There is more than a little sadness in realizing, as one nears the end of his allotted span, that life may be only a random grouping of unfathomable conundrums and metaphors, connecting birth and death. The lowliest humanoid that ever lived has certainly pondered its meaning in the eternal questions, "Why am I here?", and "Where am I going?"
The vanity inherent in the mere concept of immortality is self-evident. Certainly one wayward asteroid can wipe out in an instant all memory of humanity, its philosophies, heroics, and Disneylands. Yet, within the complex cells that have been bequeathed to us, there is a deep instinct toward self-preservation; one that transcends our puny understanding.
That is what is so strange about the Jews and their toast to life - "L'Chaim!" Although the cumulative total of all human history constitutes only an insignificant blip in cosmic time, at least for the extent of that history this small but curious group has wagered its future and the lives of all its adherents and their descendants, on its predilection for holding prayer meetings on busy railroad tracks.
Holocausts are etched as indelibly on Jewish history as biologic traits are impressed on their genes; and it is only during the brief respites between Holocausts that Jews have been allowed the freedom to indulge in the decision-making that might possibly spare them from the next one.
Far too late to change my own destiny and possibly that of my children, but hopefully in time to allow those unknown descendants who will carry my genes into the uncharted future, at least an outside chance of escaping their inevitable next Holocaust, do I dedicate these thoughts.
To them - "L'Chaim!"
