It’s Thursday night and I’m painfully aware that I can’t call Dad and hear him say, “Good Shabbos.” For close to a decade, we had a Thursday night routine – we rarely missed a week, even when I lived in Cleveland or travelled.
“Hi, Dad. How are you?”
“Sherri – where are you? Aren’t you traveling back from Mobile, AL?”
“Yep. It’s Thursday night, though, and while I hang out in Dallas for my connecting flight, I wanted to wish you ‘Good Shabbos’.”
“Dallas? Right – that’s your favorite airport for connections! Good for you. Fly home safely and have a good Shabbos! Love you!”
“Love you, Dad!”
It’s Thursday night. I have a hole in my soul…there’s something missing, something profound isn’t there. And I don’t know how to fill it.
Dad…I’m thinking of you. I hope you have an inspiring, uplifting Shabbos up in shomayim (“the heavens”).
Good Shabbos, Dad. I love you!
May these words be a merit for the elevation of the soul of Yoel Meir ben Simcha.