? Time has a way of erasing us all like footprints in the sand. Even our memories are fleeting as our brain tries to recreate something that happened sometime long ago. In this sense, it really does make sense to look only back one year and reflect.

Today, I will reflect on this year. I will take it as an opportunity to do better tomorrow and understand that my actions have an impact on others. I also acknowledge that I am not different from a footprint in the sand and that time will erase me to history. It makes my understanding of living in the moment clear and complete.

And so we are told..

  For whoever does not afflict his soul through this day, shall be
          cut off from his people.
                                                                           —Leviticus 23:29

And…