COMMENTARY: Moving and the bittersweet experience of looking back on life

c. 1998 Religion News Service (Rabbi Rudin is the National Interreligious Affairs Director of the American Jewish Committee.) UNDATED _ My family has lived in the same New York City apartment for the past 27 years, and it is the only home our two adult daughters have known. Because they have left their childhood residence […]

c. 1998 Religion News Service

(Rabbi Rudin is the National Interreligious Affairs Director of the American Jewish Committee.)

UNDATED _ My family has lived in the same New York City apartment for the past 27 years, and it is the only home our two adult daughters have known. Because they have left their childhood residence and established their own households, my wife, Marcia, and I are moving to a much smaller apartment in Manhattan. Easy to say, but hard to do.


Because our new apartment has severe space limitations, we must perform triage on all our family possessions including photographs, furniture, books, china, art works, toys, and countless”chatchkes,”a Yiddish word for memorabilia, trinkets, knickknacks, and the flotsam and jetsam acquired in nearly three decades.

The triage is similar to an archaeological dig in Israel. Each layer, representing a unique period in our family’s history, is uncovered and labeled. Whether to keep or discard an item presents cruel choices, a remembrance of things and times past. Each item sets off a stream of consciousness:

Playbills from the 1970s (were Broadway ticket prices really that inexpensive back then?) … our daughters’ school report cards (excellent in most subjects, but weak in science; a typical American problem) … a copy of the first sermon I ever delivered to a congregation (Did I really say that?) … Marcia’s notes from her graduate school course in symbolic logic (utterly unintelligible then, even more so now) …

Will I really read the complete works of Sigmund Freud? A member of my former congregation gave me the neatly boxed five volumes many years ago probably thinking I could benefit from the insights of the great psychoanalyst. The books, alas, are mostly unread, take up precious shelf space, and collect lots of dust. What to do with Dr. Siggy? Guilt and angst overwhelm me.

Some novels will come with us to the new apartment, others will not. There simply is not enough space for all of them. Our selection process is half”I know I ought to read James Joyce and William Faulkner,”and half”But I really like Sidney Sheldon and Jackie Collins.”What to do?

I open a long neglected carton containing my U.S. Air Force uniforms from the 1960s when I served as a chaplain in the Far East. Jennifer, our younger daughter, is ecstatic with the blue and khaki jackets.”Daddy! I want them. Military uniforms are in now. Just look at those fancy metal buttons and those fantastic epaulettes,”she shouts.

Surprisingly, the old uniforms still fit me (sort of). I happily hand them over to Jennifer, but not before I carefully remove my treasured Jewish Chaplain’s insignia along with the silver shoulder bars that once provided me with instant status as an”officer and a gentleman.”I also insist on keeping my jump suit that proudly carries the logo of my old Itazuke Air Base unit in Japan. It’s like my USAF varsity sweater.

Marcia and I pore over our photographs and color slides, many featuring some now deceased family members. I inwardly shudder with the realization that I am now about the age of my parents and father-in-law when those cherished pictures were taken years ago. The Bible commands:”Do not cast me off in my old age.”All the family photos make the final cut.


Not so lucky are the countless photographs of vacations past. Many of them will be discarded. Marcia mumbles:”Here’s some pictures of a vacation I don’t even remember. When were we in … ?” Since the new apartment cannot serve as our daughters’ permanent warehouse and storage area, our daughters, too, have been forced to make painful choices. During the past month, I estimate they have discarded several hundred pounds of papers, school notebooks, and stuffed animals.

Everyone who has ever moved experiences similar bittersweet feelings. In going through our long neglected possessions, we become acutely aware of the rapid passage of time and we yearn to have our youthful lives back again. But, of course, they are gone forever.

When the movers load up our possessions, I will be comforted and strengthened by the wise words of the biblical book of Ecclesiastes:”To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose … a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted …” It’s time, it’s really time, to plant our roots in a new home.

DEA END RUDIN

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