NINETEEN FIFTY-FIVE - TWENTY SEVENTEEN

After WWII my mother and father first settled in Florida but then moved to Massachusetts to be closer to relatives. They settled in a Yankee town just south of Boston. Randolph. At that time, 1955, it was very stately and picturesque. Big old homes lined North Main street and there were no quick stops or plazas. Just the downtown with a drug store, police office, post office, a few mom and pop stores and several churches. Oh and a shoe factory tucked back a ways from the street.

We were one of the first Jewish families to move to the suburbs from the outskirts of Boston. There were ten Jewish families in Randolph in 1955 and we met in a converted one bedroom ranch house for Friday, Saturday, Wednesday nite and holidays.

Then the exodus from the city kicked into full gear. Not just Jews but everyone was leaving the city and moving to the suburbs and the building frenzy began. It wasn't supervised by the town officials very nicely and the town started look very disorganized. With building going on every which way. Fast foods sprang up, and quick stop gas stations... and all sorts of other motley structures were all over the once beautiful and charming old Yankee Main Street.

The Jewish community expanded exponentially and my father and mother became very active in organizing to build a big new synagogue...at the end of our street. We could walk to services and we did. It grew and grew and there wasn't room for parking or for all the people in the temple room. There was a Hebrew school and a brotherhood and a sisterhood. There were outings and day camps and overnight camps for the youth.

and don't forget the "bingo room" open to the public.

It was in full swing when I ran away from home...I mean went off to college...to find real knowledge and the meaning of life...and LSD and well you know all the other stuff that goes along with "free expression."

My parents remained active for many years and were honored with a plaque at the entrance to sanctuary as charter members.
in the late 1980's they retired and moved to Florida. Their lives changed drastically when my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer in 1998. She passed away in 2010. My father took care of her alone in the house all throughout and including the final stages of the disease. He insisted, saying, "Job security."

He did everything. Bathing, dressing, feeding, the laundry, cleaning, shopping, doctors appointments, meds... Needless to say the house was a mess. But his was a labor love. Mum was ninety when she passed away and Dad was ninety one when he was taking care of her. How he was able to do everything is a great mystery.

Now he has also passed away...just yesterday and as I am making the preparations for the formal ceremony to acknowledge his passing, the funeral director asked about my father's affiliation. He was familiar with that temple in Randolph and told me It has just been sold a few days ago. There is no longer a large enough Jewish congregation there to support it.

"Temple Beth Am of Randolph has been sold to the New Jerusalem Evangelical Baptist Church of Boston."

I found that ironic. My father, who as we can say was a father of that community in some sense, has disappeared and so has the community. He and mother worked so hard to establish it. It was their religious and social life.

Where is that permanence we all hanker for. It's not in a community. That flourished and then it was finished. Or a building. That belongs to someone else now. Or even family members. They all pass away. And yet we use all our life energy to try to make it work. But in the end it is all finished. Where is that which doesn't change? Doesn't begin. Doesn't end. In other words where is Krishna?