Saturn's Rings

Recently I came across the following paragraph from a letter that I wrote to our son a few years ago.

Tiny particles of matter, possibly ice, are said to compose the rings around Saturn, but I have long held another theory. Saturn’s rings are composed of missing socks. You put four pair of socks in the washing machine and when the wash is finished, you fish out seven socks. That eighth sock is circling Saturn. This simple, elegant theory explains not only the composition of Saturn’s rings but also the location of your missing socks. And, essential for a theory, it’s disprovable. You could disprove it, for example, by finding that eighth sock under your bed.

This meditation on the nature of Saturn's rings reminded me of other losses incurred since that letter was written, such as my wedding ring, about which I wrote a few months ago, and the fur-lined leather glove for my right hand, neither of which likely to be circling Saturn. And when I thought of them, my mind wandered to truly serious losses, the death of good friends. This thought caused me to remember the times that we had entertained each of them in our Jerusalem home, and that train of thought turned to the loss of that home and the life that we had created for ourselves there during our 32-year occupancy.

I miss our Jerusalem friends and the intense sense of community that living in a small, beleaguered society engenders. I miss the morning light on the Ottoman-era building that stood across the street and the eucalyptus trees which threw gently swaying shadows against that building's stone. I miss the blossoming of almond trees in February. I miss the flowering geraniums on our balcony. I miss the gradual lessening of traffic sounds as Shabbat approached and the siren that announced candle lighting time.

But after all, we sold our apartment; we didn’t lose it to a hurricane or a tsunami. Leaving a beloved home is one of the many changes to be expected by the time you reach our stage of development. Loss of friends is also to be expected and so, alas, is loss of a spouse. These losses, incurred in the natural course of aging, can’t be compared to the world-cracking devastation caused by the loss of a child or even to the lesser tragedies of losing one’s home and livelihood to an economic or natural disaster. No, the loss of our friends and our Jerusalem home, while painful, must be viewed as normal. As a wise man once told my friend Elaine Yaffe: life is a matter of letting go: of parents, of children, of friends, and ultimately of life itself.