“The past we borrow, to dream towards tomorrow, the dreams we dreamers need.” Gerry Buncher
I understand the concept of Yom Kippur is a day of atonement, or as one of my Rabbi’s in Houston would add,” at-one-ment.” Growing up in a predominately Romanian Jewish home in Pittsburgh, I was also warned that if we did not fast, feel the pangs of hunger and thirst, and of course not re-discover and recognize all of our past sins in order to ask for forgiveness, that when our “Book of Life,” was about to close, those of us who did not try hard enough to suffer, would hear a very loud bang, as a warning, as our unique book shut. Back in those days, at least in our home and the homes of our relatives, the superstition included something known as “The Pooh-Pooh People,” who would come out from the shadows, immediately moving their index fingers right to the left, and hissing a very definitive, “tch, tch, tch,” warning us that we might want to feel the suffering a little more and heave heavier sighs as did our ancestors for eons and eons.
I am now a man of many decades, and as I have forged ahead upon the various and sundry roads, leading through the journey of my life, I have developed my own set of traditions, or maybe they too, are superstitions, regarding Yom Kippur. For me, music and lyrics are a form of divine intervention. Where I was, what I thought I felt, how I acted and reacted to the music of my life at a particular time of my life, are for me like the words in a Prayer Book. Those memories also include family and friends, acquaintances, and perceived enemies. For me, there is often a melody that immediately recall, and I instantly remember. Music had settled into my soul and connected with my conciseness causing me perfect vision at times or a blinding shutter of sounds resonating in a myriad of memories, some good, some bad, some of longing, and some having to let go.
For this Yom Kippur and the Yom Kippurs of the past, I play music, and songs, which become symphonies. Often I might say how much I loved you, often I might apologize for my misdeeds, often I might ask for forgiveness, and often I might just wish I could hold, hug, kiss, and love, once again. I will listen to “Bushel and a Peck,” recalling my mother singing that song as my siblings and I headed to school. I will listen to “I’ll Be Seeing You,” hearing the stories of my mother and her younger sister, my Aunt Meercy, sharing stories of their early crushes, boyfriends, and their first loves. I will listen to “Take Me Out To The Ball Game,” still see the look on my father’s face detailing to my siblings and me his successes playing basketball and football, and then I will listen to “Funeral March of a. Marionette “which was better known as the “Theme for the Alfred Hitchcock Show,” reminding me of how my father would watch that show on a Friday night with no lights on and as we came inside on a summer night, he would say, as the black and white light from the television bounced against our darkened living room walls, “never be so afraid as to not use your imagination to figure a way forward.” I will listen to Johnny Mathis’s version of “The Twelfth of Never,” and “Wonderful, Wonderful” missing my oldest sister Maxine, remembering how those songs were a major part of her teen-age years in our house, and recalling her influence on her younger siblings, and me. I will listen to "Tumbalalaika still watching my Grandma Braff’s smile, twinkle in her eyes, and her laughter recalling her youth, swaying ever so effortlessly
My Mother, My Father, My Aunt Meercy, My Grandma Braff, my sister Maxine, all a part of Cavalcade of Music, all integral parts of my growing up, and my WHO I AM NOW…all remain as the music in my life, and all helping me to find “at-one-ment.”
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