Thirty years ago today my father, Morris Lifschitz, Moshe ben Nachum passed away after a long battle with colon cancer.

His funeral was on a Sunday and because it was Erev Succos upon our return from the cemetery, we sat shiva for a mere hour. Then we dressed for yom tov, went to shul, said kaddish, and returned to my parents’ home for the yom tov meal. We entered the sukkah, and fighting back tears recited kiddush and shehechiyanu (a blessing in which we express our joy for the Almighty granting us the opportunity to celebrate the holiday).

Somehow G-d gave us the strength to get through that kiddush.

Thirty years, half my life, without my dad.

There is scarcely a day that passes that I do not think of him. Without question he remains the greatest and most important role model and influence in my life.

When I approached the amud to lead Neelah on Yom Kippur I wore his kittel and used his machzor.

But, even if I live to be 120, I will never fill his shoes.

Chaval al Deavdin velahnmishtackchin. (He was an irreplaceable loss).

Yehi Zochro Baruch. (May his memory be for a blessing).