I’m on a plane without my laptop — it’s packed in my valise and my cell phone is out of juice. Suddenly, an epiphany strikes me for my next column. I frantically look for writing paper.
When asked, my seatmate very graciously pulls a few sheets of notebook paper from her pocketbook and hands them over with a huge grin. I get to work — furiously jotting down the tumbling thoughts spilling out from my brain.
The subject? A spoof on friends’ holiday letters.
And if I may say so myself, this future column is truly shaping up to be hilarious. As my plane taxies to the arrival gate, I hurriedly stuff all my disjointed notes into my purse and spend the rest of my travel time home suffused in a glow of self-satisfaction.
When I arrive home, my fingers are literally itching to hit the keyboard and enter my newest column into my computer. But life gets in the way…
Mail to sift through
Catalogs and junk announcements to toss
Bills to pay
Suitcases to unpack
Phone calls to return
Finally, on day three of re-entry, I sit down to transcribe my holiday letter thoughts and fragments into a finished column. I am soooo excited!
I casually flip through the one remaining pile of miscellaneous minutiae not yet categorized and filed — certain my notes are there.
They are not.
Nor are they in my purse, at my desk or under the pile of clothes waiting to be taken to the cleaners.
They are nowhere to be found. I experience a profound sense of loss, which deepens even more profoundly when I sit down minutes later and try to recreate the piece. The well has run dry. The moments of fiery inspiration have passed. I am furious, frustrated and inconsolable over my “masterpiece” that has slipped away.
And then I’m confronted with real LOSS.
A beloved rabbi — a dear and personal friend — has passed away.
His name was Gary Klein and before his retirement, he served his Palm Harbor, Florida Congregation, Ahavat Shalom, for over three decades.
Those paying tribute to Rabbi Klein at his funeral described him as follows:
Authentic
Responsive
Inclusive
Passionate
Kind
Gentle
Compassionate
Patient
Loving
Rabbi Klein’s younger brother remarked at the funeral services that Gary was the only person probably in the world who made a career choice that was between going into the automobile business or becoming a rabbi. (Thank goodness for all of us that he chose the latter.)
However, Gary’s love of cars continued throughout his life.
A fellow rabbi, Norman Lipson, who knew Gary since their rabbinical days at Hebrew Union College here in Cincinnati, recalled that it was through Gary’s love of cars that Gary taught him about living a balanced and centered life.
Here were Gary’s rules:
– When approaching a speed bump, slowly ease over it. You don’t want to misalign the tires or get yourself out of balance.
– Rarely if ever beep your horn unless it’s an emergency. It’s jarring to the nerves and ruins the flow of your drive and your life.
– Pump the brakes slowly and gently as if you were shaking firmly a friend’s hand and really meant it.
– Before you drive, make certain you are centered in your seat, that the mirrors are at the correct angle and your seat belt is fastened. It can be dangerous out there. Always be prepared.
Misplacing my unfinished column is a loss.
Losing Rabbi Gary Klein is a LOSS.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris