Just in time. But I'll talk about that in another entry.
What's more important - yesterday. Yesterday, at about 10AM, we were in synagogue. I've been pretty remiss about synagogue the past few weeks, but this week Jonathan made a point of dragging me there. And Stu, our president, was making the announcements after the Torah reading, as usual. And in the end, after giving times for the afternoon service and who sponsored kiddushes and so on, he said, "And, yes, the shuttle did blow up." Pandemonium. One friend shouted "No!" and ran out of the room. Apparently, someone who keeps a radio going on Shabbat came in to inform us.
We don't keep a radio on.
We finished the services and, before our normal psalms for Israel, our rabbi gave a talk about what had happened. I cried. We said the psalms also for the seven who died.
And then. We were hosting a housefilk that night. tigerbright was supposed to be in the New York area this weekend, and wanted to see if someone could get one up, and we'd been wanting to have one, so we said yes. Life intervened so she couldn't make it here from Boston, but we'd decided to have it anyway.
I'm glad we did. It meant we had a gathering of friends in our home to sing appropriate songs, and there are so many appropriate songs - sad, hopeful, defiant and proud. We didn't just sing space songs, or Challenger songs (and it's amazing how many of those mention the Columbia)but they were the majority. It helped; it felt right.
Although it doesn't make it hurt any less.