Shloshim Reflections - Suggestions for Comforting Mourners and some thoughts about North American Shiva

                            

                Before                                                       After

I know I've kept a few of you at cliff's edge since my last post, about mourning and moving forward.  Also, I don't want to tip my hand too much about what I've written for Yizkor on Yom Kippur, so I'll just share a few comments here about the mourning process (one of the few Jewish rituals that makes so much sense) about how I've found comfort, and a few suggestions for all of us to think about in the process of comforting mourners.

My Shloshim for my mother ended Shabbat morning, which was a sufficiently convenient time except for the whole shave and a haircut thing.  I'm not so fastidious about my haircut schedule, but I was about 10-14 days past my normal comfort zone (think Sheldon Cooper of Big Bang Theory) and I really wanted to shave, at least my neck.  That waited until Sunday morning, before Shacharit.  Thank you to everyone who came for the Shloshim service, breakfast and study that followed in my Mom's memory.

I've let go of most of the negative stuff; I had a good head start in Israel, and then some friends wrote some really thoughtful notes about kind, funny, even ridiculous stuff my mother did and so I've found focusing on those things have helped me move past the negative stuff that I think I felt more or less exclusively to a broader more forgiving image of my mother as social connector at Cedar Village, lifelong student, gift shop lady at Knesset Israel and regular hostess of many Shabbat and holiday meals.  Time and distance do have healing qualities, at least they have for me.

In trying to be self reflective about what I have found most useful when people come to offer words of comfort here's what I have to say:  hugs, followed by enough silence to allow the mourner to speak first, are what have been most comforting to me.  If you know me well enough to know about my baggage (I have trouble packing light - I always bring stuff "just in case" even though I've rarely needed stuff that I couldn't just get at my destination) just giving me a hug and waiting for me to speak have been the most helpful encounters - let me decide what I want to share, how I want to share it, and decide what I find to be a blessing and what I don't - I've already, perhaps overly harshly, critiqued our traditional words of comfort.  Some friends and colleagues have tried really hard to show me how the traditional greetings are really okay.  I think if you have to work that hard to justify them, there could possibly be a problem, but as I said earlier - I understand you are invoking 2000 years of tradition and appreciate the intention of your words of comfort.  Just understand they may not be appropriate in every situation.

Now, if you don't mind (if you do, you can stop reading here), a few words about what we have done to shiva in North America and some suggestions to perhaps reign it in a bit:

1. Shiva is exhausting for the mourner.  The emotional strain, whatever the relationship with the met, especially if the death follows a final, even prolonged illness and the physical act of receiving guests, sometimes throughout the day, or mornings and evenings for minyan, is very tiring at a time when the mourner is already emotionally drained and perhaps not sleeping well. We do a disservice to the healing intention of shiva when we turn the shiva house into a week-long social event complete with catered meals and the expectation of feeding the visitors - more about this below.  By all means come and be present, listen to the mourner and follow their cues.  We may need to think about holding back on the chit chat a bit.

2. The Food.  Enough food should be provided so that the mourners don't have to provide for themselves during the week.  Period.  End of sentence.  There is no obligation, nor should their be an expectation that the mourners feed the community giving them comfort during the week.  I can't count the number of shiva houses I've visited where I'm commanded to eat because "there is so much food and we have no place to put it anymore, so please, everyone, eat."  I know that when we are uncomfortable in a situation, when someone is sad and we want to be supportive but we really don't know what to say, a babka, or a platter of cheese and fruit or a box of cookies can be a substitute for the words we just don't have.  Resist the urge to substitute cake and bagels for a hug, love and concern.  The food, and putting out the food, and storing the food safely between services and figuring out what to do with all the uneaten food when shiva is over, all place burdens on mourners and those closest to them taking care of their care and feeding.  Those closest to the family, and usually we can all figure out who those people are, know just what the family needs, and in what amounts and are just overwhelmed by the volume of food that comes into the American Shiva house.  I am so grateful that I didn't have this issue (and that Judy wasn't forced into a position to manage this despite her logistical prowess) by sitting Shiva in Israel.  I put out some fruit and cold water for the people who came while I was sitting. Somehow, that was sufficient.  There is so much to get rid of after shiva, food shouldn't be added to the equation.

3. Other mitzvot that flow from mourning - I am really finding comfort in my return to morning minyan, and I hope I can maintain it as an ongoing habit.  I know it's not for everyone, and there is certainly nothing wrong with becoming a regular at evening minyan if you're not inclined to be a morning mourning person (get it?), and I know I started from a point of being comfortable and facile with our liturgy.  I'm enjoying the rhythm, the comfort, the companionship of the men and women (some who come once a week, but they're there each week when their day comes around) who regularly attend with the added appearances of those who come when observing a yahrzeit. Also by my being there, I am helping others who are seeking a minyan, so it's not just about my needs.

Donations to a tzedakah, whether at my suggestion or your choosing is a great way to let me know you're thinking about my family.  I'm glad some good and needed help flows to others in need to honor my family member.  I'd rather a food bank feeding truly hungry people get what they need instead of a dozen bagels for my freezer.

So, since I get asked almost every day, I'll tell you, I'm really doing okay.  I have very few and brief minutes of sadness, really just passing moments, every 2-3 days, more from getting emotional by the support and friendship I've been shown than anything else.  I don't see a problem from fixed daily prayer being part of a routine - saying kaddish four times during the morning service, I think its okay if some of them are a bit more automatic and some are more meaningful.  You can be an All Star with a .325 batting average and that's good enough for me.  Like Nora McInerny said (you really should watch her TED talk if you haven't yet) I'm moving forward with my grief, not moving on from it.  My mother, the positive and negative traits, will always be a part of my life.  How I act based on that knowledge seems to be what really matters most right now.

Mourning, Grieving and Comforting the Mourner - It's Time for Us to Find New Words

I need to start with with an expression of Hakarat HaTov (expressing gratitude):  Those of you in my village, and yes, by necessity it has been a very geographically spread out and diverse village inhabited by the very best people have shown great concern, sympathy, love, support, caring, sensitivity - all of the feels.  I appreciate every word, intention, note, message, donation, call and visit.

My big language issue when my Dad died almost 7 years ago (I can't use the term "lost my Dad".  He's not lost; I know just where he is), was the part of Psalm 30 in the morning service after the preliminary blessings, where the closing verse is (and I'm paraphrasing because somehow I don't have a siddur with an English translation handy, but I know the Hebrew well enough) "you turned my mourning into dancing, your turned my sackcloth to happiness".  I was leading shacharit in my parents' apartment building with my sister's friends around me, and leading the service I was required to say those words.  I know that there are parts of the liturgy that aren't said in a house of mourning - why isn't that phrase one of the ones left out?  It made me angry, and I discussed that anger with the rabbi at Cedar Village, Rabbi Yuden, with my Rabbi, Mickey Safra, with my teacher and doppleganger Avi West, and I never came up with a reason why we make mourners say that.  Oh look, I guess I'm still a little angry about it, because I'm not at a point where my mourning has turned to happiness. I do smile daily when I think about my dad.

That rant was just to introduce my current rant, with all love and respect for the loving and noble intentions of the people who used these words to comfort me, because the words are those that our tradition teaches one is to say to a mourner.  There are two phrases that are bothering me, and leading me to think we need to change our language about mourning in the same way we are changing our ways of talking about race, gender and ethnicity.  The two phrases are:

May you be comforted [by God, literally HaMakom, the place] among the remnant of those mourning for Zion and Jerusalem; and

May your mother's memory be for a blessing (this one bothers me a little less and I'll explain why).

Why are these the words we say?  I'm a 21st Century Jew.  My Zion and Jerusalem are rebuilt, a beautiful, crowded city filled with hundreds of thousands of Jews who have returned from exile and call this place home.  Jerusalem is not in ruins; I don't need to see the Temple rebuilt.  I'm not a messianist.  I don't enact the ritual of kri'ah (tearing one's clothes as a sign of mourning) on the rare occasions I visit the Kotel (it's one of those synagogues I don't go to). So the people here are not a remnant.  The Jewish population of Israel is the single largest population of Jews in the world.  A modern miracle, as it were. So why should I be comforted among those who mourn for Zion and Jerusalem? Those who still mourn what was destroyed 1950 years ago, in my opinion, need to adjust their world view and be open to the miracle that is the modern State of Israel, even with all its imperfections (I note that at 243 years old, the USA has a few imperfections of its own).  I'm sorry, and please don't be offended, because I know your intentions were loving and sincere, but I don't find those words comforting.

Next, I would like for my mother's memory to be a blessing, and I'm working very hard right now to make it so, while I have some alone time in a peaceful, rural (even biblical - I'm near the site where David bested Goliath) setting.  To be honest, my mother wasn't very nice to me.  She could and did hold grudges for decades and she talked about me negatively to her friends, my siblings and my children.  I'm working very hard to declutter these negative feelings about my mother and leave them here, maybe buried in the hole I dug to plant a tree in her memory in Be'er Sheva. 

Years ago, at a therapist's suggestion, I asked my mother to stop using me to complain about others and not to complain to others about me; even with a masters degree in Social Work, she was not able to discipline herself and filter her words.  For my own health, I tried to keep a little distance between us, so I wouldn't have to be on the receiving end of so many hurtful words.  So right now, it's hard for those memories to be a blessing.  My daughter Abby, in her eulogy, found several positive ways to remember my mother - her love of yiddishkeit, her fascination with the Shoah, her desire to keep learning as she aged.  These are the memories I'm trying to turn into a blessing. But it isn't easy, it's going to take time, and I appreciate your sentiments, sincerely expressed.

I want to urge those of you, well versed in text and better with words than I am: let's find new language to comfort the mourner.  Unless we know about the relationship between the mourner and the met (the person who died) closely, let's not assume that the memories all bring blessing.  Let's try to find other words, that share our relationship to the mourner, something like, "As a life created in God's image I'm here to listen and be with you as you mourn" or "I'm here to share and help you manage the burden of your grief". Let's see if we can make progress with this.  I'm willing to put it on my Sanhedrin agenda (yes, I've been drafting it for years) somewhere between doing away with the second day of yom tov and definitely after making chicken parve.

At the very early part of my college career I had a friendly relationship with the University of Maryland Hillel Director, Rabbi Robert Saks. He was, for a short time, my landlord as well.  He wrote a meditation for Yizkor that appears in the margins of Mahzor Lev Shalem.  My mother was not abusive, though she could be hurtful, but I have found this meditation helpful in my process of grieving over the last two weeks.

Dear God,
You know my heart. Indeed, You know me better than I know myself, so I turn to You before I rise for Kaddish. My emotions swirl as I say this prayer. The parent I remember was not kind to me. Her death left me with a legacy of unhealed wounds, of anger and of dismay that a parent could hurt a child as I was hurt.

I do not want to pretend to love, or to grief that I do not feel, but I do want to do what is right as a Jew and as a child.

Help me, O God, to subdue my bitter emotions that do me no good, and to find that place in myself where happier memories may lie hidden, and where grief for all that could have been, all that should have been, may be calmed by forgiveness, or at least soothed by the passage of time.

I pray that You, who raise up slaves to freedom, will liberate me from the oppression of my hurt and anger, and that You will lead me from this desert to Your holy place.

— Robert Saks, Mahzor Lev Shalem

Wining (and very little dining) around Israel

These are some amazing, and close to harvest Cabernet Sauvignon vines at the vineyard of Gvaot Winery at Givat Harel, about 850 meters about sea level.

Finally after about 16 days in Israel, I got to visit 4 wineries (all new to me) in Israel.  As this is a big objective of my travel here, and I usually try to get to around 10 and I don't know that I'll get to many more this time, I can definitely say that the quality of these 4 wineries makes up for the quantity.

Unfortunately I didn't take any photos during my delightful midday visit to Zafririm on Tuesday.  Winemaker Lori Lender was a most gracious host and her winery is producing about 8,000 bottles a year of some very unique and very local wines.  She is sources her grapes from very nearby in the Ela Valley, and starting to plant her own vineyards with the help of her son, who is an agronomist.

I tasted 3 great wines: The Adulam, a Cab-Merlot blend (vintage 2016) which drinks like a lighter red - a sangiovese or a pinot noir, and not the really strong, astringent Cabernet a lot of Israelis are used to.  This is a great wine for local food, dairy or meat.  Then I tasted an outstanding Zinfandel - there is not a lot of it in Israel, which has a small amount (15%) of Petite Syrah - really enjoyable, really soft tannins and a beautiful color, Finally what Lori considers her flagship, Lavnin, a blend of Syrah, petite Syrah and just a hint (7%) of Cabernet.  I really enjoyed our conversation about the market, the region, the climate and the grapes.

On Wednesday Yossi and I continued a tradition of many years and spent a day visiting wineries together.  As we tend to share a hyper-geekiness about our passion for Israeli wines, it is a highlight of our time together and a great aspect of our (gulp) 40 year friendship.  We try to pick an area where we will both find something new - as Yossi is here and visits wineries on his own, this can sometimes present a challenge.  This year we chose to visit the Shomron, the northern part of the West Bank, and three wineries neither one of us had ever visited.

The first of the day (sometimes Waze isn't perfect) was the Gvaot Winery at Givat Harel.  Out host, Moshe Veiner, (pictured below) gave us an overview of the winery and the view.  The winemaker, Dr. Shivi Drori, is a professor at Ariel University and has been identifying (to date, over 60) indigenous varieties of grapes of which about 20% can be used for wine and also been doing DNA analysis on seeds and stems found at archeological sites in ceramic jars to identify what wines were made in ancient times, and whether it's possible to recreate those varietals.

Most winemakers I've met with say that making white wine is a bit more difficult, and it doesn't command the prices that red wine does, so they mostly decide not to bother.  I know the second part is true, even from my own experience.  I tend not to pay more than $20 for a white wine, where my budget can occasionally tolerate paying up $35 for an exceptional red.  Gvaot is making a lot of white wine and its selling well.  We tasted three whites:  a very unique blend of two indigenous grapes, Haamdani and Djadali (unique, light in color and taste, but not very complex or flavorful - a bit bland), a blend called Dancing in White (related to the festival of Tu B'Av) of 65% Chardonnay and 35% Gewertzstraminer, the Gofna series Chardonnay-Cabernet blend (if you separate the juice from the skins at crushing, then even Cabernet Sauvignon can be a white wine, but its labor intensive and almost no one does it - it did give a nice structure to the wine) which I preferred the most of the whites.  At 100 shekels a bottle (around $28) it would definitely be a splurge purchase, in my opinion.

We then drank 2 reds. Vineyard Dance, a blend of petit verdot, cab and merlot that was very nice and would age nicely for a few years, and a Cabernet Franc varietal, 2017 which was very flavorful, a lot of black plum and sour cherry at first taste, and then kind of a leathery, mineral flavor on the finish.  I liked it a lot and for an Israeli red, at 13,5% alcohol, it's an unusually fine combination of flavor and body.  It's too young to enjoy fully now. This wine will probably reach its peak around 2022 or 23.  I doubt there will be much around then, so you have to buy now and store it properly.  I don't think most people buying wine are that patient.

Our next stop was maybe 5 minutes away, across the road to the Shiloh Winery in the industrial zone of the village of Shiloh.  In the Tanakh, Shiloh is the tribe of Benjamin's regional religious center, the site of a tabernacle (where Samuel the prophet lived and presided over Israel),  I've wanted to visit Shiloh for a long time, because of my love for the Books of Samuel and because the winemaker, Amichai Lourie is such a character.  Amichai has a large Facebook presence, he is passionate and exacting (he says obsessive and compulsive, but I can tell you, his attention to detail pays off big time) about his winemaking, and he is so carnivorous that I risk looking like a vegetarian next to him.

Amichai's wines are definitely a cut above; carefully working with his vintners throughout the growing season to make decisions about leaves, shade, cluster size, ripeness; he is very intense.  We tried 4 wines: a delightful Chardonnay and 3 of his secret reserve wines:  The Petit Verdot, Cabernet Franc and Petite Syrah.  All were magnificent.  The Cab Franc is likely one of the best of its type in Israel.  Shiloh doesn't really encourage visitors or have a tasting room; there focus is on the wine making, so it's not an easy place to get in.  We consider ourselves very lucky.


                                                           


After an ok lunch in Shiloh at a restaurant called Merlot, we headed to Tura.  Vered Ben-Sa'adon and her husband Erez started a beautiful winery in the village of Rechelim, about 15 minutes from Shiloh in 2003.  Again, this winery features a lot of attention to detail.  They're making about 100,000 bottles a year (sort of the upper limit to be considered boutique - Shiloh is making over 200,000 a year).  About 40% of the wine from Tura is exported.  We were short on time as our host had other responsibilities so we tasted 3 wines.

A very nice, lightly oaked Chardonnay - more oak on the nose than on the palate.  It was really nice, round, no real citrus notes.  Kind of pricey for a Chardonnay, but a nice wine (I view wine prices through the prism of an educator, so I have my price range and its difficult for me to stretch it much with a clear conscience).

We drank a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon - soft tannins, light on the oak, nice notes of black plum and ripe fruit with some minerality on the finish.  We finished with one of my favorite varietals, the Shiraz.  It was spicy, not too heavy for and Israeli Shiraz (14% alcohol) and really rich.  It sells for around $36-37 which is more than I would typically spend, but its a great wine for a special occasion.

So that was the big trek, through picturesque stoney hills, dotted with small villages, vineyard and farms, herds of goats and really great wine.  A really happy Steve was the result.

Settling into Moshav life, Getting things done in Jerusalem - Not sure what's "Normal"

       

Wow; a whirlwind couple of days - taking it easier today. Sunday I moved to the home of friends in Emek HaEla to house sit and take care of their cat, Cloud (who seems to appreciate me as her meal ticket and then promply heads outside to resume her life, which is just fine with me - I'm a dog person).  Living here on a Moshav is a really different view of Israel, very different from city life and even from village life last week in Binyamina (where not so very much happens, but there is the train station).   There is a very short wikipedia entry for Aviezer:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aviezer.

Remember, especially when we travelled to Israel in the 90's and early 2000's during the Intifada's and we had to check in by phone after a pigua (incident) to tell everyone in the US that we were ok? Everyone was worried about what was happening in Israel; now the tables have turned. I remember one of the first urban terror attacks in Jerusalem, July 4 1975 near Kikar Tzion. I was rising 10th grader, my first time in Israel, and because I was exempted from the group Hebrew class I was running errands in town with our trip leader, Avi Brown, and we had to call my dad, who was the Federation director in Denver, to tell him everyone in the group was ok (I was actually the only participant anywhere near the danger zone - everyone else was safely at the Givat Ram campus of Hebrew U). We woke him at about 2 am in Denver.  

Yesterday, I was again in Jerusalem, completing about a week's worth of meetings and errands in one day (it was a 16 hour day, which is how I got so much done), and now I'm wondering how all of you are staying safe in the US? Too many idiots with guns. I have friends who safely and responsibly use firearms to hunt and for sport and I support their right to do so. But there must be some way to limit and restrict access to firearms to keep people safe at festivals, malls and schools. Here there are single entrance points for malls and festivals, you got through metal detectors at the train stations and some malls, locked gates at schools. America, you need to get serious about keeping people safe.

I forgot to take pictures, but the day's meetings included breakfast with Arnie Draiman, spending a couple of hours at Hacker Camp with my friend and role model, Shaiel Yitzchak, lunch with Rabbi Paul Freedman, meetings at the Jewish Agency with the incomparable Pnina Agenyahu and even a quick conversation with Deputy Director General David Breakstone. Then it was a short bus ride to the office of Ramah Israel to catch  up with Betsalel Steinhardt, Adin Rodman and Meir Holzman.  It's amazing to have a great group of colleagues in Jerusalem.  We talked a lot about the conservative movement (everyone seems to want to talk to me about it).  After a few errands for the family I finished with dinner at Tmol Shilshom with my Temple Sinai colleagues Max Antman and Kelly Whitehead. I strongly recommend the Cacio e pepe.

After minyan this morning at 5:30 am (photos above are of the synagogue), it's still relatively cool out, so I set out to harvest a few figs and table grapes growing in the yard.  After coffee I started to do some writing, my printed High Holiday message for Congregation Emanuel in Statesville and the beginnings of my first High Holiday sermon.  Soon I'll be leaving the house for a bit to do my first visit to an unfamiliar winery of this trip - it took until the second day of the third week to reach this milestone, but I have an appointment at Tzafririm, a Moshav about 15 minutes away, soon.  Hopefully that will earn a wine related post - Wednesday I'm planning on more wine research..  More about that later.