In days of mourning.
(In memory of the soul of my dear father, Reb Moshe-Pinchas HaKohen, of blessed memory.)
A short message struck my mind: "Our dear father died on the 5th of Nisan" — I fell in lament upon my face, and my heart was torn as in kriah!...
Is it true that he lives no more, my father? Has he really closed his Gemara forever? Is it possible that he no longer writes Torah, and no longer gives an answer or a deep argument?
Is it possible that he will no longer study, and no longer make a siyum on the Shas? Is it possible that the pages of his siddur will no longer grow wet with tears?...
O God, what did You have against the pious old man, that You no longer heard his morning prayer — — — O, give me strength, God, to bear my misfortune and be able to say here "Blessed is the true Judge"!...
I must bury my face in my hands and quietly, in pain, say my Kaddish here. Ah God, how hard it is, how painful and how hard — to mourn a father from afar!...
I did not stand at his deathbed, nor did I go to his funeral. O God, why did I not feel here how the sun in the sky set for me!...
Now my heart longs for the Pruzhany cemetery — at least to be able to fall upon my father's grave. So let my song of mourning bring my tear there, and let it resound there like a Kaddish!... — —
Y. Stavsky.
Tel Aviv.