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.
After Death
For my father’s second career he became a Jewish educator. For decades, he would spend hours commuting from Morristown, New Jersey to Manhattan devouring books with Jewish subjects. Zionism, philosophy, Biblical studies, history. Finally in his 50s, he closed his company and went back to graduate. He fulfilled the dream of being a teacher upon moving to Denver when he taught about the book of Job in an adult enrichment program. He loved complexity of this ancient tale of God’s trial by suffering of Job. Finally, when Job was bereft of all he had, witnessed the death of his family, and his own illness, Job asked: “Why must I suffer?” From out of the whirlwind, God answered basically: “Who are you to question me!? I do what I want when I want.”
Studying Job combined with my dad’s own life experiences as a Jew who fled Germany in 1938, led him to conclude that this life was all there is. He witnessed the worst of humanity and experienced the joys as well. In his estimation, there was no need for an afterlife to make living meaningful. Afterall, the various versions found in the world’s religions have little resemblance to one another. This reveals that they are more products of their cultural milieu than reflections of what might be. He faced his own death without an expectation for an afterlife and by all appearances he was content with that anticipated fate.
I’ve embraced an interpretation that I shared with my father. Samuel Scheffler is a philosopher (and a Jew) who speaks about an afterlife for which there can be no argument. We, the living, are the afterlife. After a person dies, those who live carry the essence of the deceased, their life lessons, their passions, their fears, their frustrations, their failure. As we continue our own path through life, the dead no longer change, but we do. The afterlife is the enrichment of our lives that comes from reflecting on the character of those who’ve died. As we continue to learn lessons from them, even after they are gone, our lives continue to be enriched by their “presence.” When I spoke about this with my dad he said: ‘Now that’s an afterlife I can live with!”
—Rabbi Ron Stern