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First holiday in the desert
Ride helps get Valley newcomer through a difficult life transition
HENNY WEISS
Special to Jewish News
The days of awe, of penitence, fasting and atonement were once again approaching, and I looked back at just one year before, when my husband Mitchell and I were walking to temple as we had done for some 30 years, and thought about how far I had suddenly gone in just one year.
The holidays last year were on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday, my friend Jo and I planned to fly out to Scottsdale, Arizona, to await the Allied van containing most of the possessions that were in my home in Long Island, and then fly back to New York for Yom Kippur. The new condo to which I was moving had much less space than I had before, but it was all I needed.
Last year my husband never made it to Yom Kippur. The chest pains, emergency trip to the hospital, angiogram and subsequent bypass all took place in a matter of days, and the patient came out of surgery in a coma from which he never awoke. Last year I attended services in the hospital chapel, praying all the while that he would enter the gates and be accepted for another year. But this year I was going to return to my empty home in New York for the holiest day of the year after I had unpacked and made peace with my new dwelling in Scottsdale.
Anticipating what a great chore it would be for two ladies to arrange the furnishings, I promised Jo we'd have a special dinner to celebrate once all the unpacking was done. Exhausted as I was, I was also frightened. What had I done? I had placed my precious possessions in the desert 2,000 miles away, leaving friends and family for a new life pretty much alone in a strange place.
The tedious job finished, we showered, dressed and made our way to the neighboring Hyatt Regency Resort at Gainey Ranch, which featured, of all things a gondola ride! Why not, I suggested - we deserve a break after all this work. But beneath it all, I had such trepidation. If only God would give me a sign that it was all right - that I would be safe, that I may even be happy in my new surroundings.
We boarded the gondola and were introduced to Josh, who asked us what song we would like to hear. "That's right," I exclaimed, "you would have to know how to sing 'O Sole Mio' and other requests, as well as to be able to paddle this big boat."
"Oh, for me it's even easier" he replied, "as I'm studying to be a cantor."
"You are?" I retorted, and then asked gingerly, in reference to the prayers recited on the eve of Yom Kippur, "Is it possible you know how to sing Kol Nidre?"
"Well, of course. I've been studying it all week!" Josh beamed, delighted to have such a different request.
Had I encountered a gondola driver in the desert who could sing Kol Nidre, to let me know that everything would be OK? Jo and I elbowed each other, laughing and crying at the same time.
Josh sang his heart out as tears streamed from my eyes. This was surely the sign. This would be the right place. God was in Scottsdale, and all would be right with the world.
Henny Weiss writes from Scottsdale.
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