When my parents passed away, I requested only one thing from their estate: a small, framed picture of my great-great-grandfather, Shmuel Moshe Sprafkin. I do not know any of the precise details of his daily life: the worries that occupied him, the prayers he whispered, the hopes he carried for his children and grandchildren. Staring across more than a century with kind, steady eyes, I have held his gaze many times. So often, I imagine him speaking directly to me, whispering how precious it is to pass our Jewish tradition down to the next generation.
That haunting, beautiful thought came to life today at shul. The room grew still as my son was chosen to be the chassan for the Shabbos mincha davening. A moment later, the gabbai handed me a tallis to do pesicha, the honor of opening the holy ark. My hands trembled slightly as I pulled back the velvet curtain and grasped the Sefer Torah. In that instant, the room seemed to disappear. The other congregants, the bookshelves, the familiar walls of the room – all of it receded.
Turning around, I looked at my son waiting to receive the Torah scroll. As I lifted it, and literally passed it into his outstretched arms, a wave of emotion enveloped me. Tears immediately filled my eyes, blurring the sight of the silver crowns gleaming in the light of the beis medrash.
In that sacred moment, the physical world faded away. I was no longer just a father in a modern sanctuary. I was a vital link in an unbroken chain stretching all the way back to my great-great-grandfather – keeping my quiet promise alive.
Daniel Pollack, MSW, JD is a professor at Yeshiva University’s Wurzweiler School of Social Work. Contact: [email protected].
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