It’s Friday, just before Mother’s Day, and I am readying to light Shabbos candles.

And an image shared by a friend comes to me, a long line of women, stretching back generations, who, too, are sparking flames, kindling tapers, covering eyes, reciting blessings.

And, so, I reach for the tall, slender candlesticks in my cupboard that had stood sentry in my parents’ dining room, along with candles and matches, and light the lights.

Of all the things she did for me and my three sisters, of all the things we simply took for granted, especially her abiding presence.

She was in, a word, always there.

For her mom, for her five siblings, for our dad.

Memories of my older........

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