For about two years, now, the Everyday Cafe in Contoocook has been an important part of my efforts to resist despair.
The owners polished the place up a few years ago and, for a father of an early-rising almost-2-year old, the main attractions were, at first, its 6:03 a.m. opening time and a patient staff that seemed amused by this kind of pairing: the imperious (sometimes acrobatic) toddler and her exhausted dad, the one in need of a muffin, the other in need of as much of the coffee available.
There is really nothing like the road from Concord to Contoocook. With kids the road climbs the peak of Gould Hill. “What’s out the window?” I call. “New Hampshire!” they respond. It is summer then.
This Sunday morning my wife leaves our son off at temple after the massacre of Jews in Pittsburgh. I follow, separately, to greet the newly installed police officer outside; to sit in the sanctuary for a few moments to assure myself that all is safe; and then, to speak again to the police officer to remind him that my child is there and to thank him for what he is doing for our community and to add that I had been a prosecutor once upon a time.
I feel angry and pathetic.
Two police cruisers join him as a larger population of the congregation arrives to hear our rabbi explain why.
My 7-year-old son listens to this severing and parceling out of his safe existence.
My 7-year-old son who never forgets.
The road to Contoocook passes by the historic Hopkinton Town Hall.
Dozens of cars are parked with adults and children inside at church a little farther on. Good people. They are my friends or my children’s friends. I’m glad for their peace. There are no police outside.
On a flight this summer, a woman admitted to me that she’d been raised a Catholic by parents who she later learned were 40 percent Jewish – at least according to the blood test.
My closest friends thought that I was up late Saturday night because I was worried about the Red Sox.
The president wants me to hold a machine gun at the doors of my temple to protect my son inside.
Or he wants someone else to hold a machine gun at the doors of my temple to protect my son inside.
Less than a week from now we will address this man, and these times, together, as is our right and our sacred duty. Eleven won’t be there. A man stole that from them.
What more can I do to honor them? What more to make sure we won’t forget?
I will not forget them. I will never forget them.
I am a tired father of two young children living many states away.
Please do not forget them.
Please do not forget us.
Please.
(Michael S. Lewis is a Concord attorney.)