Being With Your Loved Ones--It’s a Mitzvah : The Talmud reminds us that love and companionship are great gifts and shouldn’t be taken for granted because we don’t know if they’ll be stolen from our grasp.

The phone call came just before noon, and my son’s voice was charged with excitement.

“Dad, are you free on Sunday, the 10th? If so, what do you say we fly to Tampa together to watch the ‘Battle of the Bays’?”

Dan explained to me that he had just won an ESPN contest. The award? An all-expenses paid trip for two to Tampa Bay to watch the Green Bay-Tampa Bay football game.

I was too flattered to decline the offer. After all, how many 29-year-olds would deem their geriatric dads tolerable company for such a cross-country venture? (Even though I later discovered that I was his second choice . . . well behind his first choice, 6-year-old nephew Avi.) I was exceedingly touched and grateful for the invitation.

But several days later, my enthusiasm had waned somewhat. I discovered that our itinerary dictated our flying out of LAX at 11:59 Saturday night for Chicago for a four-hour wait at O’Hare. Then we would board a connecting flight to Tampa just in time for a pregame party, immediately after which we would be whisked off to the game. It would not be until well after midnight that we would return to our hotel, and then, a few hours later, it would be back to the airport for our return home, also via a connecting flight.

Oy! My 6-year-old grandson could handle this sort of schedule far better than could his 60-years-plus grandfather.

Maybe, just maybe, I fantasized, Dan would call again, inquiring as to whether I would mind terribly if he took Avi after all. “Not at all,” I would reply, taking care to keep the relief in my voice under control. “You two go and have a good time. It’s perfectly OK with me.”

But it was another telephone call that I was to receive that night, a tragic call that would bring me to my senses and change my perspective on the matter.

Just before midnight I was informed of the sudden death of a 35-year-old man . . . a young man whose bar mitzvah and wedding ceremonies I had officiated at, and whose little children I had named in my synagogue. Moments later, I stood in the hospital corridor holding a young widow numb with shock and horror, and trying in vain to find adequate words for a father and mother slowly enveloped by the nightmarish realization that never again were they to see the smile, hear the voice and feel the touch of their beloved young son.

Later, driving home in the darkness, I found myself pounding the steering wheel in agony for the family. Also, I confess, in anger for myself.

My son is alive, thank God! I would soon be privileged to enjoy the warmth of his smile, voice and touch for 40 consecutive sleepless hours! How dare I even think of kvetching over something so trivial as travel fatigue!

Our football trip was a thorough delight. Warm father-son bonding helped me survive the unseasonably frigid wind at Tampa Stadium (I doubt if Green Bay was any colder than Tampa Bay that night), and I urged Dan to reenter next season’s ESPN contest as well. The following day at the cemetery, I cried especially bitter tears for the father and mother who could never again experience a joy such as mine.

There is a passage in the Talmud which declares that, in the hereafter, we humans will be held accountable before the divine throne for every legitimate pleasure we could have enjoyed in life, but refused to take advantage of. Sounds hedonistic? Perhaps it does. However, on a macro-level, it teaches us that God does not wish us to confuse self-abnegation and self-deprivation with true religious piety. God’s beautiful world is there for us to enjoy, and its legitimate pleasures are ours to cherish to the fullest.

But on the personal, intimate, micro-level, the message of the Talmud is even more compelling. Life is short. At times, tragically short. And, as we all know, no pleasure is as deep and meaningful as the pleasure of companionship with loved ones. When such pleasuresome opportunities present themselves, we must treasure them and enjoy them to the fullest. It is a “mitzvah” to do so, and a “sin” to do otherwise.

Good luck in next season’s ESPN contest, Dan, wherever, whenever and however it may lead us.