As the impact of our region’s most recent fire disaster continues to be assessed, so many are reeling from the devastating loss of property and cherished possessions, remember that your Wise community stands together to offer you sustained spiritual and emotional support. In the months ahead, we will turn our eyes to the brilliant blue skies of the Southland and rebuild our community together, however, in times of loss and acute danger we can allow ourselves to experience the raw emotions that may surface. Sometimes, it’s when we are feeling most vulnerable that we can grow the most. It is in that spirit that we share this week’s deeply personal Kavanot by Rabbi Stern.
Introduction
As you may know, I lost my dad on December 31st. He suffered a long illness and a very difficult decline, so his end, though filled with sadness, came as a blessing. We can now turn from fretting about his care to remembering the good he gave us in life. Losing a parent marks an important life transition and compels one to confront mortality and generational transition. As a clergy person and one frequently involved with families when they experience their own losses, we are presented with a unique perspective on this inevitable phase of life. For the next four days I’d like to share a few insights surrounding death and loss—personal and professional—gleaned from a lifetime of experience. While you might be tempted to skip this week because of the topic and the current tragedy of our latest firestorm, I encourage you to resist that inclination and open yourself to reflecting on the issues raised. Contemplation of human mortality can actually help us live our lives better and more deeply. Should you wish to discuss this at greater depth, our doors are open.
I explored related topics in a broader way in my 5785 Yom Kippur sermon. You can watch it here.
Facing Death
It is often said that the Jewish tradition conveys great wisdom in how we ritualize mourning our dead. We proceed deliberately without minimizing the gravity of the experience. Our loved ones are wrapped in shrouds never worn in life—they are the attire of the dead. Earth is placed on the body within the casket (in Israel the body is placed directly into the ground). The casket is plain—our glory is not buried with us but left on earth as our legacy. The mourners tear clothing—we needn’t hide our torn emotions. The eulogy is direct, not exaggerated but also not insulting—better to say less than to deride one incapable of defending themselves. We mourn for 7 then 30 then 364 days. Each phase less constrained than the previous.
As I wrote my father’s eulogy, I reviewed 63 years of my life intertwined with his. I remembered our joys, our adventures, our tension, our disagreements. I recalled his passions for Judaism, Israel, the outdoors, biking, and skiing. I contemplated his relationship with my mother, my siblings, his grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I considered his friendships and his animosities. His career successes and downturns. It wasn’t the first time I reflected on his life—observing him over my own six decades gave me the opportunity to consider how I seek to live my own life. However, with his death the only thing that will change now is me—any hope for him to be something different has been placed in the earth.
The finality of death (obvious, but not always truly acknowledged) allows us to bury that which is fraught with the deceased and to carry that which is noble and virtuous into our own lives. Whether you lost a loved one last week or last decade, you can still face their death with the perspective you carry now. Your changes and growth will continue to influence your perception of those who are gone. We carry nothing away in death, we only leave behind. Consider well what you will leave behind for others and consider well what others have left you.
–Rabbi Ron Stern