That time of the year, memory time

It's a week before Purim, memory time. Not of parties, fun, drinking or feasts.

Thirty-seven years ago, a week before Purim, while I was busy with the NCSY Folk Dance Group at the Israeli Folk Dancing Festival at the Felt Forum, Madison Square Gardens, my Aunt Rosie passed away from a heart attack. She was younger than I am now; her body had been weakened from the effects of the stress of her husband's heart attack on her. Ironically, he survived for decades after, but she didn't even live to see all of their grandchildren. We must remember that those caring and worrying about the sick need our care, too.

Thirty years ago, a week before Purim, my Aunt Sadie passed away. She had never married, but she mothered her younger siblings and was a devoted aunt/"grandmother" to her many nieces and nephews. Yes, she must be remembered for all the good she did for others.

Eleven years ago, a week before Purim, when I was waiting for a bus or ride home from Jerusalem, an Arab terrorist drove into us, a few dozen innocent Jews, waiting on the sidewalk. One woman was murdered and over twenty injured, including me. The following Shabbat was Shabbat Zachor, Remember! Yes, "Remember what Amalek did to you!"

Yes, we must remember, because the descendents of Amalek are still trying to destroy us. We must destroy them, like the brave young men who immediately shot and killed the terrorist who had run over my foot eleven years ago.