The torn, faded photo books filled with nameless, unrecognizable people, frozen in time, sit in our drawers, move in boxes from house to house. May you find them at the perfect hour.
We wonder where each bead came from, and where they might find you in years to come. Adorning you in celebration.
Carefully crafted pieces of art whose paintbrush strokes with saturated or diluted colors, reach out to you in a whisper. Hoping to stir.
We leave you a tin box with index cards of recipes. Some handwritten with spills of food. Smells that linger. Some cut from the local newspaper Cooking Corner. Each recipe whose food blessed our seders*, our Shabbat gatherings, and our shiva minyanim*. Eaten with delight, or during moments when we were barely able to swallow. There was ancestral comfort.
Will our poems be found after 200 years in order to save a life? Will they end up in ceremony or ritual? Will that ritual bring the water needed for repair?
We can only hope. We can only hope.
May our lives be joined with yours, bringing a tender remembrance to all that is welcome, and may our fragrances dance throughout your life and be only for a blessing.
When you allow these connections to slowly fade, may they find new places to heal and surprise.
As you let go, may you find a gentle peace, meant just for you.
And let us say, Amen.
*seders: home Jewish ritual celebrating Passover
*shiva minyanim: gathering at the mourner’s home for seven days after the burial of a loved one.