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Linda Goldberg

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Linda Goldberg lives in Natick, Mass., where she belongs to the Chabad Center. She founded The Metro West Writers’ Workshop and led it for 17 years. She is blessed with four grandsons.
What did I do last year on Rosh Hashanah? I don’t remember. It seems so far away. I must have gone to shul. I did celebrate with my family. Like everyone else, it seems like life is divided: before corona and after corona.
"When I was young in the Ukraine, most of the time potato and carrots and sweet potato tzimmes were all we had to eat. But Shabbat was always special."
Now, Adam is no longer with me. I go to our son’s home for the Seders and listen while each person has a chance to recite aloud a portion of the Haggadah.
I remembered you saying, “If someone, even a stranger, has to bend down to ask, you have to walk over to give.”
For survivors of the sudden death of a spouse or family member, they wished they had a chance to say good-bye or say “I love you” one last time.
I have not lit the candles for the Shabbat or for the Jewish holidays since my pacemaker operation nine months ago. I was afraid of dropping the match and causing a fire—or so I told myself. But I am going to light the Shabbat candles tonight.
Being afraid to go out the door or being afraid of falling was like walking through life alone.
Many years we walked to the parade, but today, I cannot walk that far. Today, I am home alone with my memories.
Why do I have to endure such pain and disability? For what reason had G‑d given me more time?
“I have an obligation to tell my children the story of the Exodus from Egypt. Our children don’t even know what charoset is! I have a responsibility to remember and pass on the traditions.” Adam’s voice rang strong.
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