Clods of Dirt

We went to the funeral of a friend's father today. In the entry hall of the synagogue are pictures of their past rabbis. One of them is my great grandfather (who died when my Mom was only two or so). The strange thing is that I have known all the rabbis of that congregation since my great grandfather, known them well, even though it's not the congregation we belonged to when I grew up or now. A strange link to my past that I only experience at life-cycle events there.

We then went to the cemetery and participated in the mitzvah of helping to cover our friend's father's coffin with dirt, to fill in one hole while another one remains open forever.