This week, I brought an invitation to my father-in-law for our daughter Aviva’s wedding in a few weeks. It was quite an emotionally draining experience. The wind was howling as I stood in front of his kever in Mount Sinai Cemetery on 7th Street in Lakewood, New Jersey, and placed the invitation under some rocks. It was the day before we marked my father-in-law’s third yahrzeit, on the 18th of Adar. I think there is a certain beauty to the fact that his yahrzeit is “chai Adar,” literally the life of Adar.
As I prepare to become a father-in-law for the first time, I have been reflecting on when my father-in-law assumed that role for the first time, when I married his daughter.
The day I became engaged, my father-in-law told me that he always wanted to be more of a father than a father-in-law to me. For 20 wonderful years I felt I had that relationship with him. He was always there for us and yet tried hard not to mix into our business. The only time he “mingled” was if he was willing to get involved and help us, if we wanted.
My wife and I “celebrated” our 20th anniversary in my father-in-law’s hospital room during his final days. As he lay in the hospital bed, weak and frail, I put t’filin on my father-in-law and told him that I had learned a lot from him during the two decades that I was welcomed into the family.
I shared with him that when I was young, I dreamed of marrying the daughter of a distinguished rabbi. I added that although I may not have married the daughter of a distinguished rabbi, I had learned so many life lessons from him. He was a sterling example of integrity, dependability, and responsibility. He loved to give and to help others. He gave a lot of money to people and organizations that we will likely never know about. But, I added, I had a lot more that I still wanted to learn.
The Zohar (I:135b) writes:
“At the time when adornments (wedding preparations) are made for people, many types of angels and the souls of the higher ancestors gather together, and they are present there for the joy…”
Additionally, in Shaar HaGilgulim (Hakdamah 20), Rabbi Chaim Vital notes that the souls of the departed join in family events, particularly weddings, to show their connection and bless the new union: “And know that sometimes the souls of a person’s ancestors and relatives descend to participate with him during his joy, such as at the time of the chupah or at the wedding feast, and the like.”
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev in Kedushas Levi writes that one reason a chasan and kallah may feel emotional while standing under their chupah is that the neshamos of their future children are present at the chupah, for the union that will eventually cause their birth.
The presence of ancestral and future souls at a wedding symbolizes the continuity of the family legacy and shared joy. It symbolizes that by embracing the values, customs, and teachings of previous generations, the new couple becomes spiritually connected to their past and their future. That is why those souls join in the celebration to confer their prayer and blessing upon the new home being constructed.
I wish I could have introduced Shloimy, our chasan to be, to my father-in-law. I think my father-in-law would have been very proud.
Truthfully however, that statement is incorrect. I’m confident that my father-in-law will be very proud when he sees Shloimy and Aviva standing together under the chupah.
I only wish I could see my father-in-law’s approving nod.
We have just concluded the incredibly joyous holiday of Purim. More than any other holiday, Purim is an emotional celebration of our joy in being part of the Chosen People. It’s not so much a day when we know and contemplate our privilege as it is a day when we emotionally feel it within our souls and essence. In fact, that is the goal of Purim: to internalize that pride and joy deep within us, even after we willingly forfeit our normal cognitive thinking.
“One must become inebriated to the point that he doesn’t know the difference between Cursed is Haman and Blessed is Mordechai.”
He shouldn’t know the difference. Rather, he should feel it, even without normal, rational functioning.
The funeral of legendary baseball slugger Babe Ruth took place on a swelteringly hot August Day in 1948. During the procession, pallbearers and former Yankees teammates Joe Dugan and Waite Hoyt stood in front of the casket in the brutal summer heat. Wiping away sweat from his forehead, Dugan whispered, “I’d give a hundred dollars for a beer.” Hoyt replied, “So would the Babe.”
We are remembered and our lives are framed by the things we are passionate and emotional about. The Babe was remembered for being able to “go for a beer” on a hot day.
On Purim, we celebrate our emotional attachment to our people, our heritage, and our eternity.
When we remember people, we remember what they were passionate about and what made them tick.
My father-in-law was fiercely proud of his family and that they are b’nei Torah. I don’t think he ever dreamed that his children and grandchildren would be so learned. It was true nachas for him.
I’m excited that his neshamah will be joining Shloimy and Aviva’s wedding in a few weeks, im yirtzeh Hashem.
I only wish we could physically see him.
Rabbi Dani Staum, LMSW, is a popular speaker, columnist, and author. He is a rebbe at Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, NJ. and principal of Mesivta Orchos Yosher in Spring Valley, NY. Rabbi Staum is also a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding. He can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. and at www.strivinghigher.com.
