Category: Mourning

Some are guilty all are responsible

Tyre Nichols is buried today. So many of us grieve and shake our heads in disbelief, wondering how this could happen.

Several people are identified as directly responsible for the brutality leading to Tyre Nichols’s death, including police and EMTs.  Ironically, those charged with protecting us are accused of the murder of someone when they betrayed their sacred oaths. But we cannot stop here, assuaging our sense of moral outrage by prosecuting bad actors. Something more insidious is going on, and we must do much more.

Some of us remember the political cartoon Pogo by Walt Kelly. One iconic image is Pogo contemplating the situation saying, we have met the enemy, and he is us. Set initially as an environmental statement in 1971, this understanding of the situation applies to us today.

We may not be directly guilty of the barbarism that took Mr. Nichols’s life, but we have allowed it to exist. We have turned a blind eye to a systemic problem, and Mr. Nichols and many others have paid the price.

Law enforcement ostensibly is tasked with protecting the people from those criminals who prey upon us. It is a tough job and often a thankless one. It is hard and often very unpleasant, so many of us prefer to turn away and let them do what they need to do. But we cannot turn a blind eye any longer.

In a free society, some are guilty all are responsible. These words were written in 1972 by Abraham Joshua Heschel. And they remain true today. We are responsible. Only when we engage in the difficult conversations and hard choices involving what policing looks like and what are the responsibilities of those tasked with protecting all of us; do we give them the resources they require, including the best personnel, the best training, and the tools, a social security apparatus that supports those whose needs are best met by other professionals and the active, meaningful oversight by responsible civilians and the courts will we achieve the justice we seek, the justice denied Mr. Nichols.

As we lay Tyre Nichols to rest, let us finally commit ourselves to fix a broken system so that America can be America for all Americans.

Shabbat Shalom

Set at the Shoes along the Danube Bank, the Hungarian Sabbathsong Klezmer Band shares “Sh’ma Yisrael.”

Shabbat Shalom

When the heart cries, only God hears it
The pain rips from my soul
A sigh breaks the silence
And you fall on your knees while you pray
R: Hear, O Israel, O Lord Almighty
I thank you for my life, I thank you for everything
The mouth moves silently, but my spirit cries out
My heart cries silently, and I pray for you
Hear, O Israel, O Lord, do not let me fear now
(Behold) the guardian of Israel does not slumber, he does not sleep
The pain is great, but I can’t run away
Because I don’t even have the strength to speak, now I need a miracle.

Acharei Mot- How do we help people move forward?

Acharei Mot

 God’s Miracle is not in the thunder and lightning but in people sheltering others from the storm. ~The Radmal

Our recent Hineini Mission to help Ukrainian refugees in Poland gave me a new perspective on Parshah Acharei Mot, teaching me how to help people move forward in the wake of catastrophe. Acharei Mot opens with God telling Moses to instruct his brother. Moses serves as the compassionate human connection so that Aaron can serve as the High Priest of the community, the children of Israel. For those of us watching the Ukraine tragedy unfold, we play the part of Moses, and the refugees are in the role of Aaron. We are like the loving brother who carries the message of moving forward and offering caring support. Helping the mothers and the children is our role.

The Parshah opens with God directing Moses, after the death of Aaron’s two sons, to tell Aaron to abide by the detailed instructions to follow. Moses shares what  Aaron must do to fulfill his responsibilities as the High Priest. Many interpret this as a way to get Aaron’s full attention lest he suffers the same fate as his sons. But there is more here than that. Moses brings humanity to the otherwise stark directives and comforts his brother by serving as the carrier of the message. As a result, Aaron can begin to focus on how to move forward with his life so brutally and irreversibly changed by the death of his sons.

Aaron’s loss is a harrowing event. We witness similar excruciating anguish in the war on Ukraine.   The brutality of the country’s destruction; the torture and murder of its civilians, including the elderly, babies, and children; the depravity of routinized rape and torture practiced by the Russian invaders are staggering. In our time in Krakow and at the border, we witnessed women and children coming to Poland to escape the horrors of this war, seeking asylum and leaving everything behind, including their men left to defend the homeland,  knowing they too might be slaughtered. Such is the Ukrainian reality.   These women and children refugees are like Aaron.

Aaron receives specific instructions on doing his job as the High Priest. These continued instructions coming after the deaths of Nadav and Abihu tell Aaron, and us too, that life must continue even after a catastrophe. Responsibilities to the children do not cease because of personal loss, even the most challenging kind. Our work and our lives remain in front of us. We must move forward. But it is almost impossible to do that alone.

Moving forward is complicated and often overwhelming. Moreover, the loss brings a sense of isolation. Aloneness makes us feel cut off from the community, from life itself. But Moses’ presence informs Aaron that he is not alone. And the instructions Moses carries help Aaron move forward.

Moses informs Aaron that he may enter the Shrine only with a specific offering, and he must appear dressed appropriately. In other words, moving forward is deliberate, done with forethought and intention. It requires structure and resolution and others to help you through the fog of loss.

We support our brothers and sisters of Ukraine. In our rabbinic mission to help the Ukrainians, we brought needed supplies to heal the physical needs and our presence as rabbis to heal the emotional and spiritual needs. We did this sacred work with the support of our communities and congregations. But the task is barely begun. The people of Ukraine continue to need everything- food, shelter, clothing, and a place to make their forever changed lives. After death, life must continue, but only with the help of us, their loving brothers and sisters, will the victims find a path forward. May this be our continued mission.

 

God’s Miracle is not in the thunder and lightning but in people sheltering others from the storm. ~The Radmal

Rabbi David Levin focuses on bringing Jewish wisdom to seekers of meaning. He is the Founder and Director of Jewish Relationships Initiative, a 501(c)3 focused on human relationships, end-of-life challenges, and outreach. Rabbi Levin’s teachings include “The Ethical Legacy Will, Jewish Wisdom Reimagined“- a new approach to the Ethical Will, “Gleanings of a Wandering Jew,” the lessons of our history and personal travel, “Kavod v’Nichum, Understanding Jewish end-of-life rituals,” exploring the ‘why’ underlying our practice,” Resilience” a mash-up of Jewish Wisdom and Disaster Spiritual Care training.

Rabbi Levin is the co-editor of the acclaimed book Jewish End-of-Life Care in a Virtual Age: Our Traditions Reimagined.

 

 

What is the right way to mourn?

In Judaism, it is pretty straightforward.  We have a series of rituals and traditions that serve to guide us.  But the answer is more nuanced depending in considerable measure on who you are and the relationship to the deceased.

Judaism compels us to “do the right thing.” It is one of our tradition’s great insights. Doing what we are supposed to do is affirming the bereaved’s humanity and sense of ethics.  Even if the relationship was fraught, Judaism provides the ability to rise above circumstances instead of becoming a victim to circumstances.

In this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, we read that when Sarah died, Abraham wept (Genesis 23:2).  But as is the case with Torah, there is more here than the words of the verse.  The Torah has one of the letters of the Hebrew word for wept, livkotah, the kaf, printed physically smaller than the other letters.  Our sages saw this as purposeful and concluded that this indicated that Abraham cried only a little.  Why would Abraham not weep fully?

Perhaps he was overcome by guilt, bearing responsibility for her death.  Midrashim tell of Sarah dying of a broken heart when she learns Abraham took their precious son Isaac and sacrificed to God on Mount Moriah.  And to further compound things, Abraham knows in his heart that he would do the same thing again to prove his loyalty to God.

There are many reasons why we are unable to be fully present when we experience loss.

For example, Abraham negotiated for the burial cave and immediately focused on sending his servant to find a wife for Isaac.  Most of us have experience with people focusing on funeral planning as a means of diversion from confronting the pain of loss.  And many people experience complicated grief or ambivalence over the death of someone ostensibly close.

Our tradition offers us a roadmap of sorts when for the process of death and grief.  My teacher Rabbi Dr. Michael Chernick wrote that we have obligations and responsibilities as the surviving loved one.  Whether we loved them or even liked them, whether they were good to us or not, for our own sake, we need to do certain things on behalf of those who die. So we learned that despite Abraham’s weeping, or lack thereof, he purchased the cave at Machpelah and buried Sarah there.

As a rabbi, I am often asked how do I bury my loved one correctly?  The fact that someone would ask means that, on some level, they already are.  Together we can explore ways to help them.

But that is different from dictating what to do or how to feel.  We have a framework.  The task is to understand how our tradition can provide the honor of the deceased and comfort for the bereaved.

Recently, two adult children asked me to officiate the unveiling for their father.  Then they changed their minds, cavalierly saying that as only a couple of prayers need to be spoken, they could do it without the expense of a rabbi in attendance.  Besides, he (their father) never would have won father of the year.

As I listened, I knew that they would honor their father, but I also knew they were about to miss out on that crucial second piece of our tradition’s wisdom, finding their comfort.  We spent some time talking as I was wearing my chaplain’s kippah.  But I didn’t press.  I hoped they might process the unveiling and the loss in a constructive way and bring them comfort and healing.

How do you process complicated grief?  Abraham demonstrates that the question has been around for a long time. So may we find comfort in our memories of those deceased as we embrace the idea that they may be for us a blessing.

 

 

To Mom, Zichronah Livracha- a toast with Chocolate Milk

A small gathering of family said goodbye to the matriarch this past Sunday.  Adult children and wives, adult grandchildren, and a “bun in the oven.”  I was asked to officiate because that is what the family believed mom would have wanted.  They and their mother understood themselves in a humanist way, but they believed it was the appropriate honor for mom- to bury her Jewishly.  The boys never had a chance to have this conversation with her as she had dementia that ravaged her by the end.

I did my best to honor her and those who were trying to honor their mother by weaving rituals with stories that each family member was eager to share and reluctant to stop.  This beautiful family time ended by raising a glass of chocolate milk, mom’s favorite drink, toasting her life and the family that is her legacy.

As I was preparing to leave, the sons presented me with the replica Torah Scrolls given to each of them by the rabbi from their Bar Mitzvah.  They found them among the few possessions mom brought with her to the care facility.

May her life be for a blessing.