Chapter 34 grow old in october

The synagogue parking lot was packed, and cars that couldn't find a space lined up the street for half a mile.Today is Yom Kippur, the holiest holiday of the year in Judaism.It is said that God will decide on this day who will survive in the Book of Life in the coming year. The grandeur was as usual, but this day was always the time for the Archmage to shine, and it seemed that his best sermons were always reserved for this morning.When the congregation left, they all discussed life, death, love and forgiveness explained by the archmage. But not today.He was eighty-nine years old and no longer preached.He does not go to the pulpit, but sits quietly with the other worshipers.I'm in the other district, sitting next to my parents, as I've done on every such occasion in my life.

Only this day, I look a lot like a part of the ceremony. In the middle of the afternoon ceremony, I stepped forward to find the Archmage.I walked past a few old schoolmates whose faces looked a little familiar, except that their hair had thinned, or they had added glasses or a double chin that they didn't have before.They smile, whisper hello, remember me before I recognize them.I wonder if, in their minds, they think I'm pretentious because I think I've gone further.They'd be forgiven for thinking that; I think I did. The archmage sat several seats away from the aisle, beating time to a rhythmic prayer.He wore a creamy white robe as usual.A walker, which he is reluctant to use in public, is placed against a nearby wall.Sarah sat next to him, and when she saw me, she patted her husband.He turned around while clapping his hands.

ah.He said: People who came all the way from Detroit. His family helped him to his feet. Come, let's talk. He squeezed his way out and found the walker.People sitting on both sides of the aisle moved closer, making ready movements in case he needed help.There was a look of respect and concern on their faces. He grabbed the handle and walked out. Every few steps, it is necessary to say hello.Twenty minutes later we were finally seated in the small office across from the larger one he had once used.I never had the opportunity to meet the Archmage in private on the holiest day of the year.It felt special that I was in his office and everyone else was outside.

Is your wife here?he asks. She was with my family, I said. very good. He has always been very kind to my wife.He was never displeased with me because of her beliefs.That's very thoughtful. what do you think?I asked. Hey, today they forced me to eat. who? doctor. Then you can eat it. Can not be done.He made a fist.Today we are fasting.This is my tradition.I'm going to do what I've been doing. He lowered his fist, and that hand was shaking involuntarily. look?He whispered: This is the plight of human beings.We curse this thing. You mean aging? We can live with the fact that people grow old.But being an old man is difficult.

One of the most memorable sermons of the Archmage, for me, was delivered after the death of his oldest aunt.His parents were both dead at that time, and his grandparents had been buried for many years.Standing by his aunt's grave, he had a very simple but frightening thought: (It will be my turn next.) When you have come to the head of the death procession in an orderly way, when you can no longer hide behind the excuse that it is not my turn yet, what should you do? Seeing the Archmage slumped at his desk made me sad, and I couldn't help thinking that he had been at the top of his family's list for a long time.

Why don't you preach anymore?I asked. There's one thing I can't bear.He sighed and said: In case I mispronounce a word, in case I behave abnormally at a critical moment You don't need to feel embarrassed about it. It wasn't me, he corrected me: it was someone else.They see me incoherent and think I'm dying.I don't want to scare them that way. I should have known that he was thinking of us. As a child, I really believed that there was a book of life and death, in the library of heaven, it was full of dust.Every year on Yom Kippur, God would pick up a quill, open the book and tick, tick, cross, tick one will live, that one will die.I'm always worried that I'm not praying hard enough, that I have to close my eyes even tighter to use the willpower to draw God's pen from one end to the other.

What is the average person's greatest fear of death?I asked the Archmage. Fear?He thought for a while.Put it this way, and most importantly, what happens next?Where are we going?Will it be what we imagined it to be? This is a big problem. Yes, and there are other problems. what else? He leaned over. forgotten.he whispered. There is a cemetery not far from my house, and some of the tombstones there date back to the nineteenth century.I've never seen anyone lay flowers there.Most people just go in for a walk, look at the words engraved on the stele, and say: Wow.See how old it is.

I was in the Archmage's office thinking of that cemetery, because I heard the Archmage quote a beautiful and heartbreaking poem.The author is the British poet Thomas Hardy, and the poem tells of an old man wandering among the tombstones, talking to the dead buried in the earth; newly buried souls, lamenting those old souls that have disappeared from memory: ∮ They have long been forgotten by the world, as if it never existed, not only lost intermittent breathing, It's a second death. Died twice.The unvisited people in nursing homes, the homeless people who froze to death on the streets.Who will mourn their death?Who will remember that they lived in this world?

Once, we traveled to Russia.The archmage recalled: I found an old traditional synagogue.There was an old man inside, standing alone, reciting a mourning prayer.We asked him, out of politeness, who he was praying for.He raised his head and replied: I am praying for myself. Died twice.Just imagine, no one will remember you after you die.I don't know if that's the reason we Americans try so hard to leave a mark.Must be famous.How much fame matters now.We sing for the sake of becoming famous; publicize our most shady secrets for the sake of becoming famous; lose weight, eat bugs, and even kill people, all for the sake of becoming famous.Our young people post their most intimate thoughts on public websites and move the cameras to their bedrooms.It's like screaming: Watch out for me!remember me!But the notoriety of infamy doesn't last.Names quickly become blurred and are forgotten after a while.

So, I asked the archmage, how to avoid the second death? In the short term, he said: The answer is simple.family.With my family, I hope to survive for generations.As long as they remember me, I'm still alive.They pray for me and I'm still alive.Together we created those memories, those laughs and tears. However, there is still a limit to that. How to say? He sang the following sentence. If I behave well, the next generation, maybe two generations will remember me.But sooner or later they will say: What's the name of that one? I retorted first, but then shut up.I found out I didn't know my great-grandfather's name.I haven't seen what he looks like.Even in close-knit families, how many generations does it take for the web of affection to loosen?

Because of this, the archmage said: Confidence is so important.It was a rope that each of us could hold on to, climb up the hill and come down again.I am a person who may not be remembered after a few years, but my beliefs and my teachings and my words about God and passing on stories can continue.It came from my parents, and their parents before that.If it passes on to my grandkids, and to their grandkids, then we'll all, you know Together? right. It's time for us to go back to the ceremony, I said. yes.OKDo me a favor. I realized I was the only one here and he couldn't get up from his chair without help.How far is this from the years when he was loud and chatting and laughing on the podium, and I sat in the crowd admiring his performance?I try not to think about it.I walked up behind him, clumsily counted one, two, three, then took his elbow and lifted him up. Ouch, he took a breath: old, old, old. I bet you can still give an awesome sermon. He grabbed the handle of the walker and paused. you think so?he asked, his voice very soft. Of course, I said, without a doubt. ◇◇◇ In the basement of the Archmage's house, there are old film reels of him, Sarah, and other family members. Here they are teasing their first child, Charon, in the early 1950s. This is a few years later, with their twin daughters Ola and Lina. It was 1960, and they were pushing a pram with their youngest daughter, Jira, in it. The picture quality of the video is rough, but the happy expression on the face of the archmage holding the children in his arms and kissing them is clearly recognizable.He seemed born to be a good father.He never hit the children and rarely spoke loudly.He breaks down memories into small, loving episodes: strolling home from church in the afternoon, doing homework with his daughter in the evening; family chats over long Sabbath dinners; throwing a baseball over his head to his son on a summer day. Once he drove Sharon and several young people out of Philadelphia to cross the bridge.As he approached the tollbooth, he asked the boys if they had their passports. passport?they asked. You want to enter New Jersey without your passport?He shouted: Hurry up!Get under the blanket!Don't breathe!Don't make a sound! He later laughed at them about it.But in the backseat of the car, under Shao Zhang's blanket, a new family story has taken shape, enough to bring decades of laughter to father and son.This is how the tradition is established, a memory and a memory are established. His children have grown up.His son is a prestigious rabbi, his eldest daughter is a librarian, and his youngest daughter is a teacher.They have all had children. We took this picture, a family portrait.The great master said: Every time I feel the ghost of death looming over me, I just look at this photo, the whole family smiling at the camera.And then I said to myself: Al, good work. In it lies your immortality.