On loss, mourning, and celebration of life
My mom died last Saturday. I thought about sugar-coating that sentence, but I think any kind of euphemism, side-stepping, or round-about way of saying it makes it worse. It happened, and it’s terribly sad. In Judaism, when someone dies, we say always say “may their memory be a blessing.” And my Ima (mom in Hebrew) would certainly want her memory to be a blessing, for us to remember her in joy and laughter, rather than in pain and sorrow.
Last week’s challenge was to stretch every day, to make it a part of my daily physical practice to stretch out and relax my muscles. If you’ve ever stretched before, which hopefully you have at some point, you can feel the difference between your muscles before and after almost immediately, and then more significantly later. It’s a fascinating thing to really try and force my body to relax, when it’s been held so taut for so long. Stretching is a physical practice that feels a lot of like a spiritual one — and it can be, especially if you’re part of a yoga practice. For me, stretching, deep breathing, holding muscles tight and then releasing them, has been the physical practice that I’ve needed.
When a Jewish person dies, it is customary to almost immediately be surrounded by community, which is truly a blessing — and, if that person is like my Ima, a testament to the impact she made in the lives of so many people. There are a lot of Jewish customs and practices surrounding death and mourning that are meant to help the mourners, to comfort them. I have found all of it to be extremely comforting for me. I have loved being surrounded by loved ones — my family, my friends, my Ima’s friends, members of our community, people from all walks of our lives — they have entered our house and made it lighter in this time of darkness. Prayer, of course, is part of these practices. A minyan, a group of 10 Jewish adults, is needed in order to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish, which is a prayer that mourners recite for the year after someone passes. You can pray without a minyan as well, of course, but you wouldn’t recite the Kaddish in those moments.
I pray every morning, which, admittedly, has been difficult to do without my community this summer. There isn’t a daily minyan near enough to me, and I miss the voices of my classmates around me. I have been struggling to pray in general as well — the words are a struggle to get out, the sentiments don’t seem to ring true, the weight of it has felt more like a burden, an obligation, rather than a beloved commandment. This week, my classmate, my chevruta (study partner), my closest friend on my rabbinic journey, came to be with me and my family. We prayed together one morning, and it was incredibly powerful for me; it reminded me of the necessity of daily spiritual practice in my life — the stretching of my mind to match the stretching of my body. I feel blessed to find meaning in all of the Jewish ritual, to be guided by my faith and tradition when all seems lost and dark. I hold my soul muscles tight while I pray, and I release them when I’m finished; then I feel lighter, and I feel the strength in my soul to guide me through this. Sanctuary is not a place, it’s a state of mind, so I bless us all that we may find our daily sanctuary for the mind, body, and soul.
I’m posting here an excerpt from the eulogy I wrote and delivered for my Ima, which highlights what I mean about community, about the lightness she was in our lives, and about living my life honoring her legacy:
Joyce lived her entire life for others. Starting with her family — her husband, Michael, her children-Paula, Sam and me-, her sisters, her nieces, nephews and cousins, and spreading to so many others. She was a light that shined so brightly, and touched everyone who met her. Joyce fostered incredibly close relationships with so many people, providing endless love and support for all who needed it, reaching beyond her family and wide circle of friends. Anyone she met, even for a minute, felt that they could confide in her. I, like many others, have become who I am today because of Joyce. She was not only my mom, but my inspiration to live life fully and to love endlessly. She instilled in me the values that have shaped my entire life. Joyce was all about community, and creating it for others. Joyce lived her life for others, because she was truly happy when surrounded by loved ones, laughing and hearing all about their lives. She wanted everyone to be comfortable with themselves, to discover who they are, figure out who they could be, and become whoever they wanted to be. She taught me to love community so much that it’s what I’m doing with my life. I am becoming a rabbi, and of course I can give all kinds of reasons, and many sources of inspiration, but truly I am on this path because I want my life’s work to be fostering community, I want my life’s work to honor my Ima. Every day that I work will be dedicated to her. May we carry Joyce in our hearts and minds, and may she continue to guide us on our paths in life. May our days be filled with love and laughter, joyous moments that fill our souls. May her light continue to shine brightly in all of us; may Joyce’s memory be a blessing for us all.
This week’s challenge, which naturally fits so well in the progression of this particular blog post, is meditating. Meditating is different than praying because it’s about completely quieting the mind. I challenge myself, and all who wish to join me, to meditate for at least 5 full minutes every day. Empty your mind, fill your body with breath, and focus on the now. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens.
