From Rabbi Tom

The Gift of Shiva

A little story about being fully present:

A young man left his younger brother’s room in the hospital and headed home for some desperately needed rest.  He had been at his brother’s bedside for 48 hours straight.  The worst was hopefully over.  His brother’s condition had been critical but was now, thank God, stable.  Time for some rest.  

He had felt helpless and frustrated the whole time he was in the hospital because there was nothing he could do to help.  All he did was sit there.  He couldn’t even think of anything useful to say.  He just sat in the chair next to the bed, held his brother’s hand and murmured, “I’m here, I’m here . . .”

Early the next morning he returned to the hospital and found his brother smiling, sitting up, with good color in his cheeks. The worst truly was over.  The younger brother looked up at him and said, “Thank you, thank you so much!”

“What’d I do?” he asked his brother.  “I didn’t do anything.”  

The younger brother answered, “You were here.  You were here with me.  I knew that.  And that made all the difference.”

An ancient story of being fully present: The Binding of Isaac. When God calls out to Abraham at the beginning of the saga, before even knowing what it is that God wants, the old patriarch replies, “Hineini.”  “Here I am.”

Hineini – a contraction of the words, “I” and “here”. It’s a challenge to translate because it means much more than the simple statement of the fact,  “I am physically here.”  Because it is never used casually. If the teacher is taking attendance and calls your name, “Hineini” would be a bit over the top.  

It’s a word used only 12 times in the entire Tanakh, throughout the entire Hebrew Bible.  Half of the time it is used by God, and half of the time by human beings.

  When God says, “Hineini”, it is never casual.   God uses the term only at the most important moments.  In the story of Noah, just before the great flood begins, God declares, “Hineini, behold, here I am, I am about to bring the flood upon the whole earth.”  

When the word is used by human beings, it is likewise never casual.  When God called upon Abraham, and Abraham answered “Hineini”, he was saying, “All of my being, my love and my faith, and my full attention are here for you now.”  And when, later in the story, the boy Isaac – obediently following his father up the mountain, curious about the true intent of their journey, he asks, “Father?”   Abraham replies, “Hineini b’ni”, “here I am my son.”  That is, “I am here for you with all of my heart and all of my being.”  

In the hospital, when, for all of those hours,  the older brother was fully there for the younger brother.  That was a time of profound Hineini.

One of the most beautiful ways that we as human beings and as Jews can embody the essence of Hineini with the simplest of actions: making a shiva call.

As rabbis and cantors one of the unique circumstances we encounter is that to and from funerals we are often sitting quietly in front seat of the limousine.  And that means we hear some very sweet and moving conversations from the seats behind us.  

The subject of the conversation in the back seat is almost always the same:  Who came, who was there, who took the time to show up for the funeral or the shiva.

They don’t talk about what people said to them, or what people brought or what they wore.  They are deeply moved by  those who took the time to be present. And that brings much comfort.  

This is what you hear in the shiva home when everyone leaves:

• Did you see Cousin Fred drove overnight from South Carolina? That’s so special.
• How sweet that Jordan’s college friends drove from school upstate to be at his grandpa’s funeral.
• Uncle Dan was there, even though his sciatica is really bad these days.  He didn’t have to do that.
• Look at all the people who came from work?

We are simply so moved by the people who show up.

There’s wonderful wisdom in our traditions of mourning.  During the few days following a funeral it’s so important to have these guidelines and this structure to provide the many ways for people to be there for us; and to keep us busy and occupied. 

To just come home after a funeral alone; or to just go right back to work or school the next day, gives us no time to mourn. And people have to mourn.

Those first few days are so critical; we’re often so vulnerable, emotional, confused, overwhelmed, in denial, angry, numb . . . or most likely some combination of all of the above.

Joseph Telushkin, in his book on Jewish Ethics gives us a straight forward definition:  “According to Jewish law, seven days of intense morning, Shiva – from the number 7 –  is observed by the deceased’s seven closest relatives: mother and father, sister and brother, son and daughter, or spouse.”  (Pg. 116-7)

The guideline is 7 days; but for some one day is sufficient, and for others 3, and for some, the entire 7 days. 

And for some of our families, 7 will make perfect sense. People coming from faraway places; family tradition; having different nights in different family member’s homes who may not live close to one another.  The 7 of Shiva can make sense.

For some of us, based on the make up of our families and where we all live, 3 days may be perfect.

And in other circumstances, 1 may be just what we need.  (Shira, David and I are more than happy to help you navigate that question if the time comes.)

Whatever its length, gathering for shiva brilliantly provides a loving embrace by our friends, family and community, so that we might manage those first few days; those first few tentative steps forward into our new reality.

Shiva is so important; Shiva is so healthy; and it’s so wise.

Sometimes though we get in our own way and prevent ourselves from either helping others in their mourning; or from letting others help us in our mourning.  

The reasons are understandable.  There are some very real concerns that can get in the way of making that important visit.  

These are some of the reasons we may hear:

• Things about death make me nervous. 
• I don’t know what to say. 
• What if I say the wrong thing? 
• I’ve never been to one before and I’m not sure what to do. 
• I’m not Jewish, should I go?
• Do I need to know Hebrew to make a shiva call?
• I’m not sure I know the family well enough to even go? 

Maybe tonight can help us overcome some of those concerns. 
Do you have to be Jewish to make a shiva call? Of course not. The power of your presence knows no specific language or religion.  You don’t have to know Hebrew or any Jewish prayers.  During the short service that takes place, you are participating in the most beautiful way possible, just by being there. 

The biggest worry is usually “What am I supposed to say?”  “It’s so awkward!”  “What’s the right thing to say?”  “What’s the wrong thing to say?”

Don’t be so hard on yourselves.  There are no right words.  Somebody just had a death in their family. They are going to be sad for a while. There’s nothing you can say that will make go away.  You are greeting them in their sadness. No magic words exist. And the mourners aren’t expecting any.

As a matter of fact, having nothing to say is often the best move. Silence.  Just a hug or a nod.

Joseph Telushkin explains (Pg. 119-20) “The tradition of not having to speak at a shiva call comes from the Bible in the story of Job’s three friends who come to comfort him after the death of his children.  The Book of Job says, “Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar ‘met together to go and console and comfort Job. When they saw him from a distance . . . they broke into loud weeping; each one tore his clothes and threw dust onto his head. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights. None spoke a word to him, for they saw how very great his suffering was” (Job 2:11–13) 

What mattered was that Job’s friends were fully with hm, not that they tried to comfort him with words at the time he felt anguish beyond words.  Their Hineini was silent.

Telushkin shares another more recent story of silence at a time of shiva:  “Rabbi Jack Reimer was with Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel when they heard of the death of Rabbi Wolfe Kelman’s sister. Rabbi Heschel insisted that they go to visit Rabbi Kelman and his family immediately: “We went to the airport, we flew to Boston, got into a cab, and went to the house. Heschel walked in, he hugged the mourners, he sat silently for an hour. He didn’t mumble a single cliché. He just sat there for an hour. And then he got up, hugged them, and we left.” (pg. 120)

So, if there are no words, what can we do?  During that period of time, the friends and community and co-workers of the mourner can do so much to relieve the mourner of everyday tasks and worries.  

• We can make sure meals are taken care of, 
• When we pick up a relative or one of their kids from the train station.  
• When we clean up after a meal. 
• If we are a coworker and we make sure the office won’t bother you for those few days.  
• If we are a neighbor and we put their trash cans on the curb for pick up.       
• We can offer to print up copies of the directions to the cemetery to hand out at the funeral service.  
• When we help take care of your little ones.

You don’t need Judaic scholarship or any expertise to help.

Lisa Borowitz heads our wonderful – but I must say small – team of people who do an amazing job of leading shiva services in people’s homes when we rabbis and cantor are spread too thin.  Lisa recently shared with me and Shira and David, that fewer people than in the past are observing shiva services in their homes following funerals.

That’s such a shame because shiva services are so helpful.

We can get a little confused about the mood of this Shiva thing. Sometimes you hear a lot of laughter and food is being served and sometimes there’s liquor. People often ask themselves, is this supposed to be a party? 

But when you gather for Shiva, some laughter can be quite lovely and even helpful. Certainly, if the laughter comes from a wonderful story about the deceased, or you’re remembering what used to make them laugh. 

So, if it’s feeling a little party-like, a beautiful balance occurs when we pause for the 10 or 20 minutes for the service.  Because then there is a clear focus as to why we’re all here, why we’re all gathered in that living room, in that home.  The service embraces everyone into the same emotional locale.  And it is indeed comforting for the family.

I know hundreds of you have had this experience.

Let me end with a story from a shiva that took place in our Kol Ami community in early August.  Our congregant Stephen Weisglass had lost his mother. He gave me permission to share this.

I was invited to the home to lead a Shiva service. 

If I or any one of the many friends who gathered at his home were not exactly sure what Shiva is all about, Stephen helped us to see its essence that evening. 

When Stephen greeted me at the door, with perfect honesty he said, “You know I don’t really think we need to do a Shiva service tonight.  Besides,” he continued, “you know I don’t really consider myself a religious person.  But tell me what you have in mind.”

That was up to him. I told him that I could drone on for a couple of hours, if he wanted.  I did go to rabbinical school, after all. I’m a professional.  (That didn’t seem to be what he had in mind.) 

I told him a shiva service is usually very brief. 

And that if he wanted, we could pause in the middle of the service for anyone in the family to share a story about his mother.  

Though he didn’t necessarily feel connected to the worship part of the experience, he said he’d give it a shot. And he added that he probably would not be sharing any comments.

When everyone was gathered in the living room, we had begun our Shiva minyan.  After a few minutes there came the time for anyone from the family who wanted to share.  

There was a moment or two of quiet, with Stephen sitting on the couch looking around the room filled with friends who really care for him and were there for him at that important moment in life.

And in that silence, you could hear this big beautiful “Hineini” emanating everyone there. 

  Then, Stephen stood up to speak.

“All of you know that I’m not exactly a religious person. You know I didn’t have great experiences as a child in Hebrew school. Pretty much the opposite. They didn’t seem to want me there and I didn’t want to be there either. 

Everyone in the room smiled and understood.

Then he choked up a bit, and his eyes filled as he looked around at his many friends and his precious family.  

He continued:  “Now you know that it doesn’t have anything to do with Judaism or religion, but I can’t tell you how moved I am, and how much it means to me that all of you have come to be here with me at this difficult moment, with the passing of my mother. Having you as friends and having you here means the world to me. I can’t thank you enough.”

Everyone in the room was silent. Everyone in the room was powerfully present and listening and hearing. And Stephen clearly felt the warmth and embrace of that loving circle of family and friends.

Stephen, I disagree with you on one point; that it all had nothing to do with being Jewish. 

I think that’s exactly what Shiva. Over many centuries the Jewish people have wisely and lovingly molded that moment to be exactly what it was for you.  

And I thank you so much for so beautifully articulating the essence of Shiva at that evening in your home.

“The brother had felt helpless and frustrated the whole time he was in the hospital because there was nothing he could do to help.  All he did was sit there.  He couldn’t even think of anything useful to say.  He just sat in the chair next to the bed, held his brother’s hand and murmured, “I’m here, I’m here . . .”

“Hineini.”

The younger brother answered, “You were here! You were here with me.  I knew that.  And that made all the difference.”

Amen

Whether you count with 5,779 years of Jewish mythical reckoning; or the 4 ½ billion years of  scientific reckoning . . . today we Jews celebrate the birthday of the World.  

The Mystics teach us that God’s act of Creation was never fully completed.  Something was left a bit broken, unfinished.  They explain that to repair and complete Creation, we human beings would have a role to play: that through our best moral actions, we can help complete God’s work.

We call those acts Tikkun Olam.  Repairing and completing the world.

In 1964 Martin Luther King Jr. commented on the unfolding of this Creation’s history:  He famously said,  “Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

Today I want to share with you three broken places in this creation that need our help; our acts of Tikkun Olam; places we can help to bend that arc of the moral universe towards justice.

The first broken place:

In February of 1972 I was one of 150 enthralled teenagers, sitting on the floor of the rec room at a camp in Connecticut. Speaking to us was Deborah Lipstadt, our regional Youth Director, who had just returned from a harrowing, secret mission to the Soviet Union. 

She was not yet Professor Deborah Lipstadt, renowned Holocaust scholar.  She was grad student Debby, youth group advisor Debby.  And we 16 year-olds were spellbound with the idea that our Debby had just come back from a truly frightening “clandestine” mission on behalf of the Jewish people. 

She had travelled to the USSR to visit Refuseniks, Jews who were denied permission to emigrate by the authorities.  The term refusenik comes from the “refusal” to let them go, handed down by the Soviets.

(The following based on her telling of the story in her book, History on Trial.)

Before she and a fellow grad student departed on their mission to the USSR, Deborah was quietly given special instructions on what to bring, who to visit, what to say and not say . . .  all this, to keep herself and the refuseniks she encountered safe. 

She writes, “We were to bring one family medication for their child. And for others,  books to distribute on the Jewish holidays, tradition, and history, and souvenirs from Israel, including a number of small Jewish stars on a chain. 

         “Our primary goal was to let these Jews know that Israel and world Jewry had not forgotten them and were partners in their struggle.”  

She spent Yom Kippur at the synagogue in Moscow. She wrote, “Later that afternoon I returned.   I saw the old woman from the morning standing at the back of the sanctuary. I handed her my small leather-bound prayer book. Unable to read it, she seemed proud just to hold it. When people walked by, she showed it to them.  

Suddenly, the relative calm of the moment was broken. The synagogue sexton, [a Jew,] who, it was commonly assumed, reported all unusual activities to the KGB; he burst in and accused me of being a provocateur, a serious charge by Soviet standards. When he saw that the old woman had my prayer book, his face grew bright red. Sputtering in a mix of Russian and Yiddish, he grabbed it and accused me of distributing religious items. He then disappeared down the street with my book in his hands. 

The next day we were waiting in our hotel lobby to depart for Kishinev.  Suddenly we found ourselves surrounded by men in trench coats who identified themselves as KGB.  Had I not been so frightened, I would have laughed aloud at the predictability of their dress.  I lost any inclination to laugh when I saw that they had my prayer book as well as a list of every home we had visited. 

“When they questioned us, they used traditional anti-Semitic stereotypes, describing the Jews who wished to leave the Soviet Union as part of an international cabal. . .  They kept asking who sent us.  We kept insisting we were just tourists.  I suspected that the exercise was designed to frighten us.  The Soviets knew precisely who had sent us.  

“After a long day of strip searches and interrogation, my traveling companion and I-who were kept apart the entire time-, were accused of spreading lies about the Soviet regime.  We were “invited” to leave the country and, in the dark of the night, placed in an empty train car with an armed guard.  [They didn’t tell us where we were going.] Many hours later, after a long and circuitous route, we were let off the train.  We found ourselves in Romania.”

That was a visit to a broken place.  But that was 46 years ago  That’s a long time! Moscow is far away!  And the perpetrators were part of an evil Empire that no longer exists. 

The KGB, indiscriminate interrogations, going through your bags to find propaganda materials; questioning you on your motives and your politics and your affiliations.  That kind of thing doesn’t happen anymore. Our world is a more benign and friendly one.

One would hope.

Yet, here’s another story about interrogation, intimidation, and the questioning of politics and beliefs and intentions.  But this one was not long ago, and for us, the Jewish people, it was not far away.

It was July 16^th, a few weeks ago, at 1AM.  Sam Sussman, a writer and activist, posted the following:  

“I just spent a deeply disturbing hour being questioned about the books in my suitcase by security officers at Ben Gurion airport. “Why are you reading this?” the officers asked again and again. I had Amos Oz’s memoir, Saed Kashua’s last novel, a religious tract on Hasidism and Kierkegaard, Bernard Henry-Levi’s ‘The Genius of Judaism,’ a history of the Communist Party in Mandate Palestine, two novels about the Iraq War by writers with distinctly Arabic names, a novel by a left-wing Israeli writer, a collection of short stories about the occupation edited by Michael Chabon, and four short collections of testimonies from Breaking the Silence.      

 For a full hour the security guards held up one book after another. “Why are you reading this?” “Where did you get this?” “What is this about?” “Tell me again: why do you want to read this?” “You know Breaking the Silence is against Israel? You know Breaking the Silence opposes the Army?” “Who told you to read this?” After a full search of my suitcase, the security officers found the business card of the director of B’Tselem בצלם. “Why do you have this? You know B’Tselem? You know they are against the Army?”

Sam continued, “I cannot explain or justify this as a security practice. My luggage had already been cleared when the first “non-kosher” book was discovered. This was a political exercise. It’s deeply disturbing to me that airport security officers are using their position to defame Israeli human rights organizations and question readers of Palestinian authors. Imagine if you landed at JFK and for an hour security officials insisted that Iraq Veterans Against the War is against America, questioned why you were reading books written by minorities, and asked why you had a business card from the ACLU.”

(From the JTA) Meyer Koplow – the Chair of the Board of Trustees of Brandeis University – and a longtime donor to pro-Israel causes,  Koplow was delayed by a security agent at Ben Gurion International Airport a few weeks ago before being allowed to board his flight. He believes he was called for questioning after security personnel found a brochure in his luggage titled “This Week in Palestine,” which he had picked up in a Bethlehem hotel lobby.  

The JTA reported that Koplow said,  “The best way I can describe it is a badgering form of questioning where before you finish giving one answer, you’re being asked the same question again as if what you said is not credible. She asked what purpose could possibly be served by people visiting the territories. She asked that several times.”

Koplow said he appreciates Israeli personnel checking luggage for the purposes of security, but he feels that the questioning he experienced “goes a level beyond that. . .  Why would you do that other than to send a message that the government doesn’t welcome your engaging in any kind of inquiry.”

Koplow was disturbed as well by “the manner of the continued implication that I wasn’t telling the truth or all of the truth,” he said. He added that describing his past involvement with Jewish and Israeli causes did not change the tenor of the interrogation, which was conducted in public view.

In addition to his position at Brandeis, Koplow is a board member of the UJA-Federation in New York and has served as the president of his synagogue, Young Israel of New Rochelle. He told the reporter  that he has given millions of dollars to Israeli causes.

Koplow said “The most disturbing question she asked me, and she asked me more than once, was what was I going to do with the information I learned in the territories.”

 “What business is it of security at departure as to what I’m thinking or what I might say?”

Something is broken in the universe when a long ago interrogation by the KGB in Moscow has even the slightest resemblance to the questioning of passengers at Ben Gurion Airport.

A second broken place:  Destroying Families

A broken place in the history of Australia is a government program in which Children were stolen from their parents; they were taught to reject their Indigenous heritage, and forced to adopt white culture. Their names were often changed, and they were forbidden to speak their traditional languages

Official government estimates are that in certain regions between one in ten and one in three indigenous Australian children were forcibly taken from their families and communities between 1910 and 1970.

In our own country’s past “the U.S. government forcibly removed tens of thousands of Native American children from their homes and families to attend “assimilation” boarding schools in the late 19th century. 

U.S. cavalry captain Richard Henry Pratt, who opened the first such school in Pennsylvania infamously said, “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.”  

(From The Washington Post, Haley Sweetland Edwards.  June 14, 2018)  Earlier this year, a young Honduran woman named Mirian gathered her 18-month-old son into her arms and walked across the bridge between Mexico, and Brownsville, Texas, where she presented herself to U.S. border agents to ask for asylum. Mirian and her son spent the night in a detention facility. The next day, officials told her to put her son into a car seat in the back of a government vehicle. Her hands shook as she buckled him in. The officials wouldn’t tell her where they were taking him, only that she would not be allowed to go with him. 

As the car pulled away, she could see her baby looking back at her through the window, screaming.

Immigrants’ advocates offer wrenching accounts of how, exactly, federal authorities remove children from their moms and dads. On some occasions . . . kids are pulled, sobbing, from their parents’ arms. On other occasions, agents have allegedly lied. “They say, ‘We’re just going to take your kids to have a bath,’” “But then they don’t bring them back.” 

The American Academy of Pediatrics recently published a letter noting that taking a child from a parent can do “irreparable harm, disrupting a child’s brain architecture and affecting his or her short- and long-term health.” (The above appears in the June 25, 2018 issue of TIME.)

And then there are the hundreds who, due to a fundamentally evil policy, bad planning, lost records and ineptitude, will never be reunited with their families.

Someone commented on the radio the other day:   “When we go to the dry cleaners with a shirt, they make sure that we get a receipt, that little claim ticket that guarantees that of the thousands and thousands of shirts they process each week, that my shirt will get back to me. 

Hundreds of children were taken from their parents at our border  without even a claim ticket!  

How broken that is.  (Journalist: Annie Correal)

The third and final broken place:  For most of our lives, at dark moments in our nation we have been able to turn to our country’s president, of either party, in the hope of hearing comforting and inspiring words that speak to our higher selves.

55 years ago, President Lyndon Johnson, addressed the nation on the occasion of the signing of the 1964 Civil Rights Act.  It was in the midst of a very difficult time in our modern history.

He said, “Americans of every race and color have died in battle to protect our freedom. Americans of every race and color have worked to build a nation of widening opportunities. Now our generation of Americans has been called on to continue the unending search for justice within our own borders. We believe that all men are created equal. Yet many are denied equal treatment. We believe that all men have certain unalienable rights. Yet many Americans do not enjoy those rights. We believe that all men are entitled to the blessings of liberty. Yet millions are being deprived of those blessings — not because of their own failures, but because of the color of their skin. Our Constitution, the foundation of our Republic, forbids it. The principles of our freedom forbid it. Morality forbids it. And the law I will sign tonight forbids it.”

With those words and those laws, LBJ did indeed place the not-insignificant weight of the American Presidency firmly against that long arc of the moral universe.  

Following the racial violence and death in Charlottesville last August, two more US Presidents weighed in: (Maya Rhodan, August 16, 2017)

Both presidents Bush released a joint-statement saying: “America must always reject racial bigotry, anti-Semitism, and hatred in all forms.  As we pray for Charlottesville, we are all reminded of the fundamental truths recorded by that city’s most prominent citizen in the Declaration of Independence: we are all created equal and endowed by our Creator with unalienable rights. We know these truths to be everlasting because we have seen the decency and greatness of our country.”

Voices of moral clarity.

Alas, here is the third broken place; the response of our current president to the anti-Semites, the racists, the white supremacists and neo-Nazis who gathered in Charlottesville.

He said that counter-protesters deserve an equal amount of blame for the violence. “What about the alt-left that came charging at, as you say, at the alt-right?” “Do they have any semblance of guilt?”  “I’ve condemned neo-Nazis. I’ve condemned many different groups. But not all of those people were neo-Nazis, believe me,” he said. “You had many people in that group other than neo-Nazis and white nationalists,” Trump said. “The press has treated them absolutely unfairly.”

“You also had some very fine people on both sides,” he said.

As former President Obama commented on that infamous moment on Friday when he asked:   “How hard can that be?!  Saying, “Nazis are bad!”?

What are we to do during these dark times?  What role can we play in this Tikkun Olam, in the fixing of these broken places?

Presidential historian Jon Meacham reminds us that we’ve been here before.  And for similar reason:  Fear.  Economic fear and fear of the other.

He reminds us that the irrational fear of the emancipation of  blacks and of immigration in the 1920’s created a KKK that was so much more dominant than we now remember.  

Like today, he continues, it was all about economic transition, uncertainty, a fear of the other, that somehow or another people who didn’t sound like us or look like us – then meaning white Anglo Saxon Protestants – were going to take those jobs, were going to take over the country.

That was the 1920s.  And here we are again.  The same fears.  And same ugliness arises.  We become ugly at our borders, ugly with our nationalism, ugly with our racism.

The question Meacham asks is the question we need to ask right now:  

Since we have been here before,  how did we get through it?  What did people do that turned things around?  

There was one essential element , one common denominator, was that the people themselves were relentless in saying  that, “This is not who we want to be.  This may  be who we are sometimes, but we don’t want to be that.  And if we can get to 51% of our better angels, that’s a pretty good day.’

The Mystics taught us: Tikkun Olam is not something we observe passively from the sidelines as we watch others do the work.

Martin Luther King reminds us: Our task is not to sit by with folded arms, and admire others, as they work to bend Martin Luther King’s moral arc.

May we be relentless in letting the world know that “this is not who we want to be!”

With our votes

With our voices

With our presence

Today with our prayers

In the days to come with our actions!

Amen