Questioning faith in the parsha
The Times My Father Died by Yehudah Amichai
One Yom Kippur my father stood in front of me in synagogue. I climbed up onto the seat to get a better view of him from the back. His neck is much easier to remember than his face. His neck is always fixed and unchanging; but his face is constantly in motion as he speaks, his mouth gaping like the doorway of a dark house or like a fluttering flag. Butterfly eyes, or eyes like postage stamps affixed to the letter of his face, which is always mailed to faraway places. Or his ears, which are like sails on the sea of his God. Or his face, which was either all red, or white like his hair. And the waves on his forehead, which was a little, private beach beside the sea of the world…..