Rabbi Jack
Had my father’s name.
He asked me to call him Jack,
It would never be comfortably done.
We grew close, but
Ran out of time.
He was 25 years my senior,
Accomplished and intellectual
With a sense of humor,
Loved a good joke,
But a serious side
Making him more a Moses –
Figure than man-friend.
We shared a handful of years and
A growing relationship that didn’t
Have enough seasons to mature.
I was too shy to touch,
Let alone hug.
After he was gone, as with my father,
That’s what I missed.
Saturday morning
Sabbath Services
At the JCC we once shared.

Missing him
With a renewed feeling of loss,
I was given the honor
Of holding the Torah
Before the congregation
With it’s new, royal blue cover.
It was heavy, so
I held it close feeling it press
Against my chest.
Looking down
I saw inscribed in the soft fabric,
Dedicated to Rabbi Jack.
I was hugging him after all,
I could feel his weight.
He, in heaven, could feel
My arms, circling him.
We joyfully embraced.

by Richard Morgan, Member of the JCC of LBI