Posts Tagged ‘mourning’

There is a Hasidic family in Brooklyn. The father is a member of the Puppa sect. He sells Judaica items in a Synagogue in Boro Park, Bobov. They have many children, one of them with Down’s Syndrome. One daughter got married a while back, had a few children, and unfortunately fell into a coma during childbirth roughly two years ago and died a year later. After a short while, the younger daughter approached her father in regards to a marriage proposal. Her idea?

“My late sister has children. Will her widower husband get married to a random girl who will then be entrusted with the task of raising my sisters children? We know him [late sisters husband]. Let me marry him.”

Her father told her to ask him again in 6 months time. She asked, and the wedding was on.

Sadly, today was the funeral for a different daughter, only 22 years old who just passed away. Noone deserves to lose two children. Ever.

Thoughts on the marriage?

Let’s hope for more positive news in the coming weeks.

I was recently thinking about how cell phones, texting and technology in general has cheapened our existence, lessened the importance of a gesture, ruined the meaning of romance. In contrast to the world of film, where every action must be properly blocked, every word understoood, listened to, and respected. Evey moment of silence valued, every second of utmost importance. Every element of your surrounding set up to make the most of that moment in time, preserving it forever on film.

The scene is set in rural America somewhere. The year is 1979. The set lit with a musty afternoon light. A young college student returns home for a bit of R&R after the death of his long time girlfriend Emily. He was a quarterback, she, a cheerleader. He walks into the room, drops his duffelbag on his bed. A poster of Farah Fawcett hangs on the wall. He turns to peer out the window, at the children playing innocently up the road, noticing the simplicity of their world, wishing things could be different, when he notices a picture on his dresser. Brushing off the dust, it’s a picture of him and Emily. It was right after they met, in senior year of high school. They’d had a fight, each said hurtful things, she finally storming out in tears. Realizing the stupidity of their argument he’d asked her roommate what her favorite flowers were, gone to her house, gotten past her Dad, and given her the flowers. She threw them on the floor chasing him out of the house. Before she slammed the door on him, he apologized, told her he loved her and if she can get past their differences, she should meet him a the Shane O’Leary Memorial Field behind their school the next evening at 7, otherwise she should never see him again.

She showed up.

Today, in 2011, that scene would’ve been interrupted with some annoying sorority friend of hers telling her what to do via text. Even worse, it couldn’t have happened, because nothing is certain. Everything would’ve been arranged through texting, and either party could’ve do continue