Tonight begins a new moon. In my religion, that means it is a new month (called Rosh Chodesh), and this one is Elul. This new moon crosses two days.. The first day, (the one starting tonight) is the 20th anniversary of the death of my mom. This anniversary is called a Yahrzeit. The second day of the new moon of Elul is anniversary of my daughter’s bat mitzva- and tomorrow happens to be her secular birthday, to boot.
“Whaddaya mean you’re not coming?”
Those were my exact words, when I was having a phone conversation with my mom on 21 May 1997. She was about to tell me what happened the previous night. While she was climbing up the steps to a restaurant (I’m sure it was for the 4 o’clock dinner time), she fell down. And, now she’s completely black and blue and hurting. Of course, my mom had been wearing her 4 inch f–k-me heels. That’s a no-brainer- my mom has been doing so every day of her life, as long as I knew her.
I took the time to remind her what she said when my middle daughter was born. That it was her great hope that she would live as long as the occasion of her bat mitzva. (In retrospect, it was interesting that she did not say her wedding…)
So, if my mom were alive, she should be there, she should come to Charlottesville for Shira’s great event. No one will care what she looks like. My mother came- and had a wonderful time.
Once the weekend was over, she flew back to Florida (27 May) – but she never made it all the way home. She spent the next 97 days at the JFK Hospital. Mostly with me by her side.
By day 95, it was clear my mom was not getting better. I told her that if she continued to refuse to eat her food, she was not going to leave the hospital. Which led to her complaint about hospital food- and the she asked me to pick her up a hot pastrami sandwich. (I now know where I developed my predilection for same.) Which meant I had to drive about 55 miles to find one. (I keep kosher; I would never consider buying a non-kosher food item for another Jew, regardless of their beliefs.) Which she devoured. However, my mom never ate anything again.
On the morning of 1 September, I called my brother and told him to get here (Florida). NOW! And, my mom died that very day. On Rosh Chodesh Elul. A minor Jewish holiday. (One that actually is two days long. And, where the other day of rosh chodesh is the anniversary of Shira’s older sister’s bat mitzva… Bookends.)
This was my first shiva, the Jewish ritual of morning. That’s because my mom was the first person to die on a non-holiday. Every other one of my relatives died on Jewish holidays. Which meant that shiva could not take place. The “joy” of the holiday trumped the desperation of the event. My mom, who was definitely not ascribed to traditional Jewish beliefs, died on a holiday- but a most minor one.
And, as is true for all Jews, her burial was immediate. It is improper to not bury the body within 24 hours of death- unless the intervening period is the Sabbath or a holiday (where work is not permitted; so no digging of the grave could occur). And, where the family members and friends take at least one shovel full of dirt to cover the plain wooden casket. To participate in honoring the dead- who can in no way ever return the favor to those who participate in this honor.
And, we sat shiva for her in my house. Sitting on hard stools for 7 days. (Shiva is the Hebrew word for 7.) Where my friends had already covered every mirror in the house. (One is not allowed to look in the mirror during the Shiva period. Worrying about one’s appearance is not acceptable behavior during this period.). Where my friends had stocked my house with food. Because I (and my brother) were not allowed to go shopping. Where my friends and my (now ex-)wife prepared meals for us for seven days. Where my friends came to visit me – whenever- to just be there. (The front door of a shiva home may not be locked- the visitors are not permitted to ring the bell. They simply come in to pay their respects.) I was graced with a variety of community members who came every morning and every evening to join us in the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers. And, my brother and I recited Kaddish.
The Kaddish is a most unusual prayer. One would think that a prayer for the dead- which one is commanded to recited during all three prayer sessions (multiple times during the morning prayer; once each in the afternoon and evening prayer)- would talk about the dead. It does not.
It is a prayer of praise for Hashem- the Supreme Being. Reminding us that Hashem has the knowledge of what is best- even if we wish to differ. It is a prayer where the community responds to the mourners with the Aramaic version of words found in various parts of the Tora/Bible… Blessed is His great name, His kingdom, for all eternity. It ends with the prayer for peace in Jerusalem and for all Israel.
“What?”, you say. What kind of prayer is that to be said when one is hurting. When one is missing the person being mourned. It reminds us that we must understand the cycle of life and death. And, that following the commandments is the only way to live our lives.
This is the standard routine for every day during shiva. Except for the Sabbath, when the mourners can use regular chairs, join the synagogue for prayers (but not lead services or read from the Tora), and walk outside. And, although it is a normal commandment (termed a ‘double mitzva’- twice as important) to engage in sexual relations on the Sabbath, all sexual relations are forbidden during shiva.
At the end of shiva, the mourners- and their friends- take a walk around the block. To signify that the mourners are now rejoining the world. The mirrors are uncovered. The hard chairs are returned to wherever they came. The mourners are allowed to cook for others. But, they still wear the garment that was ripped as a sign of mourning. (Some wear a ripped ribbon on their clothes as a signifier.) But, still no shaving of faces for the men or wearing jewelry for the women. Until one month from the death has elapsed. This period is called “shloshim”, which means 30.
At the end of shloshim, the mourners are allowed to lead services and read the Tora. As a matter of fact, it is a tradition that the synagogue call the mourner to the Tora on this day to signify the end of the most intense periods of mourning. The mourners can shave, wear jewelry, get hair cuts… In other words- almost a normal life. But, we are still missing the dead. And, cannot listen to music, attend a play or a theatrical performance. This is our “re-entry” to normal life.
And, every day, three times a day [actually, the afternoon and evening prayers are typically said together, at dusk into evening, to make it more convenient to pray thrice a day], I went to pray with (at least) 10 others, a minyan, the minimum size for a group to join in communal prayer. Because for 10 people, the heinous communities of Sodom and Gomorrah (English spelling) would have been spared.
Now, I should tell you that my mother was not religious. She went to synagogue no more frequently than once a year (and I am unwilling to bet on that number, after the death of my father). And, I am not Orthodox. But, it’s what you do.
And, during those prayers, I had a chance to further get my life in order. To have a conversation with the Supreme Being. OK. I talked. And, somehow felt some message received. And, this helps put the world in perspective.
It’s amazing that this happens. No, it’s not blind faith. But, somehow, even the less religious derive a sense of personal purpose. Some can’t express that feeling in words, but their friends and loved ones can sense the slight, ever-so-slight, change that occurs. It may have something to do with the development of this new routine of stopping one’s daily efforts to make time for prayer, one that (often is only attributable) to the death of the loved one.
Moreover, if you are like me, always on the go, you need to do some planning. Where is there a synagogue that has daily prayers in Kansas City, Tallahassee, Albany, Cedar Rapids, Spokane, Portland?… And, when you do pray in these places, ones where you are not known, folks will come up and ask you for whom you are saying Kaddish. Which gives you a chance to further honor the memory of the loved one.
This routine is a constant, lasting for 11 months and 1 day (which covers ’12 months’), when the mourning period is over. We have had sufficient time to settle our thoughts. Put the life of the loved one in perspective. And, it is now imperative that we fully rejoin the living. Our mission of the past year- to honor the memory of our loved one- is over. We are now cleared to participate in the one quest required of all of us. To make the world better- one step at a time.
My mom’s been dead for 20 years.
