Two Obscure Fasts: Burying Conflict and Burial Societies

Although Valentine’s Day is behind us, you might want to catch up on why I think it’s not only OK for Jews to celebreate Valentine’s Day, it fits perfectly into the Jewish calendar, especially this year, when we are fast closing in on Purim (next weekend) and this week we read the portion Terumah, which literally means “gifts of love.” In ancient times, the rabbis instituted two fast days that occur at this time of year, and one of them, on the 9^th of Adar, is all about conflict resolution – in other words, taking those gifts of the heart and directing them toward building a peaceful world.  On Shabbat morning, I’ll explain more about this obscure fast day and why some are calling next Tuesday, the 9^th of Adar a “Jewish Day of Constructive Conflict.”

The other obscure fast day set to occur this weekend is Adar 7, traditionally the yahrzeit of Moses (and also his birthday). Some say that the timing has to do with the fact that next week’s portion, Tetzave, is the only one in the last four books of the Torah that does not include Moses’ name.  Moses’ yahrzeit is also considered a time when communities call attention to the important work done by the local burial society, the Hevra  Kadisha.   Why?  The most common explanations: When Moses led the Exodus from Egypt, he carefully brought Joseph’s bones out with them. Then in return for that act of kindness (which Jewish tradition considers to be among the greatest acts of kindness of all – a Hesed Shel Emet) , tradition says that when Moshe died at 120, God Him/Herself served as the Hevra Kadisha for him, preparing his body and burying it with love and care.

This Sunday night, our local Hevra Kadisha will gather for its annual dinner.  I am proud of the ongoing support TBE lends to this community organization and of the several TBE members who are actively involved in this loving work.  “Love is as strong as death,” says the Song of Songs, and for Jews, Valentine’s Day extends beyond the grave.

Hammerman on Ethics: Live or Let Die?

Live or Let Die?

Q - I am the designated medical surrogate for an individual who has a living will specifying DNR/Do Not Resuscitate. The physicians and hospital have been informed and have copies of the living will and DNR. Our loved one took a downward turn but the medical team resuscitated him. The patient prospered from their efforts and returned to his pre-resuscitation health status. Should I report the medical team for ethical non-compliance of the DNR/living will orders?

See the answer here

A Blanket of Peace

Perfect storms are hard to appreciate when you are living through them. Taking the dogs out last night in blinding blizzard conditions, I thought all three of us would blow away. Even when I promised an extra treat, they were not intent on making that trip a productive one. But how could I blame them; I was asking them to do something perfectly normal at a time when we felt like we were aboard the Andrea Gail.

But in its wake the storm, like life, left a blanket of peace. I just spent a few moments of solitude at the cemetery next door, until the wind chased me out, reminding me of the fine line that exists between a bucolic New England scene and a forbidding Arctic tundra.

Our cemetery is always beautiful, but it never looks more beautiful than when it is covered by a foot and a half of fresh, blowing snow, and then add to that skies as blue as they became this afternoon. The blowing snow almost seemed playful, sifting spiritlike between and among the gravestones, and then churning up a whirlwind in the distance. The snow's surface is smooth and velvety, but with ripples looking somewhat like rings on a tree trunk or the grain of rounded olive wood. Some of the graves are nearly completely covered by the blanket of snow. Everything, everywhere is touched by its frosting.

See the pictures below and click to enlarge. May all who lie beneath that white blanket rest in peace.

(And note that this is not one of those photo essays where I would use the heading "Wish you were here." :))

Remembering Dana and Reflecting on a Rabbi's Greatest Challenge

This past week, I had to do two funerals, one for a man who died at age 91, a good man, with a wonderful family who grieved over his grave in the frigid air this morning. As the tears let loose, however, I could not help but compare this situation to the service I had to conduct last Sunday for Dana Kraus. Dana was 23 when she died a week ago, inexplicably and suddenly. There were upwards of 900 people at her funeral, people from throughout this community and well beyond, and I can say that in death Dana has touched more people more deeply than most people do while alive.

Some got to know her really for the first time last week. Many have asked for copies of the eulogy I wrote, which, together with the passionate statements of friends and relatives, painted a picture of this loving soul cut down so young. With the encouragement and permission of Dana's family, I've uploaded my eulogy to the Web; you can find it by clicking here.

Thankfully, I don't officiate at many funerals like this one. The experience can be extremely draining, to the point where I felt I needed to take last Friday night off before a weekend of extreme highs and lows. But as much as I dread such situations, I also am supremely grateful to have the chance to help people in a manner that few can. This week, everyone has been wanting to do something for the Kraus family. The shiva has been wall-to-wall people. There have been lots of heroes, so many people who have contributed. The rabbi's part is perhaps the most public, but my no means the most difficult. Some friends stayed all night at the funeral home with Dana to keep her company and prepare her body in the traditional manner. That's much more difficult than anything I do.

I wish I could describe what it's like to be standing in front of 900 people who are riding on every word. Add to that the deep desire to "do justice" to a life of infinite value and equally great nuance. And yet, while there is a degree of pressure, what you feel most of all is a sense of privilege. Rabbis often experience life at the limits, but never more than at these moments.

But how is it possible to control one's own emotions at a time of such utter chaos and dread? When I first started out as a rabbi, in my late 20s. I wrote that "I prepare for each funeral as if it were my first, for it was at my first that I was best able to share in the sense of raw, unadulterated grief that consumed the family." I wouldn't say exactly that today. I understand that people need the calm professional who can hold them up while still feeling their pain. It's almost impossible to balance the two, but it's necessary. At times it means shielding oneself a little. Numbness is is not generally a good thing, but as I wrote more recently, sometimes the only way to survive such terror is to avert its direct gaze.

And then there are the young adults and teens. I felt more for them this week than for almost anyone else, as most of them have never had to deal with something like this. A tiny silver lining is that I've reconnected with a number of young adults who grew up here, many of them choosing now to come to me with questions totally unrelated to the week's events. Small though it may be, this silver lining is part of what the shiva process is about: reconnecting with community. This week, that has happened for people of all ages.

Dana liked Robert Frost. Here's a brief poem that speaks directly to the sadness we all feel at her loss:

“Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”

- Robert Frost