perspectives-on-death-and-mourning

Running with Dad

Sun, 30 Mar 2014 13:53:12 +0100

Last week marked the 4th anniversary of the Jerusalem Marathon. The first Jerusalem Marathon was in March 2011. It was soon after this run that we found out about Dad's illness. The second one (the only one that I didn't run) was just as I returned home from sitting shiva and I did not have the motivation energy to run in that one. This past marathon took on new meaning to me for two reasons.

The first is that I decided to run to benefit an organization which runs a registry of potential donors and recipients of stem cells and bone marrow. In many cases, these donations allow the recipients to beat certain kinds of cancers. I was involved in the hospital treatment process during my last visits with Dad and understood a bit about the potential treatments and the process of treatment, I feel a connection to the Gift of Life's challenges and its successes. Even if only one match of a donor to a recipient is found, I will have done my part in extending the life of a given individual.

The second link is that of the runner. Dad ran and lettered in track at Columbia U. in the 50's and he continued to run even when he was ill. As I was running in the race and looking for some additional inspiration and a "second wind", thinking of Dad on the track, or on the basketball court or on the touch football field opened up a well of strength that gave me that extra push to the finish line.

Thanks to all of those who helped out in sponsoring me in the race and I hope that my efforts will yield not only the physical benefits that I gain from running, but also perhaps a match for a needy individual who requires a stem cell or bone marrow donation.

When the Month of Adar comes in our joy is increased משנכנס אדר, מרבים בשמחה

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 19:32:52 +0100

Rabbi Judah said in the name of Rav: Just as when the month of Av comes in, we lessen our joy so when Adar comes in, we increase our joy. (Bab. Tal. Ta'anit 29a).

Strangely, our family has two deaths occuring on the first day of these two months.

Grandpa Weisberg's death was on Rosh Hodesh Av, when the sages proclaimed that our joy is lessened. Dad's day of death was Rosh Hodesh Adar, when the sages say that our joy is increased.

One can ask whether this is meant as a passive affair, i.e. because the way of the world is for bad things to happen around the time of the date of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem (9th of Av), we should expect that in Av, bad things will happen to us as well. Or is the issue that we make the beginning of Av mournful and introspective by actively bringing our joy down a peg, viewing Av as a time of introspection and avoidance of joyous events. This idea is reflected in our observance of the 3-weeks from the 17th of Tamuz until the 9th of Av when we traditionally do not partake of live affairs and other joyous activities.

In the case of Adar, are we inversely, to turn up the joy and find ways to celebrate the coming of the Purim holiday? Or are we simply to expect that good things are going to happen to us?

We can understand Grandpa's yearly remembrance on the 1st of Av as being relevant in each case, bad things happened to us, and we also enter the month with a modicum of sadness because of the historical context as well as the personal tragedy which we all feel at the turn of the month of Tamuz. I am ambivalent about the assertion related to Adar. We are to bring in the month of Adar with joy, but always with the sadness of the anniversary of Dad's death on the very day that we have been accustomed to crank up the joy meter.

Purim was Dad's favorite holiday and, the various aspects of the holiday - the scriptural reading of the scroll of Esther, the enforced revelry and the general lack of other prohibitions on performing work - all combined to make it the quintessential "Dad Holiday."

Counting a Year

Tue, 05 Feb 2013 12:14:21 +0100

It is always hard to accept the fleeting movement of time. We mark our lives by taking note of life events, major moves, births and deaths. These events shake us and cause us to stand up and take notice the passage of time. The kids are the quintessential time marker for parents - when they are young, we see them every day, but don't have the perspective to actually see them doing the growing. Suddenly, at a birthday or school graduation, it dawns on us that the young adults are no longer kids, the kids no longer babies and thus we mark the passage of time.

Throughout the last year, I have felt a much more marked passage of time. It is now a year since Dad died and no year has ever gone by with such a specific counting. Morning, noon and night, I have said Kaddish in synagogues in different cities and continents. Through dark, cold snow-blown mornings and hot, sweaty summer afternoons waiting for a 10th to make the quorum, I have lead the prayers and said the kaddish prayer thousands of times. The days and weeks were counted until the eleventh month when we cease saying kaddish and the days and weeks until the official year of mourning is over and traditional mourning practices let us go.

This past year is ripe with change, challenges both physical and emotional and growth. I sense a shift from being primarily a son to being a father. I cease to look primarily forward and begin to take more notice of what is going on at my sides, I sense the shift in viewing the past and those behind me who represent the future. A milestone has been passed, one that cannot be regarded with indifference, the date is forever chiseled in stone and year-by-year will present itself to us and require us to reflect. Exactly a year has been counted and there is a new word in my lexicon - yahrzeit. Life has changed.