Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

What Happened - About Lucas, parental fear, and Tzuk Eitan



הייתי השבוע בדיון על צוק איתן ועל פחד הורים וישבתי שם ופשוט רעדתי.  הצלחתי להגיד כמה מילים והרגשתי איזה הקלה קלה אבל הרעד המשיך ובסוף רציתי רק להכנס למיטה ולבכות.  בדרך הביתה חשבתי על התמונה הזאת של ילדה מתכרבלת במיטה וגיליתי שזה משהו שאני זוכרת מחברה שלי, ג'יל, שאחרי הלוויה של אביה היתה במיטתה, בוכה.  הייתי בת 10 בערך.  הפגישה הראשונה שלי עם מוות. 

משום מה, הבת שלי גבי משורשת בעולם הזה ואני לא דואגת לה.  פעם, כשהיא היתה בת שנתיים היא רצה אל הכביש.  אני עדיין מקבלת צמרמורת כשאני חושבת על זה.  אבל כעיקרון היא נזהרת, שומרת על עצמה, מתקשרת.
 

הבן שלי הוא משהו אחר.  מתקופת ההריון לא הייתי בטוחה בקיומו.  הייתי בשמירת הריון ומישהי אמרה לי לנצל את הזמן להתחבר עם התינוק שלי והרגשתי "איך?"  עד הרגע שהוא יצא לא האמנתי.  ואז הכל התחיל – האי נוחות שלו בעולם, האסטמה ודלקת הריאות בשנה ראשונה ובהמשך.  מתוך 5 שנים הראשונות 4 פעמים דלקת ריאות.  הלילות עם אסטמה ובמקביל הסיפורים של גיסי וגיסתי על לוקס והאסטמה שלו.  הם היו באותו גיל.  היו לנו משפחות מקבילות, לכל אחת בת ובן, באותם גילאים.
ואז הנורא מכל – הטלפון ב11:30 בלילה.  כשבשרו לנו את הבשורה על לוקס, שמת בתאונת דרכים בגיל 4 וחצי, כל החדר התמלא באור.  לא אשכח – אולי גם זאת סיבה שרציתי לחזור לחדר שלי השבוע.  אני יודעת שיש מעבר מן החדר שלי לטרינידד – שם אנחנו נמצאים עם קרובינו.  ללוויה של לוקס אלן נסעה לבד וגם למות של אביה לא נסעתי – אני נשארתי במיטתי מחוברת איכשהו דרך המעבר הזה.
לוקס היה ילד עטוף בצמר גפן – לא יצא מהבית בלי ליווי מבוגר.  המטפלת שלו חיכתה לו מחוץ לגן כל השעות המעטות שהוא בילה שם.  אמר לאבא שלו זמן קצר לפני מותו שהוא לא צריך ללמוד לקרוא כי הוא לא עולה לבית הספר.
לעומתו סשה היה ילד של סכנות – טיפס על חומות, חיפש גירוי סנסורי בכל מקום.  קבל תלת אופן והתאמן במרפסת על נפילות ממנו – איזה עשרים פעמים נפל, בכה ב"כאלו", הקים את עצמו לעשות שוב.  
אחרי מותו של לוקס שאלתי את עצמי איך?  איך אני אגדל אותו?  אם לוקס ששמרו עליו כל כך מת, איך אשמור על סשה?  אין לי סיכוי להצליח.
כשלוקס נהרג סשה בא מגן ואמר – מצאנו את הנשמה של לוקס בחצר.  זה היה אדום.  נחפור ונוציא אותו ונחזיר לו.  
זה פחד הורים.  חשבתי שהאמנתי בה' אבל גיליתי שהאמנתי בסנטה קלאוס.  חשבתי שיש עסקה ביננו לבין היקום – שמים תמיד את הילד בכסא בטיחות ושום דבר לא יקרה לו.  ה' הפר את עסקתנו.  
מאז מותו קשה לי בכל ברית מילה – כשאומרים "קיים את הילד הזה לאביו ולאמו" אני צועקת בפנים.  מה?  גיסי וגיסתי לא היו ראויים לזה?  באיזה תמימות עומדים ההורים בטקס.  כששרים "המלאך הגואל אותי" אני מתמלא בדמעות.  איפה היה המלאך?
צוק איתן – בזמן שהתחילה נפילת הטילים, חמי נכנס לבית חולים וגילו ולא גילו את המחלה שהרג אותו בעוד 4 חודשים.  בזמן שהתחילה המבצע אלן העבירה בקושי קייטנה ממקום פתוח לבית ספר סגור ואז יצאה לחופשה מתוכננת לארה"ב עם הילדים והשאירה אותי כאן, לעבוד.  חלמתי על הזמן הזה וציפיתי להרגשה של חופש.  קבלתי פחד, בדידות, ודאגות.  לנסוע דרך חוסן או לנסוע דרך ההרים ב"שטח פתוח" שם לא יורטים בטילים אם שוגרים.  והיו לנו 150 סטודנטים שבאו מחו"ל, לא בטלו, ואני נותנת תדרוכים איך להגיע למרחב מוגן .  מלמדת תהילים ואומרת שאני מחפשת אמונה שימושית – אמונה שתחזיק ותחזק אותי בימים אלה.  
ויוצאת לחופשה, וחוזרת, ואלן בטרינדד עם אביה, והיא חוזרת, החגים, אני פתאום חולה, אז עוד טיסה בבהלה ואלן יושבת ליד אביה ביום האחרון שלו.  ואני מקבלת בשורות במיטה ומתקשרת דרך המעבר הרוחני הזה להיות לצידו ולהיות עדה למעברו.  ומחליטה לשנות את חיי. 

Friday, October 16, 2015

Carrot muffins

Hard to believe I have not written almost any blog posts this year.

I made these carrot muffins, adapted from a recipe I found online.  Everyone, especially the kids, loved them.  I am noticing Sasha's friends like me for my cookies.  I see how I can get them to hang out here!

Carrot Muffins:

Preheat oven to 190 C/400 F

1 egg
3/4 cup orange juice
1/2 cup canola oil
2/3 cup sugar
2 cups flour (the original recipe calls for half white and half whole wheat)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinamon
1/2 tsp ground cloves
2 cups shredded carrots (4 carrots)

Beat egg, add orange juice, oil, sugar.
Sift the dry ingredients together and add them to the wet ingredients, stirring only till just mixed
Fold in carrots.

Line muffin cups with paper or grease them, fill 2/3 full and bake 20 minutes till done.
Make 12 large or 18 small muffins.

I had forgotten how much I loved to make muffins when I was in graduate school.  I still have my trusty muffin pan from that time.  Hope you enjoy these are much as we did!  And remembering Sarah Fenner - we miss you Sarah.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Trust and the flower pot

I have a flower pot on my dresser that I received as a gift when I was a junior in high school.  This is a story about how I got it and about the things I have come to wonder in recent years about what it means to me.

I took a class in high school called “Communications”.  It was a popular class, taught by a popular teacher.  This was the late 70s and I think it’s fair to say the teacher was an aging hippie and his class was definitely influenced by the spirit of the times.  Having been preyed up on as a child, I actually kept my distance from him.  I had a radar for adults who violated boundaries.  I had already worked to get switched out of a class where the teacher was known for smoking pot with students.  This teacher also had that reputation, as well as a group of much cooler girls than I who surrounded him.  Maybe there were guys too, I just don’t remember them as well.

I liked the class.  It was all about the ways we communicate with each other – pop psychology type stuff.  There was a retreat too.  We talked about issues like honesty, trust, you know. 

I think that on the last day of class we were supposed to bring a gift for one person in the class.   I think I brought something for a girl named Jill, someone who was much more popular than me in the complicated social order of the high school of 2000 kids where this took place but whom I had become somewhat close with over the class. 

I was very surprised when the teacher chose me, of all the students, to give a gift to.  He gave me a spider plant, quite a healthy one, with babies on it, in a small flower pot.  He said that he had had the plant and tended it for quite some time.  He said that he was giving it to me because of all the people in the class, he trusted me.  He trusted me, he said, not just to tell me something personal, like we had practiced doing with people in the class, but he trusted me in the way that if he ever wanted something done, I was the person in the class he would trust that he could turn to and that I would get it done.

I can’t begin to tell the value to me of this gift and of what he said that day.  I guess the fact that this plant, and after it was long gone the pot it grew in, stayed with me in every dorm room, home or apartment I ever had, made aliyah with me and still sits on my dresser 36 years later tells that tale.  In a high school of 2000 kids, in a life in which I felt often invisible, unpopular or unimportant, that gift and statement had a lot of traction and helped shape the positive ways I saw myself for many years to come.

And yet…

Some not so long while ago, something happened and a friend came to believe that I was not trustworthy at all.  As I reflected on this for some weeks, I thought about the flower pot, and I began to wonder about whether I had ever been the person the teacher said I was.  It seemed clear that :  the teacher wasn’t trustworthy, he was smoking pot with students; I wasn’t trustworthy – my parents couldn’t trust me and just the year before, for example, I had been stealing pills from the medicine cabinet of people I babysat for; the gift wasn’t trustworthy – what quality teacher singles out one student in front of the class to praise?  And years later, I didn’t feel like the person who could be counted on to get things done – I felt then, and often feel now, that I make too many commitments to too many people and can’t possibly carry them all out.  Sometimes it seems like the only way I can be trustworthy - to myself and others, is to cut back radically on what I commit to, and on who I am to others.  The more people expect of me, the more likely I am to disappoint.  Or something like that.

I would like to digress here to a story about a person I once met whom I think was named Lyn, but I fear if I go down that road I won’t get back to the present.  I'll save that story for later.

So….

Lately I have met two people who feel that the world is not a trustworthy place and that people in general cannot be trusted.  And I have found these people to be pretty hard or impossible to rely on.  Leading me to believe that how trustworthy we are may be connected to how much we trust others.  But beyond that, I have also noticed that my trustworthiness, my ability to follow through, help, stay committed, has been less than optimal when I have dealt with these people.  It is almost as though I have become less trustworthy when dealing with people who don't expect me to be trustworthy.  Or something like that.

So the flip side of this is that because my teacher said he trusted me, I worked all these years to be the person he saw me as.  I am not sure I have succeeded, but I believe I have tried harder because of what his words meant to me.  Which is something for each of us teachers to think about.

Many years ago, Reb Zalman gave me a blessing that I should see myself as G-d sees me.  This week, as we were studying Psalm 33, I asked my students if they believe in hashgacha pratit (that G-d oversees our individual actions).  One of my students said the following and I knew he had written the end of this story.  He said, “If people are created in the image of G-d, and if people see my deeds, then I believe some part of G-d sees my deeds.”  So I'm still grateful that my teacher in that moment saw, maybe not who I completely was, but who I could maybe become.  And that, with his shortcomings, he helped me get closer and work harder on being the person he saw I could be.

 

Thursday, October 24, 2013

How I stopped wanting to hurt or kill myself

My motto for this month has been, “No negative self-talk.”  Almost every woman and many men who come to my office or call me on the phone have some way of talking to themself that is a put down or a negative comment toward themselves.  It could be as simple as apologizing when it’s not necessary or saying, “I was stupid to do that,” but almost everyone has a way to put themselves down.

For those of us who are abuse survivors, the problem can be much more acute.  When I got sober I found my thoughts often turned to wanting to hurt myself or wanting to die.

When I was a very short time sober, maybe one year, I heard someone tell a similar story to mine and at the end of it she said that she had not wanted to kill herself in five years.  I remembered this since then – it was about 20 years ago that I heard her say this.  For me, it was a complete message of hope, that someone with a similar story to mine could go five years without wanting to kill herself.  I think that was the day when I knew there was hope for me and the day that I decided to reach for being like her.  And today I can honestly say I have not wanted to kill myself in quite a bit more than five years.

Our minds have grooves in them and as we play the same messages over and over we deepen the groove.  I had a groove in my mind that was “I should drive my car into a tree.”  I had another one that I wanted to cut myself.  I did not do these things, but I did think these thoughts, over and over and over again. 

One thing I like to say is, “if you can hear it, you can change it.”  More on point perhaps, “if you can hear your thought, you can interrupt your thought.”  It was second nature to me to think, “I want to drive my car into a tree,” but as I started to listen to my thoughts I became willing to question them.  So when I heard myself say that, I could ask myself, “Do I really and truly want to drive my car into that tree?”  I began to think my thought through.  “I want to drive my car into a tree” was a shorthand way of saying, “I feel bad”. 

So then I asked myself, “why am I feeling bad?”  I took an approach Geneen Roth describes as “curiosity and kindness” toward my own thoughts.  And I found out there was usually a reason why I felt bad – I was upset by something someone had said, or I was tired, or I was hungry, or I was scared.

And once I found out why I felt bad – I could work to change how I felt – by eating, by sleeping, by talking to a friend, by writing about how I was feeling, by praying.  A big thing that helped me was the saying, “feelings aren’t facts.”  But more than that, I learned that I could change my thoughts and listen to my feelings.  Over time, my feelings changed.  But it began inside my head when I refused to indulge in thoughts about hurting myself, and started to take that first sign, the first thought of hurting myself, as a signal that I needed to do something to take loving care of myself and to help myself feel better. 

A friend tells a joke about the alcoholic with a flat tire who calls the suicide hotline.  I still go down that road sometimes, finding whatever I can’t handle as a reason to want to die.  But much more often these days, I can stop the thought before it starts, remember that there are ways, like roadside service, to deal with the flat tires of life, and that I can handle what comes my way without turning to negative thoughts and negative self – talk.  And I honestly believe that if I could make such a huge change in my thoughts that anyone, anyone at all, can make new choices and become a person who does not want to kill herself.  I find it to be totally worth it!

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Ancient History - My Coming Out Story

National Coming Out Day is October 11, and I have been thinking about when I came out in 1987 and what it meant to me then and means to me now.

The events aren’t fuzzy in my mind but the dates are.  I thought I was 26 turning 27 when I came out, but I am sure it was 1987, and that year I was actually 25 turning 26.  It was the fall.  I had received a call, I think in early September, asking me to take a job with the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence.  I left where I had been working, at Women Against Abuse in downtown Philly, and took the job in Reading PA.  The understanding was that this was temporary, for less than a year, until they could do a real search, for which I would also be able to apply.

Taking this job allowed me to move from downtown, where I had been working, to a more suburban part of Philly (Mt. Airy) which had more of a Jewish community.  My brother was living there and we rented an apartment together.  I’m not sure the sequence of events that fall – what happened first after the new job – the move or the monumental conversation that changed my life.

It sounds kind of funny, naïve and trite, but this is what happened:

I was working with a brilliant lesbian attorney and we were travelling the state.  The head office was in Harrisburg.  We also had meetings all over the state – I think we tried to meet each month in a different county with legal advocates.  Mostly this involved driving.  We also had trainings several times a year in different parts of the state.  Early in the fall, Ellen Pence, may her memory be a blessing, came to do a training.  I don’t remember where it was.  I remember of course how brilliant she was.  I don’t think it was the first time I heard her speak, but being in a room with her was always wonderful.   I read something online after she died that so captured the way she was in a room – at the same time making you feel really good and also challenging you to be so much better.

So my boss, me and Ellen were in one of our hotel rooms after this training.  And somehow the topic came around to me, and how I “thought I was not a lesbian.”  And Ellen told me that I was making a mistake if I thought I was going to marry a man, and that it was a bad idea, because one day, I would be working on a committee with some woman, and I would look into her eyes and fall in love, and if I was married to a man it would be a messy divorce, maybe a custody battle.  She presented it very romantically and I laughed and said, “Will she wear glasses?”

I said, “Why do you think I’m a lesbian, just because I am masculine?” and she said, “no you’re not, you are a fembot.”

Ellen was such a huge personality – when she tells you something about yourself, it’s not something you can shrug off.  Or maybe had I been more straight I could have, but as it was, I started thinking.

And I asked myself, “is it possible I am a lesbian”?

And the answer that came to me was that I had no idea, because for me any kind of feeling I might have for any woman was locked behind a door that said “don’t come in here”.  I couldn’t know if I was attracted to women or any woman because it was not something I allowed myself to feel.  Opening that locked door to wonder was a step toward finding out about myself.  In the words of Geneen Roth I read just recently, it was a beginning toward treating myself with kindness and curiosity.  It was an opening to learning about myself rather than trying to force myself to be what I thought the world wanted me to be.

It was about accepting myself and being myself.  What a concept.

Now that I have a 10 year old daughter, I see the process close up of how we (especially girls but probably boys too) try to mold ourselves to be what we think the world (in the form of our cruel peers, our teachers and others) wants from us.

What I felt in the coming out process was that all of a sudden I could re-access my 8 and 9 year old self.  I had energy, exuberance, and joy.  My 8 and 9 year old self had wanted to be a rabbi.  And lo and behold, I suddenly felt free to apply to rabbinical school.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First I spent a month, a whole month, not telling anyone about this.  I spend a month driving 75 minutes each way to work and crying, wondering if I could be a lesbian and trying to figure out what that would mean in my life.

One day on my return trip from work I heard Joni Mitchell’s Song for Sharon.  And cried over the first verse:

I went to Staten Island, Sharon
To buy myself a mandolin
And I saw the long white dress of love
On a storefront mannequin
Big boat chuggin' back with a belly full of cars
All for something lacy
Some girl's going to see that dress
And crave that day like crazy

I cried because I was so sure I would never wear a wedding dress, cried again that January when I saw a photo of Jan Pierce in her wedding dress, after she died suddenly and I guess I was with her daughter looking at her old wedding album.

And I knew at the same time that if what I wanted from heterosexuality was that day and that wedding dress, it probably wasn’t enough.

Stay tuned for Part 2!

Friday, May 10, 2013

Standing on earth


I have been thinking for some time about coming clean and writing what I am really thinking about on this blog.  It’s a hard thing to do because I think that some people, including people I love very much, think I am crazy.  On the other hand, I also think that my experience might help some people. 

When Lucas died two years ago in a car accident I went into a profound spiritual crisis.  After six months, my best friend told me that I had to do something.  Not wanting to go speak to a therapist, I chose to go to a cranial-sacral healer.

During the healing, I understood many things.  I understood that the car accident that killed Lucas also shocked me out of balance on earth.  The healer worked on grounding me and I understood that I had somehow, since the accident, been not grounded.

I understood that some part of me was jealous that Lucas got to leave the earth.  I understood that I knew Lucas and Sasha from a previous life, a life I had seen before.  I understood that Lucas was a very high soul, who had been a monk in that life. 

I understood what I have known for many years, that I was ambivalent (that’s too soft a word) about being alive.  Many years ago I came to understand my traumatic birth (I had the cord around me), as not wanting to be born.  I connected this with the fact that I died in the Holocaust in my last life.  I have seen these things since 1988.

After this healing, I became motivated to want to be here.  I understood that Lucas had left the earth and that I was still here.  I wanted to work on wanting to be here.

I went to another healer I see who understands these things.  We spent some sessions on this issue of “wanting to be here”.  While I was working on this, on January 9, 2012, I said, “I have to stop taking responsibility for other souls.”  I have to claim my journey.  Other people, even my own children, have their own journeys.  That was on Monday.

I was sick at the time.  I went home and came down with pneumonia.  On Thursday night I was lying in bed and I had a feeling.  I was about to go on a trip to California.  I had a feeling that an important message about my trip was about to arrive by email.  I kept getting up to check.  Around 10:30 pm a message came from the mother of a friend of mine.  I had been meant to see him, for the first time after 30 years, during my upcoming trip.  The message was that he had killed himself.  On January 9.

In the following days, I was sick in bed and thought only of him.  I began to see him in our last life, in the Holocaust.  He was my cousin.  I began to understand his story – how hard that life was for him and how that was behind much of what happened to him in this life.  How he was also someone like me who lived somehow not fully here.  How he had to leave.

What I see now, in these days when his image and life are coming back to me again, is how in this life we re-create scenes from past lives to re-do them.  Do-over. 

When Lucas died in March 2011, I was teaching Hallel in an online course.  In Psalm 115 it says, “Lo hametim yehallelu Y-h – The dead will not praise G-d”.    We had studied and discussed that phrase in class just before Lucas died.    A student of mine pointed us to a paper, which analyzed Yakov Gladstein’s 1946 poem, Dead Men’s Praise.  Since Lucas died, I have held that poem, taught that poem, and the words of Hallel together. 

In the poem, Gladstein describes the deaths at Maidenek as a reverse Sinai image – “we received the Torah at Sinai and at Lublin we gave it back.”  The central image in the poem is a Jewish child. 

This year another layer that has been added for me has to do with how we stand on the earth.  What does it mean to be “strangers and sojourners with G-d” on a land that belongs to G-d.  David said, “I am a stranger here on earth like my fathers before me, our lives are like a shadow and there is no hope.”   No hope, that is, of holding on to the things that we hold precious.  The word “shmor” – guard or take care of – keeps coming back in our songs and ceremonies.  I know that this is not promised in any literal way.  I believe that G-d is keeping Lucas’s soul – and my soul, and Sasha’s soul, and Gabi’s soul, and Alen’s soul.  But life on this earth is not guaranteed to us and nor is being able to protect our children.

Today, standing at Sasha’s kabbalat sefer Torah ceremony all this was with me – Sasha, Lucas, my friend Alan.  What it means to receive it all and to be standing here, on earth, in this moment, with my feet on the ground. 

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Words of Comfort

Five years ago, eight young men left this world in a tragic shooting at the Merkaz HaRav Yeshiva.  They were shot as they studied in the library/Beit Midrash.  One of these boys was the son of a friend.

Two years ago, I joined my friend and her family at the gravesite to commemorate his yahrzeit.  It was a Sunday afternoon.  Two nights later, we received the call that our four and a half year old nephew Lucas had been killed in a car accident.

Last night, I went to be with my friend at the memorial for the boys who died on Rosh Hodesh Adar at Merkaz HaRav.  I want to share some of what I heard there in hopes that it will bring comfort at this season to Eddie and Sophie and all who loved Lucas, to Mimi and Paul whose son Ben died last week, and to anyone reading it. 

My apologies in advance for any lapses in my memory or misunderstandings.  The hour was late, the Hebrew was rapid and often accented.

Two speakers last night impressed me deeply.  One was an elderly great man, I do not know his name, he is a Rosh Yeshiva, not from Merkaz Harav.  He spoke in accented Hebrew, clearly Yiddish was his first language.  He was the only speaker who brought books with him to read from and he read from the Gemara with Yiddish accented Aramaic, translating some parts into less accented Hebrew.  American English was also in the background of his accent.  He got my attention when he mentioned, in an aside, that he was born in Shanghai. 

From Wikipedia:

Another wave of 18,000 Jews from Germany, Austria, and Poland immigrated to Shanghai in the late 1930s and the early 1940s.[30] Shanghai at the time was an open city and did not have restrictions on immigration, and some Chinese diplomats such as Ho Feng Shan issued "protective" passports. In 1943, the occupying Japanese army required these 18,000 Jews, formally known as "stateless refugees," to relocate to an area of 0.75 square miles (1.9 km2) in Shanghai's Hongkew district (today known as Hongkou District) where many lived in group homes called "Heime".[31] The total number of Jews entering Shanghai during this period equaled the number of Jews fleeing to Australia, Canada, India, New Zealand and South Africa combined. Many of the Jews in China later moved to found modern Israel.
Shanghai was an important safe-haven for Jewish refugees during the Holocaust, since it was one of the few places in the world where one didn't need a visa. However, it was not easy to get there. The Japanese, who controlled the city, preferred in effect to look the other way. Some corrupt officials however, also exploited the plight of the Jews. By 1941 nearly 20,000 European Jews had found shelter there.

This rabbi seemed to me as if he carried the history of the Jewish people in the 20th century in his body.  He spoke of Rav Kook.  He told stories that I did not understand.

And he taught a Gemara from Yevamot, the point of which was to say that a yahrzeit, the anniversary of a death, is considered like one of the shalosh regalim (three pilgrimage festivals).  He went on to talk about the importance of walking at the regalim, how even one who arrived in a cart had to get down the last way to the Temple.  How walking allows us to slowly come in to something.  And how for anniversaries, Yahrzeits, as my friend calls them "angelversaries", we need to enter slowly, we are entering a holy time.

I regret that because of my difficulties in understanding, I did not retain more of what this great man said.  He did speak several times about why he was there, and how important it is to bear the burdens of others and to be with those who are in sorrow.

The other speaker who impressed me greatly was the Be'er Sheva Chief Rabbi Yehuda Deri (Aryeh Deri's brother).  He had an amazing presence, when he spoke I saw lots of energy and light around him, and I was quite a distance away.  (Davka, the shul, Beit Knesset Yeshurun, felt very hamish, close and accessible and though we were of course on the balcony, I did not feel distant from the speakers or musicians.)

He started out by speaking about Nadav and Avihu, the two sons of Aaron who were killed suddenly on the day the Mishkan (tabernacle) was dedicated.  He talked about the contrast - the happy celebration and the deaths, of course referring to the fact that the terror attack at Merkaz HaRav happened on the day that we were celebrating Rosh Hodesh Adar, when we increase joy.  (And Lucas died on carnival.)  He said that everyone cries when the portion of Aharei Mot (After the deaths - Leviticus 16) is read on Yom Kippur and quoted a commentary saying that is why we read it on Yom Kippur, because tears open the gates of heaven.

The middle of his talk was about Tzedakah (giving charity) and Gemilut Hasadim (acts of kindness).  He quoted a teaching that when the merit of our fathers and the merit of our mothers fails us, doing acts of kindness will never fail us, interpreting a beautiful verse from Isaiah:

Isaiah 54:10:  For the mountains (the merit of the fathers) may move, and the hills (the merit of the mothers) be shaken, my lovingkindness/loyalty (hasdi) will never move from you.... 

He had two other messages.  One was based on a verse, all Israel wept after them.  He said that the loss was not the loss of the families alone, but the loss of all Israel and that each of us there had to feel the loss.  I think this is a teaching for whenever a child dies.

His last message he explicitly said was a message of comfort.  It was based on a Talmud passage in Taanit 9 where it is written that Israel had three great parnasim (caretakers of the community in the broadest sense) - Moses, Aaron and Miriam - and that each brought a gift - by the merit of Moses, Manna, by the merit of Aaron, the clouds of glory, by the merit of Miriam, the well.  He then said that the Gemara (?) says that these gifts all left Israel in one month, but that this is a problem because we know that Moses died on the 7th of Adar, Miriam in Nisan, and Aaron on Rosh Hodesh Av.  Then he went on to say that what it means is that after Miriam and Aaron died, the well and the clouds did not depart, because Moses, their brother, carried on their work in the world.  I took him to mean that as long as ones family are alive, as long as a sibling is alive, a child is not gone from this world.  He also explicitly said that as long as the Yeshiva studies Torah and carries on the work of these boys, they have not departed.

May these words be of comfort to all who mourn this month and at all times, and may we find away to "hafach mispedi lemachol li" to turn weeping into dancing.  At the end of the memorial, there was beautiful music and dancing. 



 Avraham David Moses, ztz"l

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Who Made Me the Teacher I am?



This is my undergraduate advisor, Ron Thiemann, z"l, as I knew him 30 years ago.  He passed away on November 29, 2012, at the age of 66.  His passing reminds me of that quote that goes around - people will forget what you say and forget what you do, but they won't forget how you made them feel.

It's hard for me to believe that Ron has died without my having a chance to say goodbye to him.  I would like to think that I told him enough times how much he meant to me, but of course we never tell anyone that enough. 

Ron was a very charismatic teacher.  He was energetic, so smart, and pushed us all the time to think.  My friend Bill from college wrote that Ron taught him to think, to analyze, to really understand someone else's argument before disagreeing.  His classroom was charged, full of excitement and of the joy of learning.  He was tough on us - quick to tell me on my papers when he thought I'd missed the mark or failed to understand the material.  A 3.7 from him meant something.  A 4.0 was an extremely happy day - one I did not see frequently!

I took my first class with him in the spring of 1979.  It was not an easy semester for me - a lot fell apart for me then - but in his class I felt whole and happy.  He cared about us and he cared about what he was teaching.  I fell in love - with a TA, with the material we were learning, with learning itself.  And somehow that love stayed with me beyond that semester and into my religion major.

I took my questions and my challenges to Ron.  He was never diminished by a student's challenges.  He supported me through my learning and through the years that followed.  We stayed in touch.  I don't know if he recommended me for rabbinical school but I know he knew I was there, and later in my congregation, and later here in Israel. 

He had a turbulent career at Harvard and some challenges.  He and my mother became Deans in the same year - 1986.  I remember going out to lunch with him somewhere and talking about it - he was in orbit, as my mother says, very busy, very challenged.  I'm not sure if I saw him after that, but we talked in 1990 I'm sure, and later when I was here in Israel. 

I got from him that wonderful teachers love what they are learning, love their students and love seeing students grow.  I got from him that religion matters, greatly, in our world. 

One of the courses I never took from him was one he always taught - Religion and the Third Reich.  He was a big fan of Dietrich Bonhoffer, and he deeply believed that what we think and how we live matters. 

I'm so grateful that at age 17-20 I had such a caring, committed teacher.  If you are reading this, thank one of your teachers! 

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Top 10 things I learned from my mother in law

October 24 is here again.  It's been 9 years since Sylvia died suddenly from malaria.

Here are top 10 things I learned from her:

1.  Live in a beautiful place
2.  See every part of the world you can
3.  Get into a swimming pool whenever possible
4.  Stop the car if you think you see a monkey
5.  You can open a can of tuna or sardines and eat anywhere
6.  A dinner mint will solve any nausea you get from eating a tuna sandwich while driving down a winding road.
7.  Comparison shop
8.  It's not a depression mentality, it's "good Yorkshire sense"
9.  Visit your mother whenever you can
10.  And as true today as the day she said it in 1996 "Gail is kind of high strung".

We miss you Sylvia.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

What I'm here for

It's that time of year - unbelieveably nine years have passed, and I'm of course thinking about Sylvia Kacal, z"l, my mother in law, whom I knew for too short a time and who will always be with us.

And I'm thinking about connections and about a piece a friend posted on facebook, about unfriending someone before facebook.  Many people found this funny, but I found it sad. 

I feel like the greatest blessing in my life is that I continue to have people from all parts of my life and all kinds of connections with me.  That I can quote something I said 25 years ago in my status and have my friend say "I remember that moment."  I want every day to be worthy of this blessing, so I work to stay in the game when things get difficult with friends, or when I'm going against what is easy to build connections with my Israeli relatives.  When I realized my 3rd cousin was living here in this town, and when my kids' 4th cousin was born here, I felt like G-d was somehow bringing things back together again.

It's my lifetime wish to find out where my Uncle Jack is buried and to be able to go to his grave and say I'm sorry for the break in our family.  And when I connect on facebook with my young cousin Jake or my cousin Andrew who brought us so much information about our family tree, I feel like all my ancestors are smiling on me.  It is such a huge privilege to be part of this world where we can be reconnected and where people don't have to disappear. 

As hard as it may be sometimes to stay in the game - with family, friends and community - I don't want one more disconnect.  I want this whole life to be about connecting the dots, about keeping the strands woven.  I can see the past - quite a few miles back - and I am grateful for this present.

About the verse - Eleh Toldot Shamayim VaAretz - these are the generations of heaven and earth - I said last week that these are the people who are in heaven, who are always with us, and the people who are here on earth.  Let us always be connected.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Grief again?

I got up in the morning and opened facebook.  Sasha saw that Auntie Lisa had a photo of Lucas, and he asked to see it, and then the next time I saw he had a huge page of photos of Lucas up on the screen.  I'm thinking, this really sucks.  First thing in the morning my 6 year old is looking at photos of his cousin who died.  Why am I waking up in this kind of world?

We went to visit the kids other cousins.  I somehow made my way through watching Sasha so want the approval and attention of his 13 year old boy cousin.  How many 13 year olds want to play with 6 year olds?  The whole interaction made me want to cry.  I didn't figure out why I felt so strongly until we were on our way out the door and Gabi said something about "I have four and a half cousins." Her aunt tried to say she has five cousins, but it's not really true, because one of them isn't alive.

I've tried to soften my words here.

Then I read on Lisa's facebook that she just went to church for the first time since Lucas's funeral, which was almost 18 months ago.  That said it all.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Fresh Grief

A wave of events has brought fresh grief about Lucas.

It started innocuously (sp?) - almost in a way I felt good about.  In the first of three visits with friends from overseas and their kids, we talked and laughed and the kids played and then almost as they were getting ready to go, we realized they did not know.  They had not seen us in a year and a half, aren't facebook friends, don't interact with us daily.  At first there was an almost giddy shock - here we had spent two hours together without mentioning it - how life had changed in a year - one year ago it would have been the very first thing we mentioned.

But then the grief came back.  Suddenly the photos jumped off the shelves - at least figuratively - and I saw Lucas everywhere.

A few days later Sasha had a really scary asthma attack.  The next day I felt like I had post traumatic stress - it still has not completely dissipated.  That came a couple of days after Gabi and I thought we had lost him in the woods (he was playing with friends in a safe place).  It was just a few minutes, but enough to shake me up and to really scare Gabi.  At night she told me, "I'm afraid I'm going to lose him, afraid that poof, he just won't be here." 

Then we made plans to see some more friends we have not seen since before Gabi was born, with their kids.  So I tried to pre-empt it by telling them on the phone.  But she was horrified and I had forgotten how to tell.  Last year I knew to start, "we had a tragedy in our family" and then to tell.  I had forgotten how to do that.

Then yesterday Gabi and I went with an old friend of mine to see other old friends of ours and their kids.  I felt so heavy on the way there and on the way back.  I had a lovely time.  It was right after the final party for Sasha of kindergarten.  I could be in all this when it was happening, but before and after I felt like I was carrying a weight.

It's of course a joy to watch other people's kids grow - a marvel, one of the greatest miracles in life.  Our kids also are growing so incredibly - easy to see why these are called the wonder years.

This is not promised to us, it is not "muvan me'elav".

So we're starting another summer, I'm about to welcome another wave of students, Alen is somewhat back on her feet after breaking her leg but still not driving, I'm very tired, I'm still parenting a testosterone enhanced version of myself, still feeling so strongly the fear that I call the dark underbelly of parenting.  Taking lots of joy in their changes and trying each day to hold it all lightly and be grateful.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Thoughts after one year - in memory of Lucas

Today is Ash Wednesday. Yesterday was Mardi Gras - Carnival Tuesday - the day that Lucas died.

I can't believe it has been one year. My heart is with Sophie, Eddie & Kayleigh and all the family.

Thank you to everyone who has helped Alen & me and our kids during this year.

Two books I read this summer and fall helped a lot. One was "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" - a book of interviews by Studs Terkel. It's lots of different perspectives on death, loss and faith. The other is "Does the Soul Survive" by Rabbi Elie Spitz.

I spent almost two weeks in California at the end of January and beginning of February. I had not been there in 30 years. Everywhere I went I was welcomed by people I know from all parts of my life - from grade school, from my college days, from my first year in Israel in '83-'84, from rabbinical school and from these past 11 years in Israel. I also met new people - including my 3rd cousin and 3rd cousin once removed and his wife.

My cousin Andrew the genealogist gave me a gift - the marriage certificate of my great uncle Jack. It turns out my uncle Jack married his wife Edith exactly two weeks after my grandparents got married, on Sunday, April 28, 1929. (Or maybe it's the 23rd - the date is hard to read - the 23rd would make more sense if it was a civil wedding at an office not open on Sundays.)

My grandparents were married April 14, 1929 in Sharon, MA. In California I saw several people who are connected to Sharon and decided that all roads lead to Sharon - the place where my grandparents married and are buried.

I also saw and felt many other things connected to the past - to the Holocaust especially.

I came back feeling that if I can go 9000 miles away to a place where I have not been for 30 years and experience so many amazing connections from so many times, then there really is no time and no space and no distance.

When Lucas died the song that kept coming to me was the Sweet Honey In the Rock song, Listen More Often. You can find it on this blog if you search the Lucas tag - it's the first song I posted when he died. I'll probably make a new tag for loss as well. The song says "The dead are not under the earth" and it's something I believe more every day.

Sending lots of love to everyone who reads this.

Gail

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Too Few & Far Between

Deirdre McCalla herself sent me the lyrics and said she'll post the song next month on www.deirdremccalla.com. Believe it or not, I had them mostly memorized, but I had forgotten the second verse.

TOO FEW AND FAR BETWEEN
(Deidre McCalla)

AFTER IT'S ALL SAID AND DONE WE REMEMBER
TIME WILL MOVE ON BUT THE MEMORIES REPEAT
ME IN MY SCARS MEETING YOU WITH YOUR HUNGER
TO CRY IN THE NIGHT ON A ST. THOMAS BEACH
THERE'S NO REWRITING HISTORY
BE DAMNED YOUR LUCK AT ALL
TO BE BORN INTO AN AGE WHERE
GENTLE MEN STILL FALL
TOO FEW AND FAR BETWEEN
AND IT DOESN'T MAKE A LIFETIME

PIECES OF DREAMS IN A CARELESS WIND SCATTERED
TOSSED BY THE TIDES AND THE VAGARIES OF FATE
HEARTS ONCE UNITED AND TESTED BY FIRE
STRETCH TO THEIR LIMIT AND FINALLY BREAK
INSIDE A CONSTANT STRANGER
MAKES HER PEACE WITH EACH NEW SUN
DESIRE'S ONLY PASSING
AND TRUE LOVE OFTEN COMES
TOO FEW AND FAR BETWEEN
AND IT DOESN'T MAKE A LIFETIME

THE SACRIFICE OFFERED BY EACH GENERATION
ARE THOSE WHO WILL RISE UP AND ANSWER THE CALL
CHANGE HAPPENS SLOWLY AND OUR REVOLUTION
STILL QUESTIONS THE PRICE OF EACH WARRIOR WHO FALLS
THE CHOICES ARE REFLECTED
IN THOUGHT AND WORD AND DEED
FOR CAUSES WE WOULD DIE FOR
AND REASONS TO BELIEVE
ARE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN
AND THEY OFTEN TAKE A LIFETIME

WHEN THE TIME COMES TO COUNT UP ALL OUR BLESSINGS
IT MAY SEEM HARD TO KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN
ONE IS THE PURE CELEBRATION OF LIVING
TWO IS THE LIGHT IN THE EYE OF A FRIEND
TREASURE EVERY MOMENT
WHERE THE LAUGHTER FALLS LIKE RAIN
THERE WILL BE DAYS OF SORROW
AND THE ECHOES THAT REMAIN
ARE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN
BUT THEY OFTEN MAKE A LIFETIME

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

I always thought that I'd see you again


I wanted to share some songs and poems I've been thinking of in the days since I found out my beloved friend Alan Kaufmann took his own life last week.

Alan and I met in the summer of 1981 when I was 19. I don't know if we saw each other since that time. Today I went looking for the box he gave me with a scroll in it saying that I would always have a place in his heart. We were connected to each other until the day he died, and had planned to see each other February 1. Since he died I understand everything about why we will not be seeing each other, but I still grieve.

While looking for the box he gave me I came across this poem:

Should you go first and I remain
To walk to road alone
I'll live in memory's garden dear
With happy days we've known
In spring I'll watch for roses red
When fades the lilac blue
In early fall when brown leaves call
I'll catch a glimpse of you

....Should you go first and I remain
To finish with the scroll
No length'ning shadows shall creep in
To make this life seem droll
We've known so much happiness
We've had our cup of joy
And memory is one gift of G-d
That death cannot destroy

In the box where I found Alan Kaufmann's photos I also found lots of love letters from my Alen that made me smile.

I've been thinking of the Deirdre McCalla song too few and far between, but I can't find the lyrics online. Her music really speaks to me right now. Since I can't find that, I'll post this beautiful version of her song Blessings.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

I owe her my life - Ellen Pence z"l

My heart is breaking because the woman I owe my life to has left this world.

There must be thousands of women who owe Ellen their lives, because she devoted her life to fighting against violence against women, and to training women who worked with battered women. You can see a video of her talking about it here

But you have to take 20 plus years off her to see Ellen as I saw her, yet lose none of the sureness and none of the humor.

Ellen was an amazing teacher, and she taught us how to teach. She talked about Paulo Friere, and about what it meant to empower women in the way we taught. Listen to the video - she is teaching about teaching by listening. Every day I get up to teach, Ellen is with me.

But the reason I owe her my life is that she was the person who told me to come out. I was working with women all the time but living a straight life, and Ellen, in a warm, joking, absolutely certain way, told me I needed to stop. She told me, with a smile, that if I got married to a man, I'd eventually be divorced, because I would meet a woman and fall in love. I said, "will she have glasses?"

That was in the fall of 1987.

The rest is history.

Ellen, you are not gone. Your inspiration lives on in me every day, as I know it does in your son, in your partner, and in all the people whose lives you touched.

Monday, September 12, 2011

It'll be a New Year

I had one of those innocuous conversations today. With someone I really like, someone I was happy to be talking to, someone I had not seen in awhile.

She asked how I am, how the family is, in a way that indicated she cared and wanted to hear. So I said it's been a hard time, the past 6 months since Lucas died, that we saw his family, that it was hard.

And she said, "it'll be a New Year". Meaning well, it's a nice thing to say.

I didn't say a lot of what's on my mind - how I don't want to go to Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur services, how in the New Year Lucas will still be dead, how the world will still be a place where a 4 year old boy can suddenly leave, where a family can be left with grief.

Yesterday, September 11, I did not think much about Lucas. I thought about all the people who died that day 10 years ago.

But today, September 12, I'm back to where I was. Not looking forward to a New Year, not knowing what it means to make a fresh start when a piece is, and will always be, missing.

And knowing that this is what people my age, which is not that old, and some younger, do all the time. That figuring out how to live with loss is basically figuring out how to live. I don't have it figured out yet.

Many years ago someone told me a year is important because after a year, you've gone through all the seasons. I have no doubt next high holidays will be easier. For now I'm dreading the thought of trying to be present as we read, "who shall live and who shall die". Alen's been listening to a Leonard Cohen version of it in the car - I don't know how. I changed the disc when it came on.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Painful Driving Questions

Tomorrow is six months since Lucas died. Last night, I looked at 192 photos of him that his aunt Lisa has on her facebook. The whole time feeling how I still can't comprehend this.

On the way home from work today, Sasha was with me thanks to strep throat. A coworker and friend was in the car with us. Sasha started talking about places he wants to go for his birthday and mentioned that Alen said we could go to Trinidad. I wonder if she did.

So I asked him why he wants to go to Trinidad and he said he wants to see Lucas's toys, and that he wants to see Lucas. So I said you know if we go there, we won't see Lucas, he's dead. Then Sasha started asking about if he was buried. Then he asked if he was in one of those things Dracula goes in (because we have a book with a picture of a vampire in a coffin, and it's the only picture of a coffin Sasha has ever seen). So I tried to explain what cremation is, in Hebrew, and that when someone is cremated there are ashes, but Sasha didn't really know what ashes are. Then Sasha said it was too bad because he wanted to see Lucas, and I explained that we can't see people who are dead and that Lucas's body isn't here anymore and we can't see his spirit.

My friend didn't say anything.

Later in the ride I told Sasha I wanted to tell him something about my friend's father (that he produces musicals) and Sasha said, "what, is he dead?"

Then we talked about being grandparents, and people dying when they are grandparents or great grandparents.

The way it is supposed to be.

And I have a whole new pile of students, wonderful students, who don't know, who didn't hear, and still friends who for one reason or another we have not told, and time goes on. And I still feel that I have no idea what I believe anymore, that the G-d I believed in before this happened was more like Santa Claus, that I have no idea who the G-d is that I believe in anymore, and that the abyss remains very close. That am dreading the long prayers of the high holidays and the unetaneh tokef. And that my heart is with our family in Trinidad.

Monday, May 30, 2011

In memory of Lucas (with the author's permission)

Today is 12 weeks since Lucas died. The following was written by Rosally Saltsman about last week's Torah portion:

These are the names of the sons of Aharon, the first born was Nadav, and Avihu, Elazar and Ithamar. Nadav and Avihu died before Hashem and they had no children.
(Bamidbar 3:1-4)

It is a sad fact that too many parents outlive their children. In Israel the situation is worse because of all the soldiers who have died protecting the country and the civilian 'soldiers' who have died living in it. This probably would not have occurred to me in this context if not for the fact that I met Yehudah Wachsman, the father of Nachshon Wachsman, Hashem should avenge his blood, at a shiva. We weren't actually introduced but someone pointed out to me who he was. He and his wife Esther entered the hearts and consciousness of the nation when their son was abducted several years ago and the entire country was united in prayer for him until they received the tragic news that he had been murdered.

Those men and women who die young die without leaving children, a legacy to their parents. Many people, when confronted with parents who have tragically lost children often feel uncomfortable and don't know what to say. They are afraid to bring up the subject trying to avoid seeing the pain in the eyes of the parent. But there's a certain insensitivity inherent in that. Parents don't want to forget their children and they don't want others to forget them either, to act like they never existed. G-d mentions all four sons of Aharon in the verse. Although they have died and the circumstances of their death are additionally painful, it would have been much more difficult for Aharon had his sons not been mentioned at all, as if they had faded into obscurity.

When people die, they live on in our memories, in our hearts and in our consciousness - if we let them. It is very important that we do their memory honor by talking about them, about the importance of their lives and the significance of their sacrifice with their parents. It is a great chesed (kindness) to show parents that though their children may be gone, they are not forgotten.


From Rosally Saltsman's new book, A Portion of Kindness, now available for order.