A dear friend of ours died suddenly Thursday night. It was one of those deaths — the kind that shock a community. Two weeks ago at my friend Phoebe’s book party, he was fine, moving around the room, grinning, laughing with all of us. He was one of the leaders of our Temple. When I was trying to figure out my own Jewish identity, he was always empathic. He made it clear I was welcome in our synagogue even though I was only “half” a Jew. At parties, he and his wife would hit the dance floor and we would all stand back so we could watch him trot around the room, elegant and sexy and light on his feet. Even though he was not that much older than me, he seemed avuncular to me; my friends agree. We all looked to him for compassion, advice, support. He was a leader. A pillar. A grown up. Without him (and without my own dad), am I the grown up now? I don’t feel very grown up.