Moshe and Malkie Hirsch

Way before Moshe left this world, I’d experience the feeling of his loss on Yom Kippur night.

It happened every year, and I’d start walking out of my house once I knew the fast was over, and stand there looking for his form walking slowly down the block, toward his home, toward me, toward his family.

I can’t explain why this would happen, but it began many years ago; the fear would always be alleviated as I’d hear the door open. I’d breathe a sigh of relief and thank G-d for sending him back to us.

But sometimes I’d question myself and this odd and out-of-place fear of mine. I’d wonder what I thought would happen to him from leaving shul after Neilah to getting home to us.

I even told him a few times about this anxiety of mine and the thought I let have a life of its own would be met by a quizzical look from him, and he’d make light of it, usually while we broke our fast and planned the weeks and months to come.

Because that’s the hope, really.

That you’re able to beg and plead your way with G-d and earn another year here, to be with family and loved ones.

To serve Him the way He deserves.

To live honestly and with integrity. I don’t understand that fear I had for years before the dress rehearsal became life’s showtime.

Maybe G-d wanted me to familiarize myself with the feeling of loss, to practice slowly, and so, I’d get a foreshadowing taste of it every Yom Kippur night.

It was the type of fear that freezes you in your tracks and has you wonder, “What if this were actually my life?”

Thankfully, for many years, it was a fleeting moment when I’d internally call myself crazy and move on to more real and pressing matters.

But when I walked outside last year and prepared to do the same this year, and looked down the block for him but only located Dovid walking alone toward the house, toward me and his family, my heart remembered that awful, foreboding feeling.

The irrational fear that prophetically became “our life.”

My heart cries and yearns for the time when it was just my anxiety, a baseless neurosis.

This Neilah, when we cried “L’shanah ha’ba’ah b’Yerushalayim,” I focused not only on the global salvation that we so badly need, but I pictured walking outside at nightfall, looking out, and once again seeing Moshe turning the corner, coming home to his family.

Malkie’s husband, Moshe, a’h, passed away at the age of 40. She has been sharing her thoughts and emotions with readers on her Instagram page @Kissthekoshercook. We are privileged to share her writings and reflections with our readership. May Moshe’s memory be a blessing for Malkie and her beautiful family.

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