Category: Relationships

Grandpa’s Magic Marshmallows

 

When we went to grandma and grandpa’s house to visit, some things stood out. Among them was a giant breakfront that contained the unique items they had collected over the years. I remember the porcelain figurines on display, delicate and colorful, gracing the shelves just behind the beautiful curved glass. But there was something even more extraordinary; it was a secret that only my grandpa knew. He would call us over and open the top right drawer and withdraw a box of campfire marshmallows. The box had eight marshmallows, so my brother Jeff and I always enjoyed the special treat and even got seconds.

As I got older, I got a bit bolder, and the allure of those marshmallows was too great. So, I decided to sneak over to that drawer and get a marshmallow for myself. I waited for the appropriate time and stealthily made my move to the treasure chest. I opened the drawer, but the marshmallows were not there. I was crestfallen. I was sure grandpa put the box back in the drawer. But like magic, they disappeared. What was amazing to me was that the same thing happened the next time.   Grandpa produced the box of marshmallows and put the remaining ones away, but they disappeared when I went back to look. It was truly magic.

I never did ask my grandfather about the magic disappearing marshmallow trick. But now that I am about as old as he was when he performed that trick, I think I figured out how he did it. I hope that someday I will be given the gift of performing that same magic trick for my grandchild. For, the breakfront now sits in my study. I have replaced the porcelains with special books and mementos, including a picture of my grandparents on their 50th wedding anniversary. It is magical.

It’s about more than the Benjamins

The extraordinary philanthropic work depends on the generous giving of those supporting the vision.  Without money, these efforts cannot exist, and people who rely on their good works will go without them.

 

So, on this #GivingTuesday, we need to make sure that we support the causes we believe in.  So please give.

My mailbox is overwhelmed by people asking for dollars, and it is easy to become insensitive to the ask.  Those who only contact you when it is time to solicit funds might not resonate with you, but we still need to support the causes that touch our hearts.  So, reach out today and support your cause with what you can give.  They need your help.  And the act of giving feels good, which is something we can all use.

I wish everyone blessings of the Holiday season and a happy, healthy new year.

 

Anything worth saying can be said in under two minutes

Anything worth saying can be said in under two minutes.

My grandfather used to say that any conversation can be reduced to something compelling and short and delivered in two minutes or less. He practiced this with his telephone conversations. Grandpa would regularly call each of his grandchildren to say hello. He would call and start to chat, asking how we were, what was new, and then he would close by saying that he was just checking in, and he looked forward to talking again soon—all of it in under two minutes, including responses.

I marveled at how this could happen; there were a series of questions, each followed by a response.  And yet, it always seems to last for only a couple of minutes.

As I got older, I began to understand more about what was going on in these conversations. Initially, I thought it was about the expense of the telephone, for my grandfather was of the generation where the landline was an expensive proposition. AT&T, the only phone company,  charged based on the distance and phone-call time. That predates most of us, the generation with cell phones instantly able to communicate anywhere in the world for however long we would like for one set fee per month. How times have changed, but I digress

A bit later, I learned that there was something else going on. My grandfather was getting increasingly hard of hearing, making conversations on the phone without special devices like hearing aids much more difficult. But the impossible didn’t stop grandpa. He continued to make the phone calls long after his hearing stopped working, and even the hearing aids were ineffective. It was then I realized my grandfather was reaching out to keep in touch. He was interested in remaining connected to each of us and for us to know that he was interested in them.

As I listened to our conversations more closely, I realized that there wasn’t a conversation at all. Grandpa asked a question waited for what seemed to be a long enough time for a grandchild to respond. Then he moved on to ask the next question, again waiting for the appropriate amount of time for the response and so on until we reached the end of the “conversation,” at which time he would say how nice it was to speak, and he’s looking forward to speaking again soon.

Although Grandpa did not hear our responses, he knew if something significant had happened, good or bad, he would hear about it through other channels- particularly my dad, his son. Not hearing anything momentous from dad meant grandpa could have our conversation without worrying he would miss something.

I began to understand, albeit only in much later life, what grandpa was teaching me was what it meant to care and how important caring is.    The particulars of the conversations were unimportant, except for a grandson to know that his grandpa loved him and thought of him all the time — all in two minutes.

 

Angels lift hearts, we can too

 

A friend of mine used to carry around a change purse in which he had a bunch of small angel pins made of Swarovski crystals.  Whenever he engaged someone new, he concluded by wishing them a blessed day and giving them a crystal angel.  The gift usually caught the recipient off guard but always deeply grateful for the gesture.  The crystal angel brought a smile to the lips of most, a tear to the eyes of some, but everyone would remember that uplifting encounter with their new friend Thom.

All of us are struggling with the emotional and spiritual effects of the pandemic.  Even people predisposed to being kind are finding their well of kindness in need of being replenished.  We all could use Thom to give us an angel to make our hearts smile.  We can do this for each other.

We don’t need to carry around an inventory of pins. Instead, we need to offer a smile and a kind word (or two).  Look at the person in front of you and see them- they are as exhausted as the rest of us.  So offer them what you need yourself, a smile and a kind word.  To the check-out person, smile and say “thank you” (yes- two words). To the person walking into the store, hold the door and say, “you’re welcome” (that will respond to them saying thank you).

It is a respite from the storm, an act of humanity when we desperately need it- and giving it is as comforting as receiving it, for your heart knows you just did a kind thing.

Our tradition tells of angels coming to bless us for Shabbat. So, as we move toward this Shabbat, may we all reach out with kindness to friends and strangers alike and make our world a little better, one smile at a time.

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.