death

[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”3.0.105″][et_pb_row _builder_version=”3.0.47″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.0.47″ parallax=”off” parallax_method=”on”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”3.0.105″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” text_font=”||||||||” text_font_size=”24px” text_line_height=”1.8em”] Mourning. Memories. Blessings. Aaron Panken was the rabbi at my home synagogue when I graduated from Tufts University. He jumped me through the hoops necessary to get into rabbinical school.  He died. Suddenly, in a plane crash.