“Eli,” he says with a nod. “We’re here to do Tashlich.”

“Well, now. Isn’t that nice? It’s good to see young faces here. Your mother and dad, Jewelann, they were so active in the shul. Now it seems like the congregation has become so small.” Mr. Stein shakes his head with a small frown and a sigh. He looks past us to a woman standing with a younger woman carrying an infant and a man holding the hand of a little boy. “Excuse me, the kids are in from out of town with my grandbabies. So nice to see you, Jewelann. Maybe you’ll stop by the shul again sometime soon. L’shanah tovah.”

When Mr. Stein is out of earshot, Eli says, “I remember him. He always had those candies in his pocket.”

“Yes. The butterscotch.” I watch the family greeting each other. People are moving down toward the water. The rabbi looks as though she’s getting ready to lead the service.

Eli and I stand apart from the rest but still close enough that we can hear her. It’s a short service, but I find myself moved by it. She guides us through the concepts of casting away our deceptions, arrogance, selfishness, indifference.

I add my own, silently. I cast off indulgence. Greed. I cast off not letting go of that which does not serve me.

“Aid us to stop carrying the baggage of our poor choices,” the rabbi says, and I am weeping, still silent but not trying to hold back the tears.

The gathered people take their places along the edge of the water. Eli and I move even farther away. He holds the open baggie of crumbling bread in one hand, but he doesn’t throw any yet.

“This isn’t where they found his clothes,” he says.

“No.” But it’s the same river.

Together, in silence, we stare at the water. To me it seems to move slowly, but I’m sure that’s an illusion. If we fell into it, we could easily be swept away. We could drown.

Eli takes my hand. The last time I can recall us holding hands, his was so much smaller. It fit neatly inside the curve of my fingers, protected by mine. Now his hand dwarfs mine, and I’m the one who feels engulfed.

I hold it tight.

We stand there, watching the river take what everyone else has cast away, but it’s not until most of that other group has dispersed that Eli and I let go of each other’s hands. He steps closer to the concrete edge keeping the river in its place, and I stop myself from physically holding him back. He tosses his crumbs into the river, whispering under his breath.

I do the same, standing at his side. I empty my plastic baggie and tuck it into my pocket. He finishes about the same time and shoves his baggie into his hoodie pocket, along with his hands.

“Mom,” he says, but nothing else.

I want to hold his hand again, but that moment has passed, maybe for truly the last time. He’s so tall now, like his father. Eli hasn’t been my little boy in a long time, but it’s so suddenly clear how close he is to becoming a man.