Learning & Grief

I’m learning daf yomi, a 2-sided page of Talmud a day. I say that knowing I’m done no learning today. I may not learn tomorrow. It’s no easy task. It takes focus and discipline, and I have neither just now.

Learning is a joyous task in Judaism, and is forbidden during shiva, the 5 day immediate mourning period following a funeral. In the days between the death and the funeral, one is exempt from learning, as your focus is directed elsewhere. So it was, just two weeks after embarking on this seven and a half year journey, that I found myself unable to learn, then forbidden from learning. Since, I have tried to get back in the groove, but to no avail. Maybe if I’d been doing it longer it would be easier. But I believe it’s likely part of my own grief cycle.

I want to learn. I want to get organized. I want to be able to focus. At the same time, I don’t want to learn. I want to spend my days binge-watching sappy movies and television. I want to lie in bed, maybe read, and sleep or wallow. I want to just have time alone with no obligations.

My reality lies in the middle. Obligations don’t disappear during mourning. The regular minyan cycle, during which I’d quickly pray and then learn a little, are missing during the current pandemic. Gandalf, our sweet, loving lap cat, died suddenly. He was my source of peace and calm in the crazy now, and he’s gone. Sleep is disrupted.

Grief alone can do that. But of course, so much is disrupted right now. I love having my children all home, but the volume is raised high. It’s not yelling, just boisterous. It’s active discussion. I want to celebrate it. But I see the circles under my daughter’s eyes. I see my younger son retreating inside himself to process losing a beloved pet not even two months after his grandmother. We’re all a little broken.

And the learning, the learning is so hard. What was a joy is a chore. Where the intellectual history I gleaned from the pages of Talmud fascinated, now I am frustrated. As I discover new ideas, I want to call my mother, or better my father, who discovered Talmud later in life. I know they’ll be interested. But there is no one to answer the phone.

So I don’t learn. I procrastinate. I waste time. The days pass, and I fall father behind. Ten pages, twenty, thirty.

And still I say I’m doing daf yomi. Well, I have seven and a half years to catch up.

Unique Grief

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.

W.H. Auden

I love this poem. I love the cadence. It touches me deep in my soul each time I read it. I find special meaning in the first words, “Stop all the clocks,” For that is what happens. Time stops with each death. Your life with that person or animal ends, and a new one, where the deceased doesn’t exist begins. Yet all around you, life went on, and you’re just a few moments behind them now.

If anyone had asked, I would have said I was much closer with my father.  We had more interests in common. Dad was larger than life. He was ever-present. Even after his death, we felt his presence.

But then I was prepared. Though my mother had cancer, pancreatic cancer, though we knew we were, at best, buying time, I was unprepared. Not mentally. She was in hospice care. It was only a matter of time. But emotionally. I can’t believe she’s gone. I need more time to process.

Losing a beloved pet isn’t helping. I am drowning. I am exhausted. I am sad. Not depressed, just teary and sad. I’m crying again. I can’t sleep. I want time to wallow, time to turn inward, and just be. I want time for my world to end so I can begin to rebuild.

Every grief is different. Each one crawls under your skin at a different spot. It’s all grief, but the itch is different. The beed is different. It’s not a judgement of love or importance. It’s who you, the mourner, are in the moment. And so some linger. They burrow deep inside, and must be slowly drawn out of your heart. Others, just as significant, scratch only the surface, like a great charge of static electricity, shockingly painful, then gone.

It’s okay to admit you’re still healing. Evert grief takes its own time, has its own pace. Just hold on.

Gam Zeh Yaavor - This Too Shall Pass

There's been a lot of wonderful, inspiring writing on social media in these last days. But I know not all of us are doing so great. I know because I'm one of them. It's been quite the lousy 2020. But, as I once heard from a wise friend in a different context, "just because you're having a bad year doesn't mean everything is bad."

So I share with y'all my final weekly d'var for Pride of Israel. Left out of the d'var, Sean will be leaving Pride of Israel this summer, which has been an issue ongoing through my mother's cancer, shiva, and sheloshim. Last spring, just after my mother’s cancer diagnosis, we asked the synagogue for a 1 year extension of the current contract with no assumption beyond, so we would be free from dealing with this issue during her treatment. Though the extension was approved quickly, the board waited to tell us for 3 months. Well into Mom’s treatment, they instead presented us with a new one-year contract, after which there’d be no extension, no severance, among other things. We were shocked, and said no, Instead of a simple extension, we spent the rest of my mother’s life negotiating. Just as Mom’s sheloshim ended, it became official. 

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. (Kohelet 3:1)

There is an idea that God never gives us more than we can handle. It’s not Jewish. In fact, it comes from Corinthians in the Christian bible. It’s not something I appreciate or accept. It implies that we can handle anything on our own. That is patently untrue. We often have more than we can handle. We need not be heroes. Asking for or accepting help does not mean we won’t suffer. But knowing there are people around to provide support can make a difference in how we emerge from our suffering.

I’ve written before of my gam zeh ya’avor ring. The story goes that an abcient king sent out his most trusted servant to find an object that would make you happy when sad and sad when happy. The servent searched for many years, and had given up. At the last minute, he happens into a poor market, where a metalsmith asks him his troubles. When the servent explains, the man scratches a phrase into a ring, and hands it to the servent. It said, “gam zeh ya’avor.”

Gam zeh ya’avor means this too shall pass. All things end, both the sad and the joyful. We know they will pass... sometimes as painful as a kidney stone. 2019 was not a good year for us. Most of it was spent dealing with my mother’s cancer. Our celebration of Gavriel’s CHAT graduation was marred by Jesse’s idiopathic anemia requiring a week in the hospital. No one was there to celebrate him. He spent the evening alone. 2020 is not shaping up much better. Mom died January 19. March 11, we found out one of our cats had late stage kidney disease. Gandalf died peacefully on March 16, while Rav Sean and Jesse were en route home from UKings in Halifax due to Corvid-19. 

Of course there are good things. Jesse graduates this year. Keren will finish CHAT. She’s been accepted into two great drama programs. I’m sure we’ll hear from others soon. But their celebrations will be muted at best. 

Last year we spent only seven Shabbatot together as a family. Corvid-19 will guarantee us at least five together in the coming weeks. Though the noise level is up with all three kids home, it’s a blessing to have them together. 

This is my final drash for Shabbat Matters. I will not be leading Torah and Tangents. I am too emotionally damaged, and have not the emotional, mental, nor physical strength to continue. I know that I am not the only broken person right now, and I am grateful for my network of friends and colleagues to whom I can turn when things are difficult. Though our synagogue is closed, Rav Sean is still available for your needs. Though our lives are constrained, we can support each other through calls and social media. We may be broken now, but with help and support, and proper precautions, this too shall pass.

The Promise of Israel for All Jews - Join MERCAZ Canada to be Counted in the Parliament for the Jewish People

I will fulfill the promise that I gave to David your father…  (I Kings 6:12)

To have an independent Jewish state has been our dream from Abraham until today. Hatikvah proclaims, “our hope - the two-thousand-year-old hope - will not be lost.” 

Today we are blessed with a state, with all the problems of a modern state. David Ben Gurion, Israel’s founding father, famously said, “when Israel has prostitutes and thieves we’ll be a state like no other.” Israel today is a modern state, but so much more. Ben Gurion also headed the Jewish Agency for Israel and World Zionist Organization. He understood Israel’s  importance for all Jews, “the feeling… that they are partners in the enterprise of Israel's resurgence in the ancient homeland of the Jewish people.” Israel’s founders built connections to the Diaspora through Israel’s National Institutions, giving us an important voice via the Zionist Congress. Nearly $1billion is allocated, policies enacted, and appointments made that influence Israel’s society. 

Every country with a Jewish population is assigned delegates to a national Zionist Federation. Canadian Zionist Federation has 20 delegates, divided among member organizations via election. To be included in the election, individuals must be members of one of these seven. 

The WZO, JAFI, and Keren Kayemet LeYisrael aren’t sexy or exciting. They don’t inspire the highs and lows we often see in politics, but they are vital to Israel’s function and to our relationship with Israel. 

Ben Gurion said, “The State of Israel will prove itself not by material wealth, not by military might or technical achievement, but by its moral character and human values.” If you are a Zionist, if you agree with Ben Gurion, if you believe Jews should support Israel, it is your responsibility to join MERCAZ-Canada. It is your responsibility to stand up and be counted among the Diaspora community saying, “we care what Israel is. We care what Israel becomes.”

Joining MERCAZ is the best and most direct way to send a message to leaders in Israel that pluralism, democracy, and equality are critical to creating a strong and vibrant Israel. Help strengthen Israel as a Jewish, Zionist, and democratic state; shape it  as a unique moral and spiritual society rooted in the vision of the prophets — democratic and pluralistic, recognizing and empowering all Jews and guaranteeing the civil, political, and religious rights of all its citizens. Deadline is March 8, 2020. Anyone who will be at least 18 years old by June 30, 2020 can join now and be counted.

FOR CANADA. IF YOU'RE IN THE US GO TO MERCAZUSA.ORG/VOTEMERCAZ. YOU HAVE UNTIL MARCH 11.

Unmoored Going Into the Future

Shloshim is over. There's one more week in the MERCAZ membership drive. For the last year it seems I've been saying, "if I can only make it through..." whatever the next big thing was. Month after month after month. Exhausting, but each thing came with an end date only a month or so away.

Now, as the last of those big things is coming to an end, I can't see the end. Whatever was serving as my storm anchor, the thing that kept me in place and kept me going through it all, it seems to have disappeared. I am unmoored. My foundation is gone. I, the one who keeps everyone's life organized, am missing things. Papers are everywhere. Books are piled up. Sewing, art supplies, planting, so much isn't done. What I really want to do is take a day, a week, a month, and just be me, alone. Read a book. Learn a little. Watch old movies.

And that's normal. It's normal to feel sad. We don't move on from loss. We eventually assimilate it. We develop a new normal. Importantly, there's no timeline for this. There's no quick fix. It's different every time. It can last through shloshim. It can last for months beyond. It can last through the year of Kaddish, and even further. You may lack energy. You may feel sad every day. You may feel great, and then suddenly all the feelings return. You're not going crazy. You're simply mourning.

I am mourning. I cry frequently. Some days are good. Some are simply there, neutral. Some are hard. And some are all of these - good, indifferent, bad, sad, happy, crazy, lost. Name the feeling; I'm likely going through it. It's all normal.

I'm not going crazy. I am still sad. I am still grieving. I am unorganized and out of control. I am tired, not physically, but without energy. I am depleted - mentally, emotionally, and intellectually.

It'll get easier. Just give me a year.