We didn’t talk much about heaven when I was growing up, but I knew enough to understand that Jewish heaven was nothing like the one where my Christian friends hoped to end up. Theirs was an idyllic destination for good dead people. Mine was God’s dwelling place, no people allowed. Traditional Jews believe that when the Messiah comes, the dead will awaken and move on to a rebuilt Zion. I was taught that the dead lived on through the good that they did on earth, and in the memories of those who cherished them.
Still, I couldn’t let go of the idea that Dad was watching me from above and that one day I would see him again. Keeping him present that way felt more real and comforting than the official rituals of remembrance, some that are practiced by every Jew, others that were unique to me, my mother, and my sister.
Whenever we went to temple, we were surrounded by my father. Across from what had been his office in the main lobby hung an official portrait. When Dad was alive it hung in our living room, but when we moved to Chestnut Hills, Mom donated it to the temple. Now Dad kept watch over the wide, sunlit lobby, a serious expression in those soulful blue eyes. He was dressed in his black robe and white tallis, and looked young, handsome, and self-possessed. He looked like someone you would want leading you in prayer, listening to your problems, offering you advice.
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In the Sunday school corridor adjacent to the lobby was a series of confirmation class photos dating from the late 1950s. The pictures were strikingly similar, all posed in front of the ark, the students dressed in robes, my father off to the side, almost always looking serious.
The only details that seemed to change from year to year were the heads and the feet: the students’ shoes, glasses, and hairstyles were updated, and Dad had less hair. The confirmation pictures were the ones I liked best – this was my father at work, leading the next generation of Jews into the future, and doing it so well that there he was, year after year after year after year. Until he wasn’t, until he was replaced by Rabbi Awful. I avoided looking at those pictures, even though I was in one of them.
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