Uncle Yidel was dancing in the middle with two rabbanim, but he lit up when he saw Shmuly. Of course he did— the orphaned nephew, the perfect prop for his simchah, along with the ice sculpture and cut-up melon before the chuppah
He hung up, cutting off the askan midsentence.
H
ei Cheshvan. They didn’t say “Tatty’s yahrtzeit,” they just said “Hei Cheshvan.” It was easier and less painful. Where’s the seudah on Hei Cheshvan? We can’t go on vacation that week, it’s Hei Cheshvan.
The seudah was at Breindy’s house this year — they took turns — and along with all Shmuly’s siblings and their spouses and children, the uncles and aunts were also there. Uncle Yidel was sitting at the head table, looking somber and also concerned that there were no bowls of chrein near where he was sitting and he would have to stand up if he wanted chrein with his gefilte fish.
The rav of the new shul on Fifteenth Avenue came to speak. He hadn’t known Tatty, he conceded, but he could see the children and someone who could merit such peiros… And of course, he’d heard about Reb Yidel’s beloved brother, about the closeness between them.
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