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The years pass and memories of those most dear to me remain in my mind and in my heart. Somehow, it’s difficult to express what these connections mean to me. Tears flow easily as I miss more and more of these precious relationships. If I am fortunate, however, I have physical reminders of these connections.
For instance, when I daven at a shul shtender that I inherited, that belonged to my childhood shul that no longer exists, tears overcome me once again, because I long to see the smile emanating from the dear rabbi of the shul, the former Chief Rabbi of Bayonne, N.J., my dear mechuten Rabbi Aaron R. Charney, obm, whom my family lovingly referred to as: “Uncle Rebbe.”
I was not blessed to know my grandparents, obms, so in a sense my Uncle Rebbe filled that void. The last time that I was privileged to see him, he honored us by being the mesader Kiddushin at my chasuna, an honor likewise afforded to my dear parents, obms, as well.
Recently, sitting at my daughter Rivkie’s Shabbos table, my son-in-law Yossi, born and bred in the UK, was giving over a dvar Torah. When he quoted the source as being Rabbi Charney, I jumped up, and running over to him. I cried out: “Do you know that Rabbi Charney is my Uncle Rebbe?” I had absolutely no idea how he had gotten this sefer!
It turned out that Uncle Rebbe’s sefer was among several unclaimed seforim located in a Crown Heights, Brooklyn yeshiva, where my grandson, likewise born and raised in the UK, was studying for his semicha. Since the seforim were scheduled to be buried, Meir took possession of them and unbeknownst to anyone, other than yours truly, offered his bubby a measure of comfort that only Hashem Yisbarach could possibly comprehend.
Hodu laShem Ki tov! Ki l’Olam Chasdo.