Ich hab dir lieb, dos iz deyn tog, danken dir far alts…
These words. This beautiful, thousand-year-old, tea-stained language that floated constantly through our home for years and years, hinting at joy and grief and gossip and delicious food. Yiddish, my dad’s native language. They only scratch the surface of what I want to say to you. To thank you. For everything.
Mostly, lately, it’s just been the three of us—Mom, Dad, and me—with occasional visits from my many siblings and nieces and nephews. Taking walks around the street they’ve lived on for 35 years, sitting quietly together at the kitchen table, reading, barbecue-ing, talking, sharing…it’s like traveling back in time. Together we’re suspended in this strange, frustrating, beautiful, inescapable, surreal moment. And it’s been the shiniest silver lining I could ever ask for.
Dad’s always been big on silver linings. Which is to say…he’s an eternal optimist. In fact, before anything else, that’s the word I’d choose to best describe him. Nearly all of the advice he’s doled out to me and my siblings over the years can be boiled down to just that: “Be optimistic.”
In the past few months and years, I’ve finally understood the extraordinary, life-sustaining value of his unfailing optimism. Why it’s so important, and why it absolutely must be the cornerstone of everything we do and say and believe in—as Jews and as people. Optimism is the real deal. It’s that deep-down certainty that things will be good. That we’ll wake up one day in the not-too-distant future, and this moment will have passed, and there’ll be something beautiful and new in its place.
Dad, this incredible gift you gave me—this amazing way of seeing the world, myself, other people—will last me my whole life. I’ll live by it, I’ll teach it, I’ll pass it on. I promise. ♥️ אַ שיינעם דאַנק