Last night there was a lot going on at synagogue. I brought a noodle salad with black sesame seeds, radishes, and Persian cucumbers to the international potluck, which turned out mostly to be an event related to the synagogue's pre-school. Although I love these sorts of affairs and there was lots of appealing food from all over the world, made by people from those countries dressed in national garb, somehow, once I had a full plate, I suddenly did not feel like eating it.
The cheerful gathering and kletzmer tunes played by a terrific ensemble buoyed my spirits a bit, but then the congregation said kaddish for my dad, among others whose yartzeit, death anniversaries, were commemorated on that date. Next week is my mother's yartzeit, and the gathering I have planned at the memorial park.