Last Wednesday evening was the beginning of Yom Kippur; it turned out to be a particularly poignant one. As many know, Yom Kippur is the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. It is a solemn day of reflection where we ask for forgiveness for our transgressions from our fellow humans and from God. Those who doubt God’s existence, even avowed atheists, can find meaning in the holiday. We look inward to see how we can do better in the year to come. Sometimes the observance of Yom Kippur resonates more than other years. This one did, perhaps because it has been such a difficult year on so many levels.
The ongoing health challenges facing my mom and aunt have been hard with so many decisions to make; coming to terms with problems that are beyond my ability to solve, has tested my spirit. I hope I am meeting the moment. The limitations COVID has placed on us, which makes dealing with everything yet more complicated, has been another test. I am not the most patient person, but I have had to be more so than ever. The sense that our country is at odds with itself, with no healing in sight, adds to the strain. Well over 650,000 Americans have died of Covid – an unfathomable number. It didn’t have to be this way.
As I look back on the year, there were bright spots. The country did elect Joe Biden (for some readers that may not be a bright spot, but for me it was). An even more positive thing was our daughter’s wedding. Despite the obstacles Covid introduced, we had a magical, intimate weekend of celebration.
We were also able to have a family vacation at the Outer Banks. Sometimes I lose sight of the bright spots, so it is good to reflect and remind myself.
One of the reasons this Yom Kippur may have been more poignant was that it is the first since Gary’s Dad, David, died. Though we had not actually spent the holiday in person with him in many years, we were very connected. Gary would call just as we concluded the evening meal before attending Kol Nidre to wish David and Paula an easy fast, and then when we broke it the next evening, he would call again to wish them a happy new year and compare notes on how the fast went. This was his tradition with his dad for all the years that I have known Gary unless we were physically all together. There was a painful emptiness where David would have been.
Once again Gary and I livestreamed the service from a Manhattan synagogue, B’nai Jeshurun. Gary was not comfortable attending our synagogue in person due to the continued presence of Covid in the community. We participated from home. I downloaded the mahzor so we could recite the prayers – actually Gary recited, I listened.
Part of the Yom Kippur service is called Yizkor. It is focuses specifically on remembrance of those who have died. In preparation for that part, the rabbi suggested that those at home have a photograph, or an item associated with their loved one close by. Gary grabbed an old polaroid of David in which he is surrounded by the family at his home in Liberty. I took a wool cap that was my dad’s that Gary continues to use. We put those items on the coffee table next to the computer screen. It surprised me how much emotion they evoked.
Before the actual Yizkor prayers, the rabbis, there were two conducting the services, shared poems. One was especially powerful.
BY JACK GILBERT
He manages like somebody carrying a box
that is too heavy, first with his arms
underneath. When their strength gives out,
he moves the hands forward, hooking them
on the corners, pulling the weight against
his chest. He moves his thumbs slightly
when the fingers begin to tire, and it makes
different muscles take over. Afterward,
he carries it on his shoulder, until the blood
drains out of the arm that is stretched up
to steady the box and the arm goes numb. But now
the man can hold underneath again, so that
he can go on without ever putting the box down.
I thought the box was an fitting metaphor for grief. We have all had the experience of struggling to carry a heavy load and grief is just like that. Though we learn to cope, we adjust, we never put it down. The experience is fresher for Gary, but it is a message that resonated for me, as well.
I think we don’t talk about grief or loss enough. It makes us uncomfortable. I don’t want to dwell there, but those emotions are powerful and an important part of our lives. As soon as someone mentions a person who has died, or talks of their sadness, the impulse is to gloss over it and change the subject. Maybe if we didn’t do that the grief would be easier to bear.
One other thought on grieving that we don’t speak about. It is the grief we feel when someone we love is dying. They are still with us, but they might have a terminal illness, or the aging process is taking its toll. Sometimes our mourning begins before they are gone. That is even more of a taboo subject. We don’t know how to talk about death, unless it is an abstraction, or even if we should. There must be a healthier way to live with the certainty of death rather than ignoring it or dressing up our feelings so we can store them tidily away.
8 thoughts on “Yom Kippur”
Difficult yet beautiful sentiments
Thank you, Karen.
I have to say that livestreaming the services was useful and having the mahzor really helped. Still, it did not have quite the same feeling as being there in person. I was wondering how other people who attended services online felt about them vs in person. I just think there is something about the communal experience or about physically being surrounded by the house of worship and the people there that is more moving.
Thank you for the excellent blog post.
I heard from one person that they enjoyed livestreaming it more than our temple’s services. One person’s opinion.
I thought I would share my Mom’s experience attending Roman Catholic Mass via Zoom for about a year, March 2020 to spring 2021. My Mom, 87, and my Dad, 92, never miss Saturday 3pm Mass where they live in southwest Florida. When covid hit, the church closed but all the Masses were live streamed so they joined in. It was important to them that what they saw on their computer was their parish priests saying Mass in their church. In other words, not just some random Roman Catholic Mass on the internet. My Mom told me she was surprised by how much she liked Zoom Mass. She felt she got a lot more out of the Zoom Maas. She felt she listened more intently to the prayers, the readings and the homily without the in person distractions of other people. I should mention that my parent’s church is enormous. It seats at least 1,500. There can be a lot going on: the people in charge of music, the ushers, people coming and going. At some point this past spring when my parents were fully vaxxed, they returned to in person Mass attendance and were happy to do so. I visited them in Florida this past weekend and when they came home from 3pm Mass, they had their paper bulletin and many stories of friends and the priest that said the Mass. So things seem to have returned, at least church wise for them, to the Before Times. But at least for a time, my Mom appreciated a good Zoom Mass.
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