S'firat HaOmer Hesed Count Day 3 - A Good Cause

Today's S'firat HaOmer Hesed Challenge is tzedakah. 

There are many charities I love. How to pick just one?!

As a pre-teen, teen, and young adult I supported the North Shore Animal League, an animal rescue. Sean and I later adopted Aiko through them, and continued to support them when we lived in New York. 

USY and Ramah are very dear to me. My brother was a Ramahnik, as were my children. Sean and I spent over 20 years as Ramah staff at Ramah Canada and Ramah Poconos, and the kids are continuing the tradition. If I had to choose one Jewish experience for my children it would be Jewish summer camp. USY provides a similar experience year-round. Again, my brother and I were USYers, and my children followed. 

I appreciate and support the USO for all the support they provide to military personnel and their families. It's so much more than Bob Hope and celebrities entertaining the troops. We have benefited, and we give back regularly.

I am, of course partial to Canadian Foundation for Masorti Judaism. We work with FJMC in Canada and with Masorti in Israel to bring Jews closer to Judaism. It is something I think is vital to the continuation of Judaism in the greater community. Masorti teaches how halakhic Judaism can be about what we can do instead of stringencies on what we cannot. It brings the best of Judaism and of modernity together. I couldn't work for its growth unless I believed it in my heart. With so many Masorti rabbis in Israel at home without pay, they can use your help. Support the kehillah fund, write Covid support in the comment section. Check out www.masorti-mercaz.ca

S'firat HaOmer & Hesed

My friend Yacov Fruchter created this beautiful idea for S'firat HaOmer. 

Having missed the first two days, I will post them here. And I will try to post daily (except Yom Tov and Shabbat)

Day One - Someone I am proud of - I am particularly proud of my husband, Sean Gorman, who has told his US Navy Reserve command he's available for whatever they need, and who has spent these days of Yom Tov as his command's duty chaplain. Though Yom Tov and Shabbat for us, between isolation and holiday stress, there have been many people who needed to speak with their chaplain. Depression, custody issues, fear and more are pressing upon people. Knowing there's someone safe to speak with is vital to wellbeing and mental and spiritual health.

Day Two - Something I am thankful for - Most of you know that 2020 has not been good for my family, a continuation of a difficult 2019. Strangely, though we're all getting a bit (or more) stir crazy, the time at home has provided me with the downtime I needed to continue to mourn my mother and more. I've had time to be sad. Time to stay in bed and wallow, which everyone needs sometimes. It was time I didn't plan on taking, time forced upon me by Covid-19, but time I clearly needed, and for that I am thankful. I am appreciating the craziness of us being 5 people at home, even with the volume. I am thankful for the love and friendship I see among my children (who stay up to all hours talking with each other). They have grown up not only siblings, but friends. For all that I am observing while sheltering in place, I am thankful. 

https://www.beth-tzedec.org/…/m…/2174/sfirat-hesed-chart.pdf

Finishing Brachot Without Fanfare or Judging Myself

So it took me an extra month, but I finally did it. I finished Masechet Brachot. I should have realized I was finishing. I know the final sugya (paragraph). Yet, when it was upon me, sitting in bed at about 2:00 am, rather than stopping, and finishing with a siyyum, I moved on, and, suddenly, I was done.

After so much work, so much frustration when I couldn't learn, whether because I was mourning or because my mind wouldn't function, there it was, without fanfare or celebration. And then it was Yom Tov. And Shabbat. And my mind was still spinning, spinning with sheltering in place. And though I thought of starting Shabbat, I did not. And I am slowly but surely falling ever father behind.

I will not give up. Though the hour is late, I will begin Shabbat tonight. I am 37 pages behind, over a month. Perhaps someday I will catch up, but not likely in this masechet. I've studied Shabbat before. Pieces will go fast, but others will go slow.

Though the world may move on without me, I will proceed as I can. I will not judge myself by any others, but only by what I am able to do for me, for me alone.

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.