Grief Writings

Dear Ilene,

I am so moved by you reaching out. I know you have changed your name to Chaya, and that is so beautiful. It fits you well. But you will always be Ilene to your mother.  That was the name she gave you when you arrived in the family, third child, unplanned, but welcomed. It was kind of like they knew there would be an unplanned one, so they planned for you, in a way. And so, you are Ilene to me.  For now.

Here I am living with you in your city backyard garden after guarding your mother and father’s threshold for so many years. Irma’s Staghorn Fern, proud to be above the blue door to the home.  (Kind of like a mezuzah.) I knew your mom in ways only those who guarded the home could. I knew those who came and went. I knew when your mother was depressed or hopeful. I witnessed a lot of sadness and celebration, struggle and release.

But that’s not the essence of what I want to share with you today.

Today I want you to know how much your mother Irma understood you more than you could let yourself feel.  She thought about you, she admired you, and she hoped for you.

Some of her hopes were that whatever mistakes she made as a mom, especially while grieving the loss of your older sister, you could forgive.  But even more importantly she really cared that you find healing from whatever harm you felt in your body and soul from any of the family choices that weren’t in your best interest at the time.  Irma was an amazing woman. She just didn’t always intuit what you needed even if she thought about you with love.  She didn’t always know what to do.  She felt lost sometimes.  I think you can understand that.

You call me Irma and shared your heart with me.  Now is the time for me to share with you.  Maybe now you are ready to hear your mother’s loving voice through the arms of my long leaves reaching out to you like fingers waiting to touch you…

Irma, Staghorn Fern

Dear Irma:
I hope you don’t mind we have given you a name, Irma. It helps me remember how you came to us 15 years ago by giving you my mother’s name. 

You lived with my mother for a long time. She loved you so much.  When she had to move out of her home as she was aging, she wanted to make sure you found a good home, so she gave you to us. And now you live in this yard in the shade of our pergola. And we love you so much. And when I sit across from you sometimes I feel like I am with my mother, Irma z”l (may her memory be a blessing).

As you grow in this corner of the garden you hear the barking dog who lives behind us, and the lively chatter of the workers from the business next door, often in a mix of English and Spanish. And sometimes you hear singing. You hear the birds, feel the scratching and chewing of the squirrels, and see the occasional raccoons who come around at night.

You are magnificent and have grown to more than 5 feet tall even when you receive little care.  You have held up one wall of our sukkah year after year, as we hosted friends and sang and prayed.  You listen to our conversations, watch us nap, and soothe our souls.

Your arms reach out to say hello, “come visit more often”.  You nurture those in your presence. 

Do you need anything more than an occasional watering?  Someone said you might like banana skins, but I’m just not sure.  Do you?  Let’s talk some more. To be continued…

Your friend,

Chaya

I was welcomed into a home of four.

Together we made five.

Five chairs at the dinner table.

Five seats in the 60’s station wagon, no seat belts.

Five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot.

And then there was four chairs. Always an empty chair.

And then we were three chairs, always two empty.

And now we are two.

Fellow travelers have joined us along the way.

We are still two. For now.

A yearning for five steams up the window pane.

Hamsas adorn the house.

Many shapes, colors, sizes.

Hamsas adorn the house.

Delicious food, conversation, gentle and strong rain, creativity, and promise. Torah, wisdom, guidance, prayer, and curiosity.  A sweet phone call from across the world.  Shabbat. Music. Tenderness. Rejoicing.

And with every day the touch of grief arrives from where it was hiding, or bursts forth with surprise. The suffering of so many are ever present.  The grief of the loss of hope eats into my dreams.

There is not one day without the whisper or crying out with grief in some form.

And Sometimes the grief feels Sweet.

My beloved and I lay in bed together, listening to James Tayler and his son Henry sing “You Can Close Your Eyes”.   I hadn’t looked up the lyrics or given it much thought, but I just knew we needed to listen to it together. Who knew it would become a portal to hold our sadness with precious tenderness?

Selected lyrics by James Taylor:

“So close your eyes
You can close your eyes, it’s alright
I don’t know no love songs
I can’t sing the blues anymore

Oh but I can sing this song
You can sing this song when I’m gone

It won’t be long before another day

We gonna have a good time
And no one’s gonna take that time away
You can stay as long as you like”

For a listen to James and Henry Taylor:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ymd2QqQiyqk

(apologies for any ads that come up. I don’t know how to prevent that from happening.)

We walked through the gates of tears together.

Those tears eased the road for us as we walked to Kaiser for her weekly chemo. Met by a beloved staff member who asked about “One Day” by Matisyahu.  We stopped and played it for her. Right there among all the business. We sang and danced, disturbed the infusion clinic for a moment, and then cried together.  For all the loss, all the suffering. And again the tears flowed.

Selected Lyrics by Matisyahu:

Sometimes in my tears I drown (I drown)
But I never let it get me down (get me down)
So when negativity surrounds (surrounds)
I know someday, it’ll all turn around because

All my life, I’ve been waitin’ for (waitin’ for)
I’ve been prayin’ for (prayin’ for), for the people to say
That we don’t wanna fight no more (fight no more)
There’ll be no more wars (no more wars), and our children will play

One day….

It’s not about win or lose
‘Cause we all lose when they feed on the souls of the innocent
Blood-drenched pavement
Keep on movin’ though the waters stay ragin’

For a listen to Matisyahu:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rLvg3jJcO5I

(apologies for any ads that come up)

Again, taken by surprise, another portal to help the tears flow….

We returned home and I got ready to officiate a wedding to take place on our porch. Making even more room now for joy.  And the pouring rain stopped. The sun came out during the wedding. And then it poured again.

And there was rejoicing….

I know most of us carry grief. Every day.  What are you carrying?  What are your portals?

 

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I recently listened to an episode of the California Report that shared news about a Jewish bakery that closed in the Los Angeles Fairfax district after more than 77 years.  I was so surprised to find myself sobbing. Over the closing of a bakery?  Yes, I loved their baked goods, especially the “racetrack” which was a chocolate babka on steroids.  When my friends would go to LA I would beg them to go there and bring me back enough to last a year.  (Ok, only once or twice did I beg. And no, not enough for a year. Maybe for a month.)

The story had audio snippets of people sharing how important the bakery was to them; One woman shared how she would go there with her mother as she aged and they always got the same thing. Another reported how his somewhat distant father who worked there for many years, would bring back hot rye bread early in the morning after his shift.  They would eat it together over a cup of coffee as one of their only ways to connect. There were many more stories of people connecting to one another at the bakery.  Even writing this I feel myself crying about how the simplest of things, like sharing something from a special bakery with someone, can touch us very deep within our hearts and memories.

But I still wonder, what am I crying about? It can’t be about missing the racetrack (although I would love to find another like it!)  Were the stories and memories a portal into my feelings about my parents’ yarzheit this week? Am I missing my mother or father knowing there are no more times to create new moments of connection?  Am I worried about when my partner will no longer have any treatment options for her terminal, yet longtime, cancer?  Am I grieving about this horrible war causing so much suffering?

I don’t know.  Sometimes we just have to cry.  I always teach grief attended to is lifegiving.*

So, please join me in letting the tears flow, for whatever is on your heart needing expression at this moment. I imagine there is plenty.  The tears having been waiting to flow. Yes, again.

 

*Thank you Rabbi Shifra Tobacman for that expression.

 

 

If you prefer not to receive my blog posts, please click here.  You will still receive my very occasional newsletters letting you know when I will be teaching or opening up a group.

Things are changing every day in this historic moment. Lots of feelings, thoughts, actions. I have noticed one thing has stayed pretty similar throughout since October 7.  In my American Jewish and ally world I have an avoidance of talking about what I believe or am thinking about until I know exactly where the other person stands. There is a caution, a hesitancy. Others I know are experiencing this, too.  Because of this hesitancy and diversity of experiences, this results in many of us not really sharing with anyone what we are going through, and thus feeling quite alone. I have many in my circle who I have not shared with, or been asked to share with, or asked the other to share what they are feeling or hoping for. Many specific words are avoided. There is fear as to what might follow. A disagreement so big we can’t stay in relationship with one another.

I live in several different communities (Jewish and not alike) so this tension appears similarly in different parts of my life. I notice many conversations go like this: “It’s so hard. I’m in so much despair. How are you?”  “Yes it’s devastating. I can’t sleep.”  But neither of us know what exactly the other is devastated about.  When someone does speak their truth and uses more politically specific language one disagrees with (and/or is a trigger), emotions get high very quickly. Unless there is a commitment to be able to hear the other, sometimes we are just left feeling alienated and yukky. So we just don’t talk. I find this one of the saddest things about this time. We are so afraid of losing friends, family, clients, we aren’t learning from or supporting one another as much as we could.  And for many, they are facing a very real risk of losing their livelihood if they speak their truth.

I am yearning to talk more openly about this crisis in real ways, not just with those I agree with, but I am not sure it’s the time yet. Many of our nervous systems just can’t. And yet if we can’t do this, how can we ever work toward peace and justice?

It’s so hard to talk about, I am not even being very specific here. A lot of my learning is passive listening and reading which doesn’t require communication.  Much of what continues to inform my thinking is listening to peacemakers and justice seekers on the ground in Israel/Palestine. I am also interested in learning from people who have been thinking and active about these issues for a long time, and who have the hope of some variety of peaceful coexistence that must include ending the occupation. 

I am hoping it will get easier to hear another’s truth we may not agree with (not just on recordings or through articles) and start supporting each other across difference so we can learn and find our way through this.*  I feel some sense of urgency about this but haven’t formed the action needed to change.

Please stay in touch,   Chaya

*I imagine this might not be true for those of you who are in communities where everyone is on the same page.

These articles, videos and interviews were helpful to me.  Maybe they might be helpful to you.

 

 “A Discussion On Anti-Semitism” with Rabbi Jill Jacobs (TRUAH) and Eric Ward.  (If you have never heard Eric Ward talk about anti-semitism, you must listen to this as he applies his thinking to this moment.)

Here is the link to the recording.

 

Rabbis4Ceasefire:
I signed theRabbis4Ceasefire letter several weeks ago.

 

Article by Rabbi David Seidenberg re Invasion of Gaza

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pFIK4Bny3BHgWa5kl96DcLx33IalSGN3XWCbTDEYwlI/edit?usp=sharing

 

Peter Beinart October 31 interview with Ezra Klein  (1 hour, six minutes)

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-jewish-left-is-trying-to-hold-two-thoughts-at-once/id1548604447?i=1000632417963

If you are interested in more of Peter Beinart’s work check out:

Article from Oct. 14, 2023, NYT

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dng7ttfVe6gEx86rLxeVvUoeV-VwDMarCF2nOmD3wl8/edit?usp=sharing

The Beinart Notebook: videos posted once a week. I recommend listening to him since October 10, 2023.

He includes short videos (10-18 minutes) that are free.  He also has weekly interviews with people that are part of a paid subscription.

https://peterbeinart.substack.com/archive?sort=new

 

Article by Rabbi David Cooper re Israel/Palestine

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jnYv32gNVw2TxfFuH76Ng-qnBOfUmnph/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=109884079218641292290&rtpof=true&sd=true