Last Friday night, I attended services at the Gardens Shul in Cape Town, the congregation where my parents got married. We went to synagogue there until we moved to the United States when I was eight.
I knew that my grandfather had his name on a seat there, and I hoped to be able to sit in it. I moved quickly to where I thought the seat was as I entered the room. And there it was. The engraving on the seat reminded me that he had sat there from 1952 to 1984. I was able to sit in my grandfather's chair for services.
It is hard to describe this experience. I sat there shaking. I met people who knew my mom and my dad, who passed four years ago. The community my parents decided to leave 46 years ago was still there—just about two-thirds smaller.
This is truly wonderful, Ami! Sounds like a beautiful experience. L'dor v'dor. Stay well and thanks again for getting so many of us through the COVID insanity!