My dad was a mischievious sprite. He lived for the little thrills. He loved orange popsicles and sliding on ice patches. He would fly his kite to the end of a very long string and then tie the string to the arm of the adirondack chair and just sit back and gaze into the near-empty sky for hours. He loved the work he did, not for the money (it wasn’t much) but for the people he got to meet, the stories they told, and the jokes they swapped. I never heard him wish for anything he didn’t have. He was a rich man. On this his day of yorzheit I honour his memory and thank him for the gifts he gave me.
Oseh shalom bim-romav, hu ya-aseh shalom aleynu v’al kol yisrael, v’imru amen.