Wednesday, September 12, 2018

This Time of Year, I Hear Your Voice

(When I was thirteen, a boy from my synagogue, a friend of mine, passed away from complications from hemophilia.)


This time of year, I hear your voice. It is high and sweet. It is the voice of a young boy whose voice never changed to that of a man.

I remember you, sitting next to me, praying next to me, singing liturgy I did not know, melodies whose beauty did not come from the cantor on the bima, but from my friend, singing beside me.

There must have been others our age. I know there were young children. You and I led their service, you playing cantor to my rabbi. The two of us worked in unrehearsed harmony, my knowledge coming from having watched my father, yours from years of prayer.

I remember other times with you, of course. I remember talking on the phone, laughing when your mother decided to "clean the phone" during one of our conversations. I remember dancing with you at a party for Israel's Independence day.

But mostly, I remember your voice on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, praying for forgiveness for sins you did not commit and for mercy you did not receive.

In memory of Stephen Orne

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