David

You do NOT want to know what a disabled pal of mine did when she came down the day my beloved David died. The day following we decided to go out to the local shopping centre, just for some relief.

We had to get people to help get her chair into her Land Rover - and explain how to dismantle Tonto and get him in as well.

Oh. Forgetting the fact that I couldn't get into the thing (the Land Rover) because it was too high, so I kept sort of slipping off.

Not to mention trying to get out.

Help help help - where is the ground? I can't see it.

Oh, what fun we had, and how it helped stop the tears. Because her long divorced husband, but still the father of her children, had died a couple of days before my beloved David.

Who is watching over all of us, with his beautiful smile.

Sleep well, David.

And the sun is shining

I'm sitting here with the door wide open. The sun is streaming in - HRH is sitting outside watching with interest the Mourning tents being dismantled next door, all the chairs sorted as to which belonged to whom and which to the Moshav.

There are four overflowing wheelie bins outside my house (well they needed the pavement next door for the extra chairs and benches). Cartons/plastic bottles/you name it, galore, waiting for the Local Authority to come and do a special pick up. And then I will have to rescue my own wheelie bin from the others!

And the sun is shining.

Today is the final official day of mourning for my beloved David, and as the sun shines on me now, so can I feel him smiling at me and see his beautiful face.

And the sun is shining.

Time for tears have gone. We had a week first mourning and then rejoicing in the life of the most wonderful man. A Tzaddik (a wise man). A Rabbi. A teacher. And pupils of his from the year dot came from all over Israel to say goodbye to him and pay their respects.

And the sun is shining and we can begin to smile again.

L'hitraot my friend. My brother-in-heart.