Chapter 19 what we lost

It's the summer of 2003 and we're in the kitchen.The Archmage's wife, Sarah, was cutting cantaloupe, and he was holding a plate beside him, and a white short-sleeve shirt, red socks, and sandals would not surprise me anymore. Eat some.He said. Wait a moment. are you not hungry? Wait a moment. good for you. I ate a piece. Like it? I rolled my eyes.He is playing tricks.I didn't expect to come again.It has been three years since the first interview.When people say that they are going to write sacrificial rites, you will inevitably think that his time is approaching. But I later learned that the Archmage was like a strong old tree; he would bend in a storm without breaking.Over the years, he has overcome Hodgkin's disease, pneumonia, irregular heartbeats, and a mini-stroke.

For a while, in order to protect his eighty-five-year-old body, he began to swallow pills every day, including Dilantin to control epilepsy, Vasotec and Toprol to control heart disease and high blood pressure.He recently had a bout of shingles.Shortly before my visit, he fell and broke his ribcage and was in the hospital for a few days, the doctor asked him to use crutches wherever he went for your own safety, the doctor said.But he rarely carried a cane, lest the congregation think he was old and infirm. But every time I showed up, he couldn't wait to see me.I'm secretly glad he's still fighting physical decay.I don't like to see him weak.He has stood tall and upright, a man of God's work.

It's me being selfish, but I hope he stays that way. What's more, I've seen other possibilities.Eight years ago, I watched my beloved old professor Murray.Schwartz slowly died of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS).I visit him every Tuesday at his house in suburban Boston.With each passing week, while his mind remained bright, his body got worse. He died within eight months of my first visit to him. I hope Albert.Louis was born in the same year as Murray and lasted a little longer.There are many things I didn't have time to ask my old professor.I don't know how many times I told myself: Just give me a few more minutes and I'll

I look forward to meeting the Archmage I sit on the big green chair while he rummages through his desk for an impossible letter.On several occasions, I flew directly from Detroit to Philadelphia to interview him.But most of the time, I'm catching a train on a Sunday morning after filming a TV show in New York City.I arrived at church time, so I figured this could be called me and his little chapel time if two Jewish men discussing religion could be called church. My friends were curious, or expressed disbelief. You go to his house as if you were going to an ordinary person's house?

Are you not timid? Does he force you to pray while you're there? Do you really speak of his rites?Don't you think that's morbid? Looking back now, that wasn't the most normal thing.After a while, I should be able to call it quits; I've collected enough material to write a eulogizing article. But I feel the need to keep seeing him, to make sure that what I write reflects him as a person.And, well, there are more motives.He stirred something in me that had been dormant for a long time.He was always praising what he called our beautiful faith.It always disturbs me to hear people say that, and I don't want to be that intimate with any group.But seeing him so how to say 7 is so happy, considering how old he is, it is really attractive.Religion may not have meant much to me, but it meant a lot to him, and you could see how religion kept him at peace.Among the people I know, calm, not many.

So I went on to visit him.we chat.We flipped through manuscripts of his previous sermons and discussed the scope of their application.I found that I could share anything with the Archmage.He has a knack, as long as he looks into your eyes, it will make you feel that the whole world stops and you are the only one in the world. Perhaps it was his gift for the job. Maybe that was the gift the job brought him. In any case, lately he had been listening a lot to other people.Since he retired as a senior rabbi, his workload of meetings and paperwork has decreased.The church, which is not the same as it was when he first came, is now functioning fairly well on its own.

In fact, he could have retired in places with warmer climates, such as Florida and Arizona.But he never considered doing it.Once he went to Miami to attend a retiree meeting, and he was puzzled to see that many of his old colleagues lived there. Why did you leave your congregations?he asks. They said it was sad not to be able to go to the pulpit; others said that the new clergy did not want them to stay. The archmage, who often said ego was the greatest threat to clergy, was less attached to what he had in the past.Once he retires, he automatically moves out of the big office and into a small room.On Sabbath morning he gave up his favorite chair on the dais and sat in the back of the church next to his wife.The congregation was dumbfounded.

But like US President John Adams who left office and went home to farm, the Archmage simply retreated into the crowd. ◇◇◇ A sermon given by the Great Master in 1958 A little girl comes home from school with a picture she drew in class.She danced into the kitchen where her mother was making dinner. Mom, guess what this is?She waved the painting and screamed. Mother didn't even look up. What?She said, looking at her pot. Guess what?The child repeated and waved the picture. What?said the mother, looking at her plate. Mom, you're not listening. Honey, I'm listening. Mom, the child said: You didn't listen with your eyes.