tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71700782413896195782024-03-14T02:57:10.536-04:00Processing Jewish Mourning - Things Halacha Doesn't Tell YouThe purpose of this blog is threefold:
1) Help me process the multitude of emotions and experiences of the shiva week and on. 2) Share some unexpected parts of the mourning process so others in this position can prepare (where there is warning) or find camaraderie (after the fact) in company with others who may have encountered similar experiences. 3) Assist clergy and well wishers in comforting the bereaved. Use the search features and check back frequently. Posts are spread through the year.Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-77846284406424332042023-08-10T23:16:00.001-04:002023-08-10T23:19:22.007-04:00A Deep Breath - Year 6<p>It's time for a pause in the midst of a busy week. </p><p>Tonight is the 24th of Av, otherwise known from now on as my father's yortzeit - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel. Six years ago my father suddenly, inescapably and irrevocably reminded me of the date of my Hebrew birthday - כה׳ אב - henceforth known as "The Day After..." </p><p>The day after my world stood still and then shattered with a phone call. </p><p>The day after I became "that girl saying Kaddish on the single's shabbaton" and deprived my husband of the chance to know his father in law.</p><p>The day after I learned how fragile the life is and how little we can predict the future.</p><p>Except that this year, this day caught me off guard. We've been celebrating my son's second birthday - a party that's taking over the better part of the week (and more ;)). And with my mind so occupied, the date on the calendar was only 2 dimensional. Of course I went through the motions (candle prepped and childcare arrangements made), but my heart was not really there... yet. </p><p>But after toddler bedtime it was time to take a deep breath. To sit down and think about what I've learned since last year and gather my thoughts. </p><p>Of course he's never that far from my mind... How many thousands of questions have I wanted to ask my dad this year... (Did he ever see the movie Ratatouille?) How many times have I thought of Zayde while brushing his grandson's teeth (Open open open... nice job, Zayde would be so proud!)? </p><p>It gets easier with time.. and also harder with the passing of time and the distance in time since our last conversation... I can't believe that life has gone on without my dad, and yet I'm so grateful for the blessings that have come my way in the last six years. </p><p>Since that moment, I am irrevocably changed; I recognize that life is unpredictable and I won't make promises to my son that I cannot be sure to keep. </p><p>In some ways this pause in the midst of a business as usual reminds me of that awful moment 6 years ago when everything came crashing to a halt. On the other hand, I recognize how important it is to take this time to reflect and remember. And I'm thinking I need to do more in the future to prepare myself for these moments of reflection and memory. </p><p>I miss you, Dad. </p><p>Yhi zichrcha baruch - may your memory be a blessing and may I be strong enough to continue to make it so. </p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-5524132880921400382022-08-21T11:34:00.002-04:002022-08-21T11:46:59.832-04:005?! Years<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Dear Dad,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Do you remember that crazy time, 5 years ago, when I was running to shul -- "barreling down the block" I used to say -- 3 times a day to say Kaddish? I remember. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Do you remember how Uncle Paul was my backup and Kaddish-Partner-In-Crime, which took some pressure off when there were days I was not able to make it? I'm thinking about that too, since today is his birthday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Do you remember last year, when your grandchild was due any minute and I didn't know if I would be able to make it to shul, so we had rabbis in two different shuls make a point of saying Kaddish for you and having a little l'chaim? In the end I made it to an outdoor minyan, but h</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ow could I possibly forget the uncertainty that </span><span style="font-family: arial;">the baby might arrive on your yortzeit. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And did you see, this morning, how I sat down near your yortzeit candle with your little grandson, who bears your name, and told him about you? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I can't believe it's been 5 years since I've been able to talk to you and hear your words in your voice in response. I've known this day was coming for a long time, and yet it still somehow crept up on me. I have so much to say and yet no words will come. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Do you remember how worried I was at first - that I would forget things about you? I'm glad I took notes on the stories shared during shiva, but I realize now that it was not necessary. I won't forget. I can't forget. I'm glad to have them written down, but it's not as difficult as I feared to remember. I know now that you are a part of me and always will be.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I hope you're happy where you are and that you can see what's been going on down here. We're doing well, but we miss you so much. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Love always,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Amy</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oVE11ltQR_5EFnX-NID23n5X-flRyaN9Q3TMPDVKx-U_9am1Du79DOlbQmOKTycLDUaH9jvLC8O4sEFuHpCt3st7qn6JqCpuFLk5jJn3lty8d4EOTPXi9v_Tpw3fYh4s-5TUcqIdH57xqi6snXsN74RWvitOqw_0pZisZ8ozGRFAg8I0ZLsFuk9a/s949/20220821_002957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="949" data-original-width="438" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oVE11ltQR_5EFnX-NID23n5X-flRyaN9Q3TMPDVKx-U_9am1Du79DOlbQmOKTycLDUaH9jvLC8O4sEFuHpCt3st7qn6JqCpuFLk5jJn3lty8d4EOTPXi9v_Tpw3fYh4s-5TUcqIdH57xqi6snXsN74RWvitOqw_0pZisZ8ozGRFAg8I0ZLsFuk9a/w199-h431/20220821_002957.jpg" width="199" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-81354048380217639442022-07-11T16:59:00.002-04:002022-07-11T17:10:08.198-04:00Angelfish<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dear Uncle Paul,</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b23d7466-7fff-2a4f-333d-db6c41410395"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span><span> Yesterday we went to the Baltimore Aquarium and we saw these enormous Angelfish... I wanted to pick up the phone and call you. Instead I write to you here.</span><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Celebrating your yortzeit today on the heels of your grandson, Zevi's, bar mitzvah feels like a rotten trick of fate. It's so wrong that you weren't here adding your joyful energy to the simcha. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>But as my husband, Saleh, pointed out, one of the messages in the parsha Zevi read so beautifully is that there are some things we just don't understand and we're not meant to. It's been a heck of a year, and the one thing I can tell you is that your children are doing you proud. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Listening in shul to the praises heaped on Sarah for her contributions to the community - her hospitality and generosity - all I could think of is how I've heard grandma described the same way and how her legacy is passing down through you to your children and grandchildren. My mind's eye sees the progress of the generations, and the legacy that has been entrusted to me and my cousins and our children. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>And questions rise in my mind: What can I say to my son about the people that I remember so vividly that he won't get to meet in person? How can I convey to him the words and actions that play in my mind and live close to my heart? Would that I could find a way to let him hear the voices first hand, see the smiles, the postures, the colors, the outfits... As the smallest example, I wish he could watch you tend your beautiful Angelfish and see the expressions on your face as you talk about your children and your garden and your own reflections and memories... </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>I know it's not realistic to make every day about our memories - forward thinking is essential to life and we can't let the living stop for the remembering. But there are times and places designated in Jewish tradition when we do recall the past for the sake of preserving our history and forging ahead equipped with the lessons we've learned from the people we've loved and lost. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">And today is one of those days and this is one of those places. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>I miss you with my whole heart and I'm forever grateful for the special relationship we had. As I look to the future, I hope that my generation will be able to preserve the best of our memories and pass them on to our children and their children. And in doing so, we hope to make you - and all those who came before you - proud.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirnonZNWRBeAa84kUyUTAooPphQp1_F6AcchXfFoK82jYABixYW-e5MwJjcXl3fuGHMGDEmz0vyQ9k2QjPq16rFxHlFo7N39wxp3ap3qPTX8GNj3_qWsA6GFlcm32cH7p5EZ0yXc-zSPoIQnJWtHlhZ6PPs5VrzF7Wc1c5-GSdn-s6ogyrTr9AYkSh/s4000/20220710_140917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1848" data-original-width="4000" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirnonZNWRBeAa84kUyUTAooPphQp1_F6AcchXfFoK82jYABixYW-e5MwJjcXl3fuGHMGDEmz0vyQ9k2QjPq16rFxHlFo7N39wxp3ap3qPTX8GNj3_qWsA6GFlcm32cH7p5EZ0yXc-zSPoIQnJWtHlhZ6PPs5VrzF7Wc1c5-GSdn-s6ogyrTr9AYkSh/w517-h239/20220710_140917.jpg" width="517" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-37810114226778427642021-12-28T16:04:00.000-05:002021-12-28T16:04:06.749-05:00No More Gifts<p>Moving on is hard to do. </p><p>It can be emotional to move out of a home that has existed since your birth, where there are fond memories of growing up and family get togethers. </p><p>How much more so, then, to clean out a childhood home full of mementos of family members no longer living?!</p><p>I'm not suggesting that anyone transform their present home into a shrine... or build a new life on piles of old memories. To go to such an extreme is not healthy and can stifle future prospects.</p><p>But I have to write out my thoughts about this transformative moment in my life, because I'm not quite prepared to say this goodbye, though this time I know it's coming. The reality is that I don't know what I might need or want in a future residence, and the space constraints of my current living situation preclude me from rescuing as much as I might wish. However, as I write this, I wonder if perhaps that in itself is a blessing in disguise. </p><p>My father was a collector - he saw the beauty and potential in many <i>things</i>. And now, while cleaning out the home where he lived and collected a life's worth of souvenirs, tools and gizmos, it's left to me (and my family) to decide which treasures we can take with us and which we need to let go in order to allow ourselves to move forward in our own journeys.</p><p>Moving out of my childhood home marks the end of an era. It's natural to reflect on all types of memories at this juncture.</p><p>Death is so final. It means no more conversations, no more hugs, no more shared moments with my father. And because I have no choice about the rest of it, I struggle to let go of the <i>things </i>that belonged to him because I know that there will be never be more such "gifts" in the future. </p><p>And I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to the <i>things</i> that belonged to him that were part of the house. As a stop gap measure, I'll keep the most meaningful and <i>use</i>ful in storage for a limited time until I make up my mind. But this is only to give myself the opportunity to navigate yet another layer of grief... because in the end, letting go of <i>things</i> will allow me the freedom to <i>gift</i> myself other <i>things... things </i>that I will enjoy because I've chosen them instead of having them choose me simply by virtue of their prior ownership. </p><p>I guess when I look at it this way, that in itself is a gift. I just need to prepare myself to accept it for what it is. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-28496968073117240472021-09-01T23:27:00.003-04:002021-09-02T23:34:30.242-04:00Sitting on My Shoulder<p>Rosh Hashana approaches this year as it never has before. On Erev Chag, we will celebrate one month of enjoying our beautiful little boy who is named after my father. This year I'm looking at the world through the fresh eyes of new parenthood. Everything looks and feels different... and at the same time, totally familiar. It's as if the people I've loved and lost throughout my life are sitting on my shoulder, guiding me through the challenges and wonders of motherhood and more present than they have ever been in recent memory. </p><p>Every time I interact with my son - singing songs, playing games, talking to him conversationally - I find myself uttering words and phrases that I heard in my childhood. From the very first days in the hospital, coaxing my son to open his mouth to eat, I heard my father's friendly voice in my mind encouraging patients in his dental chair to "open open open!" When I burp him after a meal, I hear my grandmother's voice asking if he "has a bubble." And whenever I zip him into his sleep sack and lift him into his bassinet for the night, I think of my Uncle Paul playing "Casper the Friendly Ghost" with my infant cousins.</p><p>When my father passed away suddenly, I was so worried that I'd forget. Forget what specifically, I don't know, but I remember furiously writing memories in a journal throughout the shiva and afterward. Have I looked at them since? Not really. I haven't needed to - though it is a comfort to know they are on paper. Instead, the memories have stayed with me and bubble to the surface on all sorts of occasions, especially milestone moments when emotions run particularly high. I'm finding that it is even more comforting to know that the memories are really and truly ingrained deep inside and that I can call on them when I wish. </p><p>So... even though my father is not able to be with me at the table this Rosh Hashana, or play with my son the way I wish... I find he's even closer - sitting on my shoulder - and I know by now that I can count on him always being right there.</p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-31592087443415790482021-08-20T14:43:00.000-04:002021-08-20T14:43:05.124-04:00Nechama (Comfort)<p>My father was a collector of unique and interesting items. At his funeral, the rabbi commented that he liked to take care of not only people, but things as well. Among these treasures was a collection of brass candlesticks of various sizes and designs. Not long before he died, my father polished up a few of these and offered them to me for my apartment, apologizing that they did not match. </p><p>A few months later, while cleaning up his basement workshop, I came across another candlestick in the back of a shelf that was a twin to one that I already had. The only difference was that the one my father gave me was polished and this newly discovered one was not. In a way, it felt fitting... my father died too young, and this felt a bit like his unfinished business.</p><p>I brought both candlesticks to my apartment and have been lighting shabbat candles with them for the last four years. The idea persisted in the back of my mind that one day Saleh would polish them to a matching shine and it would feel a bit like completing the cycle. As it says in my bat mitzvah parsha Chayei Sarah (which my father taught me to lein) - when Isaac met and married Rebecca, he brought her into his tent and was comforted over the death of his mother, Sarah. As the midrash explains, the miracles that were associated with Sarah paused at her death and restarted with Rebecca's entrance into the family. </p><p>For one reason or another, we never managed to get the candlesticks polished. Perhaps it was too soon... or I just wasn't ready. But last shabbat - our first Shabbat home with our Little Man - I finally felt the pull to complete the job. </p><p>As I lit three Shabbat candles for the very first time I looked at the three candlesticks on which they were perched. One bright, shiny and new, representing the New Addition to our family, and two older ones with different degrees of tarnish, as my father's polishing has dulled with time. And I looked at my Baby Boy - now carrying my father's name. </p><p>My heart is full. I still miss my father, but I see so much life and love and wonder in his newest grandchild. It is finally time for the candlesticks to match. </p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-53933474547771591092021-08-01T11:15:00.006-04:002021-08-01T11:47:58.900-04:00Inconvenient (On My Father's 4th Yortzeit)<p> Dear Dad,</p><p>As your 4th Yortzeit approaches tonight, the word that comes to mind is inconvenient. Nothing about your passing has been convenient or comfortable for me - that I'll acknowledge - but let's review for a moment what these last few years have been. That first year, your death thrust me into a year of aveilut and a whirlwind of Kaddish that interrupted nearly every facet of life (including all my dates with Saleh). Your second Yortzeit fell on my birthday/Maggie's naming party and the third was in the middle of a global pandemic. And this year... I'm waiting to go into labor any time now - I don't know if I'll be in shul tonight to say Kaddish or at the hospital meeting your new grandchild. Inconvenient is an understatement! I've made all the plans within my power... and now the decisions are up to Baby and Hashem - as they always were. I guess one important lesson from these last 4 years is about how many things are outside of my control, whether I like it or not! </p><p>On the other hand, the last few years have also been filled with blessings - Meeting Saleh, Marc's and my weddings, the birth of your 2 (almost 3 grandchildren) and more. Would that you could have been here for all of them... For example - I wish you could have heard me speak at Seudah Shlishit at the end of that first year... I could have chosen any topic - it didn't need to be about missing you! And on your second Yortzeit, wouldn't you have rather held Maggie in your arms than had her named for you? And the pandemic... well - I can't really lay that one at your feet, but I imagine that you and Uncle Paul could have figured something out if you'd put your heads together... maybe you're working together on a solution even now so that we can celebrate your new grandchildren properly - safely surrounded by loving family and friends!</p><p>Bottom line is... I'm still missing you - especially now that I'm on the verge of (finally) becoming a parent myself. I can't believe it's been 4 years... and what years they have been...! I'm not mad anymore (at least not right now) and I recognize that missing you won't really go away, but gosh it's inconvenient. </p><p>Thinking of you with love...</p><p>All of us </p><p>In loving memory of Maury Joseph Fechter - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel (24th Av)</p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-20273774280742135892021-07-22T08:27:00.006-04:002021-07-22T09:11:59.397-04:00The Void You Leave Behind... <p>Dear Uncle Paul,</p><p><span> I know that with your passing, your children and Aunt Joyce are experiencing an immediate hole in their everyday life. I unfortunately know how it feels to miss my father and I remember how you helped me through it nearly 4 years ago. Everyone will experience grief differently, but on the occasion of your Shloshim (has it really been that long?!) I want to tell you about the void you are leaving behind in our extended family. </span><br /></p><p><span><span> You were the keeper of family traditions and memory, the one we turned to with all our questions. You organized our viewings of family movies and projected the old fashioned film onto window shades and blank walls so that we could all watch and discuss. </span></span>You spoke our hearts at every funeral and officiated at every unveiling. You were the designated passenger in the hearse when Grandpa, Grandma and even my father passed away. Who else could volunteer to do such a beautiful last kindness? You knew the locations of family plots across the several NY cemeteries and made annual pilgrimages to visit them all. At the same time, your shabbat table was always festive and joyful and you were the one who led the singing on holidays and special occasions -- you were the obvious choice to lead the longest, most leibedik sheva beracha at my wedding. </p><p><span><span><span> At family gatherings, you brought the laughter. My Donald Duck imitation doesn't hold a candle to yours - I don't know how you were able to make words come across so clearly! You could tell almost any story in a way guaranteed to attract smiles - even just hanging out and shooting the breeze, your laughter came naturally. It was never forced, just honest, true and deep - belly laughter from the heart - and prompted a similar response in all of us. </span><br /></span></span></p><p><span> I'll never forget your enormous salads brought to family gatherings on Thanksgiving and Purim - so large they had to be carried in a clean garbage bag! - with tomatoes on the side for sensitive palates. I'll miss my annual "sukkah hops" to visit you in your heavy wooden sukkah and hearing you talk about those beautiful Angelfish that you nourished so carefully and with such success - you were always proud to show them off. You were the one that we called on for advice from family minhagim to all sorts of fix-it issues. We never had to wait long for you to stop by and help out with whatever needed doing, especially in the last few years -- it was nice to know that my mother could always count on your help and support.</span></p><p><span><span> I've always been impressed by your knack for engaging with all ages - from adults to teens to little ones. No wonder you were the shul Candyman - I'm not surprised that the children lined up to wish you "Good Shabbos" every week! I still see your "Casper the Friendly Ghost" routine in my mind when I think of when the twins were babies and you lifted them up in their sleep sacks to the sound of their giggles! I've always been so proud to be introduced as your niece. Oh how we all love you! </span></span></p><p><span> The void you leave behind is a gaping chasm... for me, for my cousins and for our children. </span>How will we tell your great nieces and nephews how much you meant to us and to our family? Even more important, who will be the "Uncle Paul" for the next generation?</p><p> We love you, we miss you and we won't forget you. </p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>יְהִי זִכְרְךָ בָּרוּךְ </p><p><span> </span>May your memory continue to be a blessing. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-10304118738475253222021-06-22T18:44:00.012-04:002021-07-22T08:49:23.034-04:00Remembering Uncle Paul Kalish, z''l (Melech Yona ben Yidel Dov)<p><span style="font-family: times;">It's so hard to write these words today. My uncle, Paul Kalish, passed away this morning at home after a valiant 10 months battling <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">glioblastoma</span>. I am missing him tremendously </span><span style="font-family: times;">as the memories are piling up and the tears are spilling over.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">My Uncle Paul was my Rock for the year that I was mourning my father. When I could not voice the words, he read my eulogy to my father at the funeral. Then, completely unsolicited, he volunteered to say Kaddish for his brother-in-law... for the entire year! This was no small undertaking. I know that he did it mainly as a kindness to my father, but having company in my journey made it both more bearable and less stressful, as I could count on him on the few days that I was unable to make it to a minyan. At the same time, knowing there was another person sharing my journey of remembering my father in that way made me feel less alone in a lonely period. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">For my whole life, Uncle Paul was my confidant. He was always just a phone call away when I was growing up and I used to talk to him about dating prospects before my parents imagined I was even in a relationship. He listened, gave advice and kept all confidences close to the vest. He had a knack for making everyone laugh in the most positive way, being honest about life's realities and challenges and simply always being there. Always. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Uncle Paul knew just about everyone in the Baltimore Jewish community and his chessed knew no bounds. He used to organize kiddish at his shul and make sure that everything was set up and presented in just the right way. His creative juices flowed in many other areas as well. His jokes were both funny and memorable and his photographs captured all the important occasions. His woodworking skills were second to none - I often heard about how he and my grandfather built the first Aron Kodesh for the Young Israel of North Bellmore when it was founded. I loved to hear him reminisce with my mother about the early days, growing up in Long Island with a houseful of siblings. Uncle Paul's perfect vocal imitations and storytelling skills made the moments come alive for me in my mind! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">I hate that this past year he had to suffer through painful treatments and unimaginable stressors. For someone as good, kind, compassionate and generous as he was, death should have come with greater dignity and ease. My grandmother used to say that he'd give the shirt off of his back if someone needed it. It's true, I've seen him do it. It's been very difficult to watch from the sidelines for the last many months and even more difficult now that the end has come. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">How I'd hoped he'd be able to meet my baby and participate in a meaningful way in a bris or naming ceremony. How I wanted my baby to meet him and know all the love and joy that he had to give! And how I never imagined being in a position where I could not attend his funeral in person and support my mother and family in their grief and mourning. It's just not fair. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">The hardest thing of all is not being able to act. It makes me feel helpless. And like my father before me, all I want to do is try to take away some of the pain that I'm witnessing. Watching from afar and not being able to help... that is the hardest thing. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">But I'm not going to stop at bemoaning the circumstances of the situation. I AM going to act - in his honor and in his memory. Tonight, I'm going to bake challah. Tomorrow, I'm going to watch the funeral on zoom. And after that... I am going to be the Rock for my friends and family - for anyone who wants or needs a listening ear. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Uncle Paul, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for all you've done and all that you have meant to me throughout the years. Your memory is a blessing to everyone who had the privilege to know you. I'm proud to be your niece and so grateful to have benefitted from your love and kindness. I love you deeply and will miss you SO much. </span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xIWUiiwaRCo/YNJqUXQc3II/AAAAAAAA-AA/gNvjLvENyMc_5x1AfDMA9gSLXcTPXxiWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/FM-642%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1875" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xIWUiiwaRCo/YNJqUXQc3II/AAAAAAAA-AA/gNvjLvENyMc_5x1AfDMA9gSLXcTPXxiWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/FM-642%2Bcopy.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6JKTy9B5GMc/YNJqtjStk2I/AAAAAAAA-AI/JrP0mcgw9w4a1TqwV8GzwG7qHEX_rXc7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/FM-518.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6JKTy9B5GMc/YNJqtjStk2I/AAAAAAAA-AI/JrP0mcgw9w4a1TqwV8GzwG7qHEX_rXc7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/FM-518.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDGFeIpjUag/YNJrORNGzXI/AAAAAAAA-Ac/Y1wZO4ju6NEUP1zsI5mFsJ4YBLQ3JuwigCLcBGAsYHQ/s1418/FM-175.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="1418" height="370" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDGFeIpjUag/YNJrORNGzXI/AAAAAAAA-Ac/Y1wZO4ju6NEUP1zsI5mFsJ4YBLQ3JuwigCLcBGAsYHQ/w555-h370/FM-175.jpg" width="555" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-54562053811989100252021-05-24T16:52:00.003-04:002021-07-20T21:56:33.203-04:00A Club No One Wants to Join<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The experience of loss is jarring. Whether preceded by a long illness or a sudden, unexpected parting, it is impossible for the survivors to return to a place of blythe ignorance of the pain induced by the mourning process.</span><div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">What I learned from my own experience of mourning for my father makes me feel both more hesitant and more determined to do my part in offering comfort when the time arises. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">As a friend commented to me in the aftermath of losing her father, "the worst possible thing has happened - how can there be any more sorrow left in the world!" So true. It is unthinkable that so much pain can exist, and knowledge and understanding of the toll my own pain took and the road I've had to travel since only makes such news even harder to bear.</span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">I know I cannot comprehend anyone else's feelings of grief and loss. There are so many many human variables at play. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">And yet, I feel. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">From the other side of the curtain, I find myself tearing up at news of the death of a stranger's aged parent. I cry for a bereft adult child who has lost a parental confident after many years of love and support. And I cannot fathom the loss endured by young children with so many milestones to be experienced in the absence of a beloved parent. And other unspeakable losses... There are no words.</span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">And yet, I feel. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">I feel news of loss more deeply and more keenly than I ever did. Making it simultaneously easier to empathize and harder to offer comfort, because I know that platitudes are not helpful. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">It is a painful conundrum. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">I cannot offer happy hopes that the pain will swiftly go away... because I know it will not. I cannot visit a shiva house without experiencing flashbacks of my own period of intense grief and I wish with all my heart that there was any kind of fix - something I could offer that would make a real impact and lesson the pain of the other. And yet, when I was sitting shiva, I found the greatest comfort from those whose faces showed that they understood - and my heart cried for them too. </span></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div>The experience of losing a family member inducts you into a club that no one wants to join - and even so, we are lucky that Jewish tradition offers beautiful mechanisms such as shiva, kaddish & community/shabbat meals, etc. to help us connect to each other. I feel truly grateful to have found support from my community during my most difficult time and I hope that my experience has, in some way, helped others to find some solace from their own pain. And in my heart of hearts, I wish I could close the club membership so no one would experience further loss or pain. At least not until 120 years. </div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-58289981961034615512021-05-19T16:30:00.003-04:002021-05-20T11:03:44.867-04:00Words Are Not Necessary, But At the Very Least... Leave Your "At leasts" At Home!<p>Mourning is fraught with feeling. Every loss is a new one, a different experience and a myriad of emotions, often unanticipated. When we try to comfort mourners, we sometimes find ourselves at a loss of what to say. And that's when we blunder into inadvertent conciliatory phrases that might not be as helpful as we intend.</p><p><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Raw emotion is uncomfortable. It triggers feelings inside observers, whether we like them or not. Makes us think about our own human relationships, past behaviors, and potential future reactions. We don't like feeling uncomfortable. </span><br /><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">t makes sense that we try to avoid feeling powerless, uncomfortable and unprepared by filling the silence with something <i>we</i> feel to be true. "</span>At least he didn't suffer..." "At least she's resting now..." "At least you got to say goodbye..." Any of these might be accurate, but might not be what the mourner is focusing on at the moment. Maybe, in the face of this loss, all the mourner wanted was a chance to tell their loved one just one more thing... or maybe watching a drawn out illness tore their heart to shreds. It's impossible to know how your words will be received - even from one day to the next - as the mourner grieves their loss. </p><p>"At least he's in a better place...." "At least your father will be a <i>melitz yosher</i> - will intercede for you and you'll get married this year...." These ideas might help <i>you </i>feel better, but everyone's experience is different... and sometimes sharing your belief can cause more pain than healing. This is why it is best to take cues from the mourner themselves. </p><p>What can you say instead when you're searching for words? Try talking about the person who passed away, for example, I like to ask the mourner to share a memory. Even better, if you have a memory to share, go ahead and share it! I found these memories to be priceless because they gave me new insight into my father's life and personality - new memories that I could store away now that I could not make any more of my own. </p><p>Every death is different... </p><p>I cannot decide whether my father's sudden passing was easier or harder to handle than my uncle's slow illness. With my father, we had no preparation and no warning. It's a comfort to me to know that he didn't suffer - <i>I</i> can say that - but I can only imagine what I might have told him or asked him if I'd had the chance. Watching someone deal with a drawn out illness is an entirely different story - in the same thought I don't want to see them suffer but I don't want to lose them either. Seeing a loved one lose themself to Alzheimer's or Dementia feels like you've lost them long before the final moments... and yet, glimpses of their personality still come through at times to remind you of who they are/were. And then there are losses where the mourner was not so close to their relative and keenly regrets the lack of relationship. No "At least..." will fit all of these scenarios; in my opinion, it's better not to try. </p><p>Everyone's experience is painful in a different way, and there really is no comparison. People who have experienced loss are part of a club that no one wants to join and through it we have a unique ability to know what it feels like to be totally lost and adrift after losing a loved one. We know that we can't possibly know how the mourner is feeling. Silence and compassion go a long way. So do hugs and a listening ear. And as hard as it is to hold back the platitudes, let the mourner lead the conversation. They will tell you how they are feeling - and how you can help - if you give yourself space to listen with your heart instead of focusing on planning what to say. Because, the truth is there really isn't anything you can say to make it better. Just being there - physically or virtually - is more than enough. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-15051308438756447592020-08-13T16:32:00.001-04:002021-05-19T16:34:56.632-04:00On the 3rd Yortzeit... <p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">Remembering my father tonight, <b>מרדכי יוסף בן שמואל</b>.</span></span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">3 years. Chazakah. Unthinkable. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the zoomed-in day-to-day reality, life goes on. In the last 3 years, we've celebrated the weddings of both my father's children and the birth of a beautiful granddaughter (my niece) who bears his name. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the zoomed-out realm of existentialist thinking, it's still SO surreal that my father has not been physically present for these milestones. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I miss him deeply, especially in the big moments that remind me of the little things such as his omelets and his dad jokes and the mementos lying around the house. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Forever in my heart, יהי זכרו ברוך!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PY7omtZwAgc/YKV2RUWtc6I/AAAAAAAA9r8/gBasWkYBpu4I6rakKiWrNcFqPLVR898wQCLcBGAsYHQ/117810864_10164103276680381_2614275683434044991_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="756" height="497" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PY7omtZwAgc/YKV2RUWtc6I/AAAAAAAA9r8/gBasWkYBpu4I6rakKiWrNcFqPLVR898wQCLcBGAsYHQ/w373-h497/117810864_10164103276680381_2614275683434044991_n.jpg" width="373" /></a></div></div></div>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-86325758002393726112019-08-25T12:45:00.000-04:002019-09-05T09:19:01.154-04:00The Blessing of My Tears<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Written in memory of my father, Maury Joseph Fechter מרדכי יוסף בן שמואל on his 2nd Yortzeit, כד׳ אב.</i></span></div>
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In honor of my father's 2nd Yortzeit, I have a special request: Please don't apologize for my tears!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the last two years, I've experienced such a variety of emotions that it is sometimes hard to sort them all out. Sadness, loss, grief, anger, love, pride, joy, excitement, longing... the list continues. Getting married was a true emotional high and such a joyous day. Walking to the chuppah without my father by my side was something I had never imagined. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've cried so many kinds of tears in the last two years that it is impossible to keep track... and sometimes impossible to hold them back. And I don't want to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each tear is love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each and every tear is a memory, part and parcel with the emotions it triggers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And each tear keeps my father close to me in ways that I cannot describe. But I will try. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am so very proud to be my father's daughter. He was a kind and compassionate man, who quietly tried to take away pain wherever he could. The Rabbi who conducted my new niece's naming drew a comparison to spices... everyone who met my father walked away with a positive experience. What a high bar he set for the little granddaughter who carries his name! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My father was a talented and gentle dentist who preferred not to be any more intrusive than necessary. I miss him every time I schedule an appointment to sit in the dental chair. Moreover, he was a dental therapist, who helped calm the emotional nerves, while the novicane controlled the physical ones. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I tear up when I hear a familiar cadence, or when my husband unknowingly uses a similar mannerism. I cry to think that my husband never met my father and will never know how wonderfully similar they are in kindness and caring and compassion (as well as punniness and culinary interests). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know it sounds like I'm crying all the time (inside, if not outwardly), but I'm not. I live my life as my father would wish, experiencing positive, happy emotions on a daily basis as well. Sometimes months go by without a tear. Sometimes the floodgates open with a particular trigger. I generally cope pretty well, with moments of weakness here and there. I'm choosing to give voice to those moments now because they have become a part of me and a part of my process. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And because one thing I wish more people understood about grief is that I'm not ashamed of my tears. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I get emotional when thinking about my memories and also when I'm afraid that my memories are getting lost. I'm angry at my father for leaving without warning and, at the same time, glad he didn't suffer. I miss asking him my dental questions - no one will ever take as good care of me in that chair as he did. And I miss the memories I'll never have - of him meeting my husband, walking me down the aisle, and </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">holding my children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's a mixed deck, but it's the hand I've been dealt. My biggest fear is that with time he'll slip away completely. That I'll stop crying one day for good. And I can't bear that thought. Because I want to feel. I need to remember. I must tell his grandchildren and great-grandchildren what a wonderful Zayde they had. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes the tears run quietly down my face, and sometimes they are accompanied by sobs. Sometimes they simply glisten at the corners of my eyes. Sometimes there are long dry spells; while sometimes they come in a flood. But each one is an expression of love. A memory. A thought or a feeling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each one tells me that I can still feel. And for that I'm truly grateful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So please, please... don't apologize for my tears. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Offer me a tissue or a hug, or better yet, offer a memory or ask me to share one with you. Help me remember, help me feel, and most of all, let me add my tears to the river of memory. </span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-62778076694562859282019-03-15T09:57:00.000-04:002019-08-05T09:59:45.750-04:00Offering Comfort After the First Year<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everyone knows that the most acute period of mourning is the days and weeks immediately following the death of a loved one. The only way to survive that time is through the rallying support of one's community. And our community is truly a beautiful one! My family and I were truly comforted by the outpouring of love we experienced from family, friends, and acquaintances in the immediate aftermath of my father's passing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I understand that grief takes many forms for many different people. However, one commonality is the painful loneliness left in the wake of loss. A child, who loses a parent in the natural order, experiences the sudden disappearance of the loving parent who was once easily reachable at the other end of the phone. On the other hand, a spouse is suddenly bereft of the support system of marriage and all that that entails, and is now left living alone and rebuilding life as a newly single adult after many years as a couple. No matter how much time passes, and how many new relationships and routines are formed, our loved ones leave an indelible mark on our hearts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the months and years following shiva, mourners move into a different phase of mourning, lesser-known and little talked about. It's the period of rebuilding a life with gaping silences; a time of learning which friends can be counted upon and which friendships have run their course. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had to draw a line in the sand when planning my wedding, and that line fell very neatly between the friends that reached out to me during my year of mourning and those who seemed to disappear. At my wedding, without my father present, I wanted to feel only support and love and not the pang of fading friendships. The months after shiva are a time when the mourner is trying to forge a new place in the world and come to terms with who they are without their loved one by their side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I have a project for the community. We can call it "Bikkur non-Cholim," or a "Continuation of Nichum Aveilim," or just plain "Being Good Friends and Community Members." Whatever its name, there is a real, genuine need in the community for outreach to those who are suffering. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To be clear, no one wants to be pitied or coddled, especially not healthy, capable, independent adults. That being said, no one wants to be forgotten either, and it is easy to feel that way in the aftermath of a loss. Whether friends keep distance because they are unsure what to say or uncomfortable with this reminder of their own mortality, cutting ties with a healthy widow/er simply because their existence is a reminder of a lost friend is cruel and unusual punishment for the survivor. We all live busy lives, but little touches can go a very long way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's how the community can help in the aftermath of the acute mourning period. </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Call to say "hello" and catch up - ask "what's going on?" or "what are you up to?" </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Extend an invitation to a movie, a show, dinner, coffee, a walk.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Show the person you want to spend time with them because you like them and value their company, not as part of a couple but for themselves and the connection you can forge together.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shabbat invitations! (for a meal or a weekend) </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shabbat can be a very lonely time for newly bereaved, as well as months and years after the event! </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't think that mourning ends after the year of aveilut. It often takes at least a year to make connections when one moves to a new city/town. Getting acclimated in your own city/town in a new phase of life can be even more challenging. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shabbat is a weekly reminder of what was lost and the silence, when alone, can be deafening. </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Send a quick text, a random photo or link to an article you find interesting.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This lets your friend know you are thinking of them and opens lines of communication if/when they want to reach out.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Especially helpful if you don't know what to say.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Most importantly, keep in mind that the point of this outreach is to remind the mourner that they are still loved and valued for themselves, their human traits (humor, kindness, intellect), and not less of a person because one who loved them no longer marks their passage through the world. Everyone wants to be noticed. Let's make an effort and notice those in our community who are hurting and offer what band-aid we can in the form of friendship and kindness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-48375792421351623452018-10-04T11:56:00.008-04:002021-05-24T17:01:13.954-04:00Melitz Yosher <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">It seems to be a popular thing to say when an unmarried child loses a parent - that their now deceased loved one will serve as a <i>melitz</i><i> </i><i>yosher </i>(advocate for justice). From the usage, I gather that this is meant to suggest that the one who passed away will intercede on behalf of the prospective bride or groom to help them find their partner. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">To be brutally honest, and I'm sorry if this offends those who use it, even though I did get engaged during the year of mourning, I have not found this phrase to be very comforting.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">Perhaps this is born of my own feelings of guilt at not being married in time for my father to see it, or from the pressure from the ongoing "<i>shidduch</i> crisis," but I actually cringe each time I hear it. Because, while I don't believe it is intended this way at all, it still comes across to me as though I had a choice to make, a choice between my past and my future, between my father and my fiance (how horrible, right?!). In my head, it echoes as an accusation, which, on top of my feelings of loss and grief, carries its own sting. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">I didn't get a choice. And the more I get to know and love my fiance, the more difficult it becomes to contemplate the idea of making one. Which leaves me wondering... how could anyone be so cruel as to even hint at such a thing?</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">I've started responding to this comment by telling people simply: "I cannot think like that." This seems slightly better and less backhanded than "Maybe I'll appreciate that thought one day." The truth is, there is no comparison between a parent and a husband. One loss does not necessarily lead to another gain that we can see. Consider all the people - my friends - who did <i>not</i> get married during their year of mourning and are still in the dating pool! This comment seems to take advantage of a uniquely vulnerable moment to introduce a hope that may not necessarily play out. I can't imagine how much more painful must it be for them to look back now and remember all the comments about their loved one being a <i>melitz yosher</i> - when it did not come to pass in this particular way. Does that mean their loved one was not effective in interceding on their behalf? Ouch!!! </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">Loss & love are not part of a proportional relationship. It may help me to believe that Gd has a plan, but that's a belief I won't share in an attempt to comfort someone else - because they may not share my belief, and hearing it could trigger feelings of guilt, grief, disappointment, etc. Judaism's approach to comfort is a good one, in my opinion, because it counsels visitors to follow the lead of the mourner. When entering a shiva house, one is not meant to speak until the mourner does, and then only on topics raised by the mourner. This reinforces that the visit is not meant as a platform to espouse the visitors' beliefs, but as an opportunity to help the mourner navigate the various thoughts and worries and regrets they may be feeling. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">Perhaps it is easier for me to accept the comment now because it <i>did</i> happen for me. Even so, the comment still seems somewhat condescending at this time, because it falls incredibly short of expressing all the complicated emotions that I am experiencing.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">Last August I lost my father. But the word "loss" is entirely insufficient to describe the vastness of the connection, knowledge, security, grounding, safety and love that I had easy access to while my father was alive and can no longer enjoy.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">Now, <i>l'havdil</i>,<i> </i>I have a fiance, and soon to be husband, and all the support, camaraderie, friendship, stability, and love that come with him. I am lucky to look forward to our wedding and to a future together. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">I deeply and almost desperately wish they could have met each other. It strikes me to the core nearly every day. My father and my fiance would have found common ground with ease and enjoyed each other's company. It's unfair that they didn't - and the reminder hurts to hear. And with all the wonderfulness that they each brought/bring to my life, their presence is not equivalent or interchangeable. Each holds an important and unique place in my heart, and each is irreplaceable. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">The best and only way I can think of my experience is this:</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">Gd must have a plan for my father. Such a kind and gentle soul, he must have an important place in Gd's entourage. And if Gd needs my father at this time more than I do, I can't help but wish my father success in his new role. I hope he is happy where he is, even if I miss having him here with me. So if Gd decided to send someone new into my life during this time, to support me and tell me where the tissues are and help me find reasons to laugh again -- this I can accept with gratitude, knowing I'm very lucky to have found it. I know that it's not a given - and I know that I've changed as a result of my year of mourning, dependence, and reflection. Maybe that change helped prepare me for this new step, but I still cannot think of it that way. I cannot imagine a world where I needed to lose my father to find my husband. In my reasoning, this is not the definition of <i>yosher </i>(justice)<i>. </i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">In theory, however, it is a lovely idea, and we apply it in practice regularly in our <i>tefilot</i> (prayers), calling on the merits of our forefathers to intercede for us in our petitions to Gd (<a href="http://shofar.org/programs/21-synagogue-programs/303-melitz-yosher-advocate" target="_blank">here's a more detailed explanation</a>). But perhaps it's easier when time has passed and grief is less acute. Maybe we can save this comment for when emotions are less raw... when the person being comforted can appreciate the good intentions and join in celebrating the passing of their loved one into a new phase where they can be a powerful advocate for good and blessing and justice in all of our lives. Maybe we've never thought about the many possible perspectives on this comment before, but perhaps just a little more sensitivity around this issue will bring a reciprocal amount of comfort to all who need it. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Postscriptum</b>: </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">After re-reading this post, I see how strongly it is worded and acknowledge that it is <i>never</i> my intention to make someone feel badly over words used to comfort, even if they do not land as intended. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">I also wonder whether now that I have given voice to my own feelings in reaction to this comment - feelings that I have held inside for more than 13 months - perhaps now I can begin to see this comment from the other side, in the positive way it is meant by people who love me and want to bring me comfort. Maybe, by acknowledging the way my mind has been working, I can start to free myself from the pain of the idea of this horrible choice that I never had and would never want to make... Maybe I can start letting go of the guilt and allowing myself to truly celebrate the beautiful life that lies ahead. Maybe this visceral reaction comes directly from my own psyche, and not from the kind intentions of those who suggest the concept of <i>Melitz Yosher</i>. Either way, the emotions and the pain are real, and very complicated. It is, therefore, my hope that the explanations and perspectives I've shared will help to alleviate triggers of guilt and hurt for others. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-79369645969398925652018-09-27T13:02:00.000-04:002018-09-27T13:05:48.332-04:00A New Normal<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everyone says that firsts are hard. After experiencing a second Yom Kippur, I think that seconds can arguably be worse. First occasions: holidays, birthdays, milestones truly are difficult to weather with a missing loved one. But by the time the second one comes around, it’s the beginning of a new routine. The distraction provided the initial outpouring of sympathy is mostly gone and you are left alone with the reality that your loved one really isn't coming back. And that realization can be just as hard, if not harder. It's a different kind of pain - less acute and raw and more of a subtle dull throbbing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It niggles underneath all of the other mundane thoughts: How can we move on when our loved one is not with us?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And now I’m beginning to wonder if I just imagined it all to begin with… has the father I remember become a figment of my imagination? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know this may sound crazy to some, but for me, this whole experience is tinged with an element of disbelief. Initially, I felt a sense of unreality because my father died so suddenly, with no warning or preparation or closure. At the funeral, I felt like a character in an alternate reality: in the “real” or “parallel story,” my father lived a full life, celebrated his children’s weddings and had the opportunity to dote on and enjoy his grandchildren. In this fictional narrative, the pallbearers are his grandsons and great-grandsons, instead of only loving nephews. In the harsher world of reality, my brother and I both planned our weddings during the year of mourning, and instead of playing with him, my father's grandchildren will bear his name. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that my wedding is approaching in a couple of months, this element of disbelief continues. How can my father not be here to walk me down the aisle?! How can I get married without him?! And how is it possible that my wonderful fiance, who had to comfort me through a year of Kaddish and endless stories, never got to meet him in real life?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the beginning, it just felt strange, knowing my father was not going to be present for holidays and milestones. Now, reality is setting in, with a rough introduction to the concept of “never.” It’s the start of a new normal, and I don’t like it at all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But like most things in life, I don’t get a choice. A year of Kaddish was a logistical challenge, but also cathartic. It was a bit like summer camp, with the crazy schedule and socialization born of repeat encounters with fellow minyanaires. Not to mention, thrice daily opportunities to reflect and cry and miss my father in a real, palpable way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that the first year has passed, I cannot continue to maintain the frenetic pace of barrelling down the street before shacharit, interrupting client sessions to catch mincha, and finding maariv after 9 or 10 PM. Moving forward is hard, but it </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">doesn’t mean I love my father less or that I won’t miss him during all kinds of moments big and small. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t have to like it, but I do have to live it, even if the reality stinks. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surreal or not, this is the hand I've been dealt and there are beautiful occasions coming that deserve my attention, energy and emotions. My father would want me to embrace them and</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> his memory deserves nothing less. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which leaves me getting used to a new normal - and to an even newer understanding of what that means compared to when I first wrote about the concept a year ago. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The thing that helps the most, I've found, is the support of my friends, family, </span>and<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> community. It was hard to look forward to getting married without my father, until a friend started singing <i>Od Yishama </i>over the phone in response to news of our engagement. It didn't begin to feel real until my fiance's extended family started <i class="">kilili</i>-ing in our honor. And when the year ended and my cousins surprised me with a bridal shower (in my own home!!!), it finally became possible for me to start to get excited about the wedding. Shopping expeditions post-mourning have been a proactive way to help me prepare for upcoming events and start feeling fresh and pretty again with a new wardrobe. But most importantly, friends reaching out, asking about the wedding, making plans to be present and celebrate at the out of town event itself or during sheva berachot... these have been important and necessary steps in helping me bridge the gap between grief and living. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">I don’t want to feel my father's loss any less, but I cannot hold onto such an acute hurt forever. I know <a href="https://jewishmourning.blogspot.com/2017/09/seeing-thestrals-initiation-into-new.html">I can see the <i class="">thestrals</i></a>, but I don't have to stand alone when I do. If I have learned anything from this experience, it is that real, human interactions, connections and relationships can add a much-needed cushion to the pain of loss and grief. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's a different reality to the one I envisioned at the funeral, but it has </span>its<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> own inherent beauty that I can't and won't ignore. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I count myself lucky that I have been blessed, not only with happy occasions to look forward </span>to,<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> but to friends I can truly count on to see me through the hard times and help me celebrate the good times that are coming. </span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-15391974468047111842018-08-05T00:38:00.001-04:002018-09-27T13:06:17.960-04:00Yortzeit Reflections: Sensitivity, Community & Chutzpah<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Remarks shared at </i>Congregation Ohab Zedek <i>during Seudah Shlishit on August 4, 2018, on the occasion of my father's first Yortzeit - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel. May his neshama have an Aliyah. </i></span><br /><br />There’s a saying that “the days pass slowly but the years fly.” I cannot believe I’m standing here today on my father’s Yortzeit, marking a whole year without him. It’s been a whirlwind year, with so many milestone moments, both related to remembering my father and adjusting to the new normal, as well as preparing to step into another new chapter in my future. I’d like to take a few moments now to reflect on what I have learned through this year of saying kaddish in shul regularly….<br /><br />My father was one of the kindest, gentlest people you could ever meet. He was a quiet man, unassuming, sensitive soul, who loved to help people heal, both personally and professionally - he was a dental craftsman, skilled, caring and devoted to his art… I learned recently that he even talked about dentistry in his sleep. And my choice to say Kaddish this year, which started as a final gift that I could give him, actually turned into a gift for myself as well. <br /><br />People have said some interesting things this year… well, people say interesting things all the time… and most are very well-meaning. One of the things I’ve heard a lot lately is how much extra time I’ll have on my hands once I don’t have to rush off to shul anymore. It’s true, I won’t miss springing out of bed at the sound of my alarm so I won’t be late for Shacharit - picture the cartoon Goofy landing on a pincushion - arms and legs taught and suspended inches above the mattress. I won’t miss barrelling, (yes barreling.. there’s simply no other word for it) down 95th street like an offensive linebacker, frightening dogs and people out of my way as I raced down slippery marble stairs just in time for Kaddish (I’m so grateful that there are now rugs to absorb the water and make that descent just a little less treacherous). I won’t miss interrupting dates and dinners to catch the last minyan - its hard to forget the night we left my future in-laws waiting in the restaurant between dinner and dessert while we headed down the street for Maariv after Tuesday night learning!<br /><br />But there are plenty of things I will miss - and plenty of unexpected things I gained - from a year of saying Kaddish every day in all sorts of familiar and unfamiliar minyanim: and of these, the main categories are <b>Chutzpah, sensitivity and community</b>. <br /><br />First of all, I have to say that my choice to say Kaddish was not a political statement of any kind, and certainly not an attempt to prove a point about women in Orthodox shuls, although I learned a lot about this topic too. It was not even a commitment to say Kaddish “all year,” but a choice I made (and continue to make) one day at a time. But as a woman choosing to say Kaddish, I surprised myself with a <b>chutzpah</b> I didn’t know I had, barging into Kollels and Chabad houses and collecting men for minyan during conferences and house parties. I advocated for myself with Rabbis and gabbaim, mourners and other congregants with the goal of ensuring a place to stand during the service and a pace for Kaddish that was reasonable enough to follow. Of course, what I felt to be “barging in” was in reality more of a gentle and respectful "acquaintance making" in my father's style, but it still felt strange on many occasions to wait for a mechitza to be set up or to wonder with trepidation throughout the entire service to find out whether Kaddish would be recited at the end. I developed a habit of doing research, calling ahead and arriving early any time I was too far from my “comfort minyanim” - OZ is one of these- where I knew what to expect. I even printed up “Kaddish cards”- business cards that could be easily passed through the mechitza to the minyan leadership, which included my father’s name and yortzeit, along with my blog address, for easy reference. These proved to come in very handy during the year, and my only regret is in misprinting the Hebrew month in which I printed them (after shloshim) instead of the actual Hebrew date of my father’s yortzeit - 24th of Av! <br /><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also watched myself seek out other male mourners and advocate for my needs by asking the men to speak louder, stand near the mechitza, or adjust their pace. On one occasion I even asked certain gentlemen why they felt it necessary to wander through the women’s section during davening…. I’m not sure everyone was pleased with my requests all the time, and while at times I was quite embarrassed by my “big mouth,” I did feel a certain sense of satisfaction because of the way the community rallied to make small but powerful changes that made my Kaddish experience increasingly comfortable, and therefore more meaningful.<br /><br /><b>Sensitivity</b> is the second lesson, and as I’ve already alluded, there are so many things that one notices when one finds oneself in the same place for an extended period of time. Firstly, I noticed how arranging my work schedule around minyan time allowed me an element of relief in knowing that my davening would happen at a specified time that day. While I certainly disliked the initial sprint to get there, once I was in shul, I had the rest of the time to simply be… to be present, to think, to reflect, to fume, to strategize and to feel. I noticed some minor things such as how the shadows fell differently on my siddur depending on whether the mechitza was two inches to the right or left of usual, and how other seemingly small things, like word choice, had a major impact on how welcome I felt in a certain minyan. I learned that idle conversation next to the mechitza adversely impacts the quality of my davening, while a single “amen” to my Kaddish lifts my spirits for the rest of the day. I’ve learned that cameraderie in the recitation of Kaddish offers a band-aid to my suffering soul, while company in shul by women NOT saying Kaddish offers a comfort beyond the power of words, as well as a sense of normalcy in a period of upheaval and stress. <br /><br />I learned to be sensitive to my family’s reactions to our shared tragedy and to how other people reacted to my outward display of grief. I learned to be sensitive to my wonderful fiance and his likes and dislikes, and to recognize his beautiful acts of generosity and patience through a tumultuous year of dating riddled with kaddish. And I learned to be sensitive to myself - to my own feelings, wants and needs and to be more direct and blunt than I have ever had cause to be in the past - and that advocating for myself, with a sensitivity to where the other parties are coming from, was an important step not only for me, but for any women and any mourners who will follow me (but not until 120 on all sides). I also recognize now, from the other end, that a community as a whole cannot be expected to feel the acute mourning experience of the individuals reciting kaddish on a perpetual basis. That said, I have sincerely appreciated the way my comments and requests have been received with empathy and sensitivity in most circumstances. I recognize that it was much easier for a woman to recite Kaddish in 2018 than it has been in years past, but we as a community still have a way to go. Even so, I’ve never been more grateful for Jewish community and I hope that my reflections here and in my blog will serve to help women feel even more comfortable, both here at OZ and in all the communities where we travel. <br /><br />Mourning is a funny thing - as an Avel, one is supposed to separate onself from the <b>community</b> in celebrations, concerts and other happy gatherings. On the other hand, saying Kaddish requires one to step into the public eye to daven daily with a minyan. The overtures of this community, the connections I made this year, and the relationships formed will always hold a special place in my healing heart, including people in this room who don't even realize the impact they have made by their simple presence in shul. I appreciate every person in every city who turned to face me while I recited Kaddish, who offered a verbal response, or who simply stood still and quiet during the recitation. I am forever grateful to the men who either recited their Kaddish loudly or stood near the mechitza so I could hear them to recite Kaddish together. I am especially grateful to those Chazzanim who paused to breathe at the periods during Aleinu so that I could finish the last paragraph before launching into Kaddish at the end of the service. There are no words to express how I felt as certain members of this community took me under their wing, some even offering to interview the guy I was then dating to make sure he was going to treat me right sincemy father could not do so. <br /><br />During this year I found myself in dozens of shuls in at least half a dozen states which showed me the breadth and depth of our <b>greater Jewish community</b>. With countless hours in places I’d never otherwise have ventured into, I learned about sensitivity and kindness in the most unexpected ways. Men I never met volunteered to recite kaddish along with me so that I did not need to recite it alone. Some communities had clear policies on women and kaddish and encouraged me to recite it ‘loud and proud’ (as we say in school). Men set up movable mechitzot upon my arrival in places unaccustomed to having women present. Rabbis reflected on the wording of annoucements and updated policies based on items I brought to their attention. And I met and shared memories with dozens of women who kept me company during their rotation of yortzeits and aveilut, finding myself surrounded and enfolded by a club no one wants to join that is built upon the poignancy of shared pain and effort of memory. I thank all the women who have come before me to pave the way and those who have kept me company through shared loss and commitment and every person, man and woman, who supported, encouraged, assisted and inspired me. <br /><br />I’ve had countless hours to reflect on the whole experience, and have a <a href="http://jewishmourning.blogspot.com/">blog</a> dedicated to my thoughts on various topics related to Jewish mourning and women in shul in general. I welcome your feedback and encourage you to share the posts widely if they resonate with you. Regular synagogue attendance is no small feat - I admire anyone who manages to do so, since it required me to reorganize my entire schedule to achieve - but the benefits of community, connection, consistency, relationships, schedule, routine, etc. - are many. <br /><br />My father was a man of few words, and I had a lot of time this year to reflect on their power. More than anything else, I’ve learned that words can hurt and words can heal and sometimes there are no words and sometimes words have no meaning and sometimes it’s important to say the words regardless - because the saying of them is one positive thing you can do to recognize the memory of a loved one, no matter what it takes to make it happen, because eventually, their meaning will penetrate and because the time it takes to say them is valuable time for reflection about loss and life and love. <br /><br />In memory of my father, Dr. Maury Fechter - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel, I hope that these words will in some small way help to inspire chutzpah, encourage sensitivity and build community in the minds and hearts of all who hear them.</span></div>
Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-42106787916797382892018-06-01T16:32:00.001-04:002018-09-27T13:06:52.824-04:00 Balancing Security and Visitor Access<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">From a security perspective, it goes without saying that synagogues and religious institutions in this day and age need to be cautious about security. There are numerous strategies that I've seen exployed at the many shuls I have visited on this Kaddish tour, including live security guards, cameras, and pass codes, among others both visible and not. These institutions want to ensure that the individuals entering their premises are there for genuine and appropriate reasons. And they have every right to be selective in whom they admit and whom they do not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">From a Jewish perspective, it is a beautiful mark of community that someone can join a minyan anywhere in the world and find familiar texts and rhythms included in the service. I am constantly I awe of how the routines of halacha, and minyan in particular, bring together individuals with diverse languages, perspectives and experiences to achieve a common goal. I continue to be amazed at how the word "Kaddish" is a universal password that elicits warmth, compassion and welcome. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Except when it's not...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And when that exclusion is a function of circumstance and security features operating all too well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last night, my fiance and I tried to catch a late Maariv at a synagogue we had not attended before. We elicited help via Facebook to identity a likely minyan in our target area. As we arrived (on time due to distance, rather than early as is my usual practice at new venues), we observed several men walking toward the entrance. We felt we could relax, we made it in time. We parked the car and approached the entrance ourselves. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, by the time we reached the doors, they were locked. Ringing the bell on the intercom did nothing, as the office wss closed at 9:45 PM. There was no number pad in sight to try the usual suspects. I even approached someone sitting in a parked car, having no idea if he would be friend or foe, to see if I could glean any information. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was not looking for the pass code. Why would I, a visitor on one occasion so far, need access to sensitive security information?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What I did wish, was for a way to alert the people inside the minyan that there was someone outside who wanted to recite Kaddish. We had no way to reach anyone or seek help until the service was over. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For ten minutes we stood outside, trying every means we could think of to gain access. When I finally saw movement in the lobby, I sprinted to the door to ask to be let in to say Kaddish. I was answered with regret that the service had ended. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To the credit of the congregation, when they heard what happened, almost everyone there filed back into the chapel to say a chapter of tehillim so that I could say Kaddish at the end of it. I am grateful for this kindness and show of support and acceptance after the unfortunate ordeal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And now I wonder... what is the solution? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If this happened to me, it can happen to others, and I can't imagine I'm the first to miss a service for lack of communication with the minyan. The reality is that while catching a minyan is not a life and death situation, minutes still matter and emotions are particularly raw. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So perhaps the synagogues that rely on passcodes for access might consider a sign for visitors, with a phone number of someone inside the minyan, or a bell, that can alert those inside that someone would like to join. The synagogue office is typically not open during minyan times, so an alternative point of communication is important. Perhaps this visitor information about communication could also be posted on the website. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ultimately, the question remains for each institution to wrestle with: how can it ensure the security of its members while also opening the door to visitors who genuinely wish to connect. </span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-80556256164998580812018-03-19T21:45:00.001-04:002018-03-22T20:37:35.825-04:00More Perspectives from the Other Side of the Mechitza - by Michal Greenspan<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Michal Greenspan has bravely and graciously agreed to share her perspective as a regular minyan attendee and a woman who is </i>NOT<i> saying Kaddish. May she not need to learn about Kaddish until 120 on all sides, and may we benefit from her wisdom to improve the experience of Minyan for all, men and women inclusive. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>It is inspiring that Michal focuses on the varying reasons why people attend minyan and emphasizes the positive: "</i></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Understanding what makes other people connect to elements of religion can be inspiring and thought-provoking, and so I encourage you to continue to learn why people do what they do. But be sensitive</span>....<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Not everyone shows up to shul for the same reason. That’s what makes us interesting."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Michal also writes: "</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted to share what it means to be on the other side of the mechitza when you’re not saying Kaddish. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">To be trying to connect, only to be made to feel like an outcast..." <i>Isn't it a shame that someone so committed to exploring and building her relationship with both God and her community is made to feel this way? No wonder so many women find minyan attendance a challenge when they are not compelled by circumstances! </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>On a personal note, women like Michal have been my mainstay during these last few months. It has been heartening to have the companionship of other women during the service, especially those whose arrival does not break my heart through the shared grief of a joint Kaddish. Standing lonely on the other side of a barrier is no picnic, and only heightens the experience of loss and disconnection that a mourner can feel - especially when compared to the camaraderie and social capital that builds among men on the other side of the Mechitza. This is one of the reasons I stopped attending daily minyan many years ago, long before I was faced with Kaddish. Wouldn't it be beautiful to see a community of women in attendance every morning - mourners and non-mourners alike - so that those of us reciting Kaddish could have someone to turn toward us and respond? I yearn for the day when women's weekday attendance can grow to a place where I can greet others with "Good Morning" rather than "I'm sorry for your loss." </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Perhaps this begins by encouraging women to attend Minyan once a week, on any day of the week - not as an attempt to obligate ourselves in the time-bound commitment but to simply help us find that elusive spiritual connection long before Kaddish enters the picture. Or perhaps it begins with some important steps on the part of the community to ensure that women feel comfortable once they do arrive. Either way, let's brainstorm together how to ease the path for all. Please use the comments as a forum to share ideas and thoughts for supporting the women of our collective community. </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By Michal Greenspan</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s been about 5 months since I’ve been attending morning minyan on a regular basis. What started as a quasi-experiment, has become a ritual routine, so embedded in my daily schedule, that without it I feel un-whole- which is unexpected, considering there have been long stretches of times in my life that I didn’t daven at all.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b id="m_-82368375206187134gmail-docs-internal-guid-78aa3323-3e90-e358-3588-47055b9b4dc5" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mother has always been extremely spiritual. “Jewish music is food for the soul,” she says. JM in the AM would blare on the radio every morning before school, and every month I wake up to a text reminding my brothers and me that it’s Rosh Chodesh.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was younger my mother would try to encourage me to daven </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1644591668" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Friday</span></span> nights</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> or </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1644591669" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span> mornings</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, but I was generally apathetic and somewhat cynical. And as I got older, she stopped asking. Instead, she would simply do. She’d pause our </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1644591670" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Friday</span></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> night conversations to recite Kabbalat Shabbat or delay a </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1644591671" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> morning activity so she could finish saying Tehillim.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I grew up in a house of brothers. I never felt left out of their minyan attendance. Honestly, I felt grateful. Being religious is hard. I wasn’t looking to add another thing to the list of dos and don'ts. I was never the woman who wanted to Lain, or carry the Torah, or put on Tefillin. In so many ways, I just didn’t care.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I used to make fun of my mom for her spirituality. I grew up in a house of faith, but in schools of logic, ritual, & thought. I spent more time learning Gemara than Nach. I was taught to think critically. To find meaning in text rather than song.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And yet, as I’ve gotten older, and gotten further and further from the years of formal Jewish education, I’ve found myself looking for ways to connect. And surprisingly, it has been through elements of religion that I used to laugh off. Zmirot. Jewish Music. Tefillah. I think more than anyone, I am the most surprised by how much the religious experiences I connect to have changed over time. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Recently someone asked me why I go to minyan. “Are you saying Kaddish?” he asked. And on multiple levels, the question stung. Because no, thank God, I am not, although I am surrounded on a daily basis by men and women who have committed their time to doing so. Would you ask a man that question, I wondered? Would I be more or less offended if I actually were saying Kaddish? I understood on some level why he asked. Most of the women who come to minyan say Kaddish. I would be lying if I said that when a new woman appears at minyan, I don’t look up during Kaddish to see if she too is part of the mourners club. Because we have been raised in a world where the norm is for women to show up once a week, often hours late, without any explanations or demands to do better. I’m not here to reform these expectations. As a community could we do more to encourage women to participate more? Of course! There are a million things we could be doing better, hundreds of ways we could up our standards. But I think a simple place to start is creating spaces where women feel just as comfortable as men to show up every morning to daven, without having to be the only ones to answer the question of “why are you here?” I’m happy to explain why; I know why you’re asking. But how many men have been asked the same question?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To say I started going to minyan because I was seeking religious guidance and connection </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">only </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">would be a lie. Sure a part of it was what many seek from religion. To feel part of something larger than themselves. To feel inspired. But I’ve realized, as I’ve been getting older and needing to learn to manage my own time, that structure is something I require. And so, honestly, a big part of Minyan for me has been adding another element of structure to my day, both religiously and logistically. It’s also really been about trying to focus. To try to stretch out the time I devote to thinking about what I want, or need, or am grateful for to more than the five minutes I used to carve out in between getting dressed and eating breakfast (which I’ll admit is not always successful). </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There have been both men and women who have been encouraging of my daily routine. Whether it be a simple smile or wave of recognition when they see me on the street outside of shul, or a simple remark that they’re impressed that I go, which I don’t find offensive because honestly, I’m impressed by anyone who goes. It’s hard. And maybe it shouldn’t be. We don’t congratulate people for keeping kosher or Shabbat. But in the world we live in, minyan has become a challenge, and finding ways to connect to God is really really difficult, and it would be unfair of me to say that it’s easy for anyone. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the same time, I think people overhype it sometimes. I was reluctant to write about my experience. Even to talk about it. Mostly because although minyan is somewhat public, for me it is personal. I do it for myself. I don’t expect others to congratulate me or pat me on the back for committing to something. Everyone makes commitments- religious or personal- public or private that can be challenging or easy.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I’m sharing for a few reasons.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because I found something that works for me. That works on religious and logistical levels for me at this time in my life and in some ways has become a little easier for me than I expected. And so I’m trying to lean into it. I’m not saying this to minimize my commitment, rather to say that it doesn’t have to be this. It doesn’t have to be every day. It doesn’t have to be religious, or public, and it doesn’t need to require waking up early. And so if you find something similar or wholly different, but something that brings you some sense of fulfillment I hope you try to embrace it, because your ability to commit to it may surprise yourself most out of everyone.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because I found my mother’s actions inspiring, but maybe you connect to written words, and so here they are. I’m not a Rabbi or teacher by any stretch of the imagination. But I’m aware that there are many elements of my religious and personal life that require more effort and could use more growth. I’ve found reading other people’s experiences to be helpful at varying moments in my life, whether it be as a point of connection, inspiration or even contradiction so if this helps encourage you or make you think differently in any way, then I’ll be glad I shared.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I wanted to share what it means to be on the other side of the mechitza when you’re not saying Kaddish. To be trying to connect, only to be made to feel like an outcast in the hopes that maybe we can try to be a little better. It’s ok to ask why I go to minyan. Understanding what makes other people connect to elements of religion can be inspiring and thought-provoking, and so I encourage you to continue to learn why people do what they do. But be sensitive. Ask everyone. Men too. Understand that your questions may be laced with bias whether intended or not, or simply try to ask without a sense of judgment or assumption. I’ve found, it’s much easier to learn this way. Not everyone is saying Kaddish for the same reason. Not everyone shows up to shul for the same reason. That’s what makes us interesting. That’s what makes this religion thoughtful and bigger than just a group of people going through the same motions like robots.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I think on a more personal level, I also wanted a way to express something that maybe everyone else already knew, but I’m just starting to learn; my relationship to Judaism and God is in constant flux, and the things that once made me scoff, make me feel inspired. And the cynicism I thought had been embedded in my religious observance, was simply just an emotional reaction like any other, that has the ability to change with time and with experience. And that’s what makes religion dynamic and exciting. And I think maybe it’s what makes our connection with God an actual relationship. And maybe <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1644591672" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tomorrow</span></span> I’ll wake up cynical again. Who knows? But for now, this works. So I’m trying to embrace it. </span></span></div>
Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-70091132525067735372018-03-19T19:24:00.003-04:002018-03-21T10:11:40.364-04:00What Can I Do To Help?<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Kids, when your best friend loses someone, you drop everything and rush to his side, only to find yourself standing there with no idea what to do or say." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> - Episode: "Last Words," </span><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How I Met Your Mother</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's hard to know how to help, even if you have experienced loss before. Every loss is different and every person grieves differently, but there are some concrete steps you can offer in an attempt to ease the difficult time. Just remember that not all gestures will be accepted and appreciated by everyone, so tread forward with care and sensitivity. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><u>During Shiva:</u></b></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pay a shiva call. </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You don't have to say anything at all. Your presence alone will show the mourner you care and they will talk to you (or not talk) as the spirit moves them.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your simple presence brings much comfort in this time, whether you are a close friend or a more distant connection. </span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Send in a meal.</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Be advised - some Shiva homes are overwhelmed with offers of food and meals, while others have fewer connections reaching out to help. Try to find out the lay of the land - who is coordinating, what meals are needed for the week. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Aim for variety and/or try to find out what foods the mourners prefer - healthy, dessert, snacks, drinks, cut vegetables, etc. Try to help mourner retain normal eating routine, though eating may be a challenge at this time. Don't be offended if your offer is not accepted or enjoyed in the way that you hoped.</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Offer to coordinate offers of assistance or help direct offers to the Point Person.</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For meal planning, there are websites that can help with this: mealtrain.com or TakeThemAMeal.com. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There should be a point person coordinating orders of this nature as well as the mourners' needs throughout the week, re: minyan, shopping, food, medical concerns, etc. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Once you know who the point person is, help direct other friends to that person so the offers of help can be coordinated in a way that is constructive without adding unnecessary extra work. </span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><u>After Shiva</u></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Note: the mourner will need support for a long time to come. Here are some actions that can be taken throughout the year and years to follow.</span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Put a note in your calendar several months out to reach out. </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is often a beautiful outpouring of help offered to mourners during Shiva and even during the weeks of the Shloshim. However, as life gets back to normal, people fall back into usual routines and the outreach grows much more scarce.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Phone calls throughout the year are welcome and appreciated because they help the mourner feel the support of the community, while they are still grieving for their lost relative. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't be hurt if the phone call is not returned immediately. I received many emails/calls/texts/facebook messages/etc. during Shiva and after. I have not forgotten the feelings they engendered, nor the people who sent them. Each one helped me to feel the love of my friends and community, even if I was unable to respond in what most would call a "reasonable timeframe." </span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Assist or keep them company during routine household tasks.</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I found challenges in accomplishing things that once came easily, which lasted for months after shiva. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Organizing paperwork, paying bills, cleaning my apartment, planning meals, shopping, laundry, and even returning phone calls might have been easier with someone nearby, encouraging me to put one foot in front of the other. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Go ahead and offer to assist with a specific task, but don't be offended if this offer is not accepted. It may be embarrassing for the mourner to ask for this kind of assistance, or it may not even cross the mourner's mind (it didn't for me except once or twice for big projects), but when I did have the company, it was very helpful. </span></li>
</ul>
<li> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perform or help with a specific task: </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">example: "I'm going to the grocery store, pharmacy, etc. this afternoon. What can I pick up for you?"</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">or even suggest specific items: "Can I bring you Orange Juice, toilet paper, Advil, etc." </span></li>
</ul>
<li> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Company for a minyan. </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For both men and women saying Kaddish, this is not an easy step, especially in the first days, and company can be helpful for moral support.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Note - for myself, I always appreciated the company, even when I was simultaneously concerned that my saying Kaddish - so painful for me - might also be painful to my friends who had not yet experienced loss. I was afraid to make others hurt on my behalf (it is still difficult for my mother to hear me recite the Kaddish). </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Attending minyan with a friend in mourning is a kind, generous gift, just prepare in advance for the emotional impact both on you and on them. </span></li>
</ul>
<li> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Go out for a walk, a museum, a drink.</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Find out what restrictions the mourner is observing during the period of Aveilut and find an activity that falls within accepted parameters. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Distractions are good (at least they were for me).</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Allow the conversation to flow.</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Note - grief is different than depression. The mourner need not (should not) be focused exclusively on their loss all the time. Moments will come that trigger strong emotions of sadness, but mourners will experience a full range of emotion throughout the year. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is not necessary to continually redirect the conversation to focus on the loss or ask how the mourner is feeling. Asking what the mourner is <i>doing</i> at the moment will allow the mourner to guide the conversation in the direction that best suits their mood.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Allow them to enjoy moments when they do not focus on their absent loved one - the moments when they do remember will be plentiful enough. </span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Invitations to Shabbat meals or to spend a Shabbat/holiday at your home.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The mourner may feel lonely at times, especially around Shabbat and holidays. Even if the offer is not accepted (for whatever reason - prior obligation, etc.), the invitation will help the mourner feel loved, wanted and appreciated. </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Exercise.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Offer to go out for a run, attend an aerobics, yoga, spin class, or something you know is in the mourner's ballpark. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Setting aside time and motivation to work out can be challenging, as time seems to take on new meaning and move slower/differently than before the loss. Helping to encourage healthy routines (in a pleasant, friendly way) and offering your company & moral support may be appreciated. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>A Word of Caution: </u></b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">While we know you mean well, sometimes open-ended offers are hard to accept. Here are two phrases I heard very often... and how they often landed, especially early on. If you have used these words in the past, don't waste time feeling bad. Just please keep these nuances in mind for the future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[Reposting from "<a href="https://jewishmourning.blogspot.com/2017/10/what-to-say-and-what-not-to-say.html">What to Say (and Not to Say)</a>"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> me know how I can help.” </span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know you mean well, but now I have to a) remember that you offered, b) think about your want/need to help me, c) find a job for you, d) look up your phone # or contact info, and e) reach out and <span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ask</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> you to do it. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; white-space: pre-wrap;">You really want to help? Call me with a specific offer. I’ll know you’re there and willing to help and will be more likely to either give you a job right then or think of you later when I need the same job done. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; white-space: pre-wrap;">Remember, I don’t know yet what I’ll need to get me through the next days and weeks and months, and the needs may change and evolve with time. Please don’t be offended if I don’t take you up on this well-intentioned offer. </span></span></li>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Call me if you need anything or want to talk.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ditto above. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sentiment is sweet it's hard for me to keep track of all these generous offers. For now, checking in every so often and asking </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>what</i> <i>I'm up to</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial;"> (rather than </span><i style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">how I'm doing</i><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">) will be much appreciated.]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These are just a few ways to help... throughout the year and beyond. Use this list as a jumping off point for brainstorming additional ideas. Please feel free to share them in the comments. The more we gather, the more equipped we will all be to support those in our community when the need arises.</span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-24694119615687342452018-03-18T08:47:00.000-04:002018-03-21T10:23:41.008-04:00Insensitive Speech for $1000 - Please Keep Your Judgements and Backhanded Compliments to Yourself<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know that it can be hard to find the right words of comfort in the face of someone else's grief. There are times when I struggle to know what to say or how to help. Choosing words is not always easy, however, I've come to discover that there are some comments that cause more harm than help. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm sure that there are good intentions behind these comments. However, on reaching the recipient, they can be less than complimentary or even exclusive. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You may note that some of these comments are gender-specific or may affect a woman very differently than a man hearing the same words. </span></span><br />
<span class="_40fu" style="align-items: center; direction: ltr; display: flex; flex: 1 1 0%; float: none; letter-spacing: -0.12px;"><span class="_2u_d" style="display: flex; margin: 0px 2px; position: static; top: 50%; transform: none; width: auto;"><span class="_5zvq" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 20px; margin: 0px; width: 20px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i alt="" class="img sp_4u97HTpjmDY sx_e0434d" style="background-image: url("/rsrc.php/v3/yx/r/kEWrJ8QVNxC.png"); background-position: 0px -334px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: auto; display: inline-block; height: 20px; margin: 0px; width: 20px;"></i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you find yourself leaning toward any of the statements on this list, please consider the nuances and alternate meanings described below. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a general rule of thumb,</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.12px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> be mindful of the questions you ask any mourner, but certainly, don't ask a woman any questions you would never think of asking a man. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you can think of additional comments that would be preferable, please share so we can enhance this list with constructive advice for those who seek it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Charged Comment: <b>Is anyONE in the Shloshim?</b></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This one really caught me at the beginning of my foray into Kaddish. Fresh out of the shiva house, I would be waiting for the service to begin, perhaps chatting with someone else in the synagogue, and all of a sudden, the word shloshim caught my attention as surely as a "squirrel!" running through the room. Yes, I'm in the shloshim, I responded immediately in my head. Then realizing that the men were looking for a MAN to lead the service, I realized on the second beat that those asking were not computing the fact of my presence or my pain in being both summoned and excluded at the same time. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Try this instead: "<b>Does anyONE have a chiyuv </b>(obligation)<b>?"</b></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In an Orthodox setting, the halachic obligation to lead a service, pray with a minyan, falls squarely on the men. While I am choosing to recite Kaddish regularly this year to honor my father's memory, I do not have the same obligation as a man to lead the service and I accept this differential by choosing to attend an Orthodox synagogue to recite Kaddish. Thus, this is the best way to make this announcement in this setting (in my opinion) and encompasses both Shloshim, Yortzeit and the year of Aveilut.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another option: <b>"Is anyMAN in the Shloshim?</b>" </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This question at least acknowledged my presence in the room and my pain in being bereft of my parent. The anyONE question tries to be inclusive, yet does not address the elephant in the room which is known by any who choose to pray in an Orthodox setting. Being direct and acknowledging the obvious goes a long way. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Charged Comment: "<b>Wow, you go to Minyan 3 times a day! That's a lot!"</b></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This comment hits in two ways, depending on who is speaking. One perspective hits like a backhanded compliment: "Wow, that's so impressive that you make the effort to go so much!" In my head, I want to respond: "Ok, thanks, but I'm not going because I want to... I'm going because it feels like the right thing to do while I'm mourning my father."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other side comes across more as a judgment "Why are you bothering to go to synagogue so often? Don't you know that women aren't obligated in this?" To which I want to respond: "Yes, I do know, and I've encountered many challenging situations as a woman entering a man's space to say kaddish. It's definitely not easy, and often more challenging for me than for the men who are in the same position. And yet, it still feels like the right thing to do for me at this time to honor my father as I move through the mourning process. So please keep your judgments to yourself." </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Try this instead: <b>"That takes dedication." </b></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Keep it neutral, and try to keep the judgment out of your voice. If you want to continue the conversation, try one of these. I have plenty to say about the experience itself, but I'd rather not feel the need defend my choices in casual conversation.</span></li>
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<li><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What have you learned? </b></li>
<li><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What have you found meaningful? </b></li>
<li><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What challenges have you encountered?</b></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Charged Comment: "<b>Don't you have any brothers?"</b></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are many ways to answer this, but all of them ask me to defend my choice to recite kaddish myself. I am my father's child - why shouldn't I honor him by saying Kaddish? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What if I don't have any brothers? Does that mean I should outsource Kaddish to someone outside the family simply because I am my father's daughter and not his son? Why can't I also honor my father by saying Kaddish as his CHILD? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What if I have a brother who is choosing a different path? For starters, it's not your place to remind me of this. Families come in all shapes and sizes and choices and your judgment that my brother should be saying Kaddish instead of me (or in addition)... well, maybe it's not something I haven't thought of before. Maybe that's one more hurt that I'm feeling, at the same time as I'm saying Kaddish for my father. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What if I have a brother who IS saying Kaddish? Am I not my father's child too? Why should Kaddish be limited to only one of my father's children because he is male?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And finally, why is MY family situation YOUR business? I came to you to find an opportunity to say Kaddish with a minyan. Please save your judgments for a more opportune time (or never). </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Try This: <b>Just don't ask. </b> If curiosity overwhelms you, perhaps ask "<b>Do you have any company in saying Kaddish for your father?</b>" But read the knee-jerk responses above before deciding whether satisfying your curiosity is the best choice for the moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Charged Comment: "<b>Wow, look at all the beautiful women in Shul today!</b>"</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is another backhanded compliment. Because women are not halachically obligated in daily communal prayer, those who do attend often do so because they are saying Kaddish. As such, your comment is tantamount to "Look how many beautiful grieving women we have in shul today!" I'm sure this is hardly what you mean to say, as I'd like to believe that you would never want to call attention to our pain. Yes, there is some beauty in the camaraderie that forms when people come together to achieve a certain goal, but the response to your comment, at least in my head, reads: "yes, I'm here today, because I'm saying Kaddish. I wish I didn't have to be here for this reason, and I wish even more that you didn't feel the need to remind me that I'm here in Shul today because my father is not." </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Try This: <b>NOTHING. </b></span></div>
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<li><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't say anything. </b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not your place to comment. Move on. At the very least, comment on the camaraderie that you see or offer to be a listening ear. Perhaps try "</span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's good to see you today, how is saying Kaddish going?</b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">" or even better... if you happen to be an officer of a Shul, ask how the Shul can make saying Kaddish easier for women in the future. Now THAT would be a help, more than a hindrance!</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Charged Comment: "<b>How much time do you have left (to say Kaddish)?"</b></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ouch. This one really hurt in ways I didn't see coming. First of all, it required me to calculate how long it has been since my father passed away and how much time remained of my marathon year of Kaddish. As exhausting as it is and has been, contemplating the end of the year (or the eleven months) cut like a knife, as it forced my feelings of loss and fear of the end of this structured mourning period into sharp, unwanted focus. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Though it seems like a long time, now that I'm past the halfway point of the year, every additional day that I <i>get</i> to go to Shul and recite Kaddish for my father feels like a gift... a last lingering connection with my father. I dread the day that will mark the end of this period of intense and daily remembering and begin a chapter of a new normal where my first thought on waking up is something other than "Daddy" and the idea that there is still something concrete that I can do with my feet/body/words/&soul to honor him. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course there are times when I, myself, look forward to lazy Sundays and sleeping in perhaps a little later some days of the week. Don't think for a moment that it's not hard some days and weeks. I have not yet figured out (at the 7-month point) what role prayer/minyan/shul will play in my life after the end of this year. It's hard to wrap my mind around the idea of "THE END" juxtaposed with the challenges I'm currently facing. Please know that I don't mean to jump down your throat with my response to your innocent question - these thoughts are just something I need to express somehow, some way, and this blog has become my forum for doing so. I hope I will not be quite so stark in person!</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Try This: "<b>How long has it been?" </b></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This may not seem substantively different than the first comment, but it allows me to stay in the moment and focus on what I have done until now, rather than on the dwindling time I have left to continue to do it.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you have caught yourself using any of these charged comments in the past, don't waste time feeling bad. Just try to choose your words more carefully going forward. I appreciate your all of efforts to help, especially when your intentions are good and the words just don't come out as you or I would have wished. Thank you many times over for all of your love and support in this difficult time. </span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-45936851580943871722018-03-12T22:11:00.001-04:002018-03-19T22:39:38.030-04:003 Wishes - for minyan related peace of mind<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nearly 7 months of attending daily minyan to say Kaddish for my father has given me much time to reflect on the minyan experience itself, among many other related topics. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thankfully, my experiences have been overwhelmingly positive, and the bumps in the road have been relatively minor, all things considered. If my small gripes here and there have painted a negative portrait of a woman's experience in shul, and wish to apologize to any institutions or individuals who have been maligned by my processing these experiences in a public forum. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the same time, the conversations on Facebook and otherwise have helped me to distill three distinct wishes that would make the experience so much easier.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><u><b>Three Wishes:</b></u></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>A place to stand/sit/daven</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Security in knowing that there will be opportunity to recite/hear Kaddish when the time comes</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Knowing that there will be time to recite Aleinu before Kaddish begins</b></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me explain each in greater detail:</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A place to stand/sit/daven</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Knowing before I arrive that there is a designated space for woman would greatly mitigate the anxiety I feel before attending a new minyan. Wondering what I am walking into, pushing myself to arrive extra early to allow time to setup, negotiate for, or locate the Women's Section adds an additional element of discomfort/anxiety/anticipation on a regular basis. Once I know the lay of the land, the second visit is always easier!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How synagogues can help: </span></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">note on the website that there is an accessible, regularly available Women's section - or a listing of whom to reach out to in advance to make arrangements before arrival </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">post signs pointing clear directions to the Woman's Section for visitors who might not know the building</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">have a woman's section set up, free of men, at every service, whether women attend regularly or not. I can't count how many times I have been the only woman in attendance, and there have been times that I have not been able to arrive early. </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The anxiety of arriving late coupled with not knowing whether there will be a place to stand can be overwhelming at times and has nearly caused me to miss out on Kaddish. </span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2. </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Security in knowing that there will be opportunity to recite/hear Kaddish when the time comes</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For a woman who is not, in some communities, permitted to recite Kaddish aloud by herself, there is an added element of wondering whether there will be someone in the men's section available to recite Kaddish in the appropriate time. At Mincha and Maariv, the Kaddish occurs only at the end of the service. On days when I recognize fellow "club members" in the crowd, I know that time will be allotted for Kaddish and that I will be able to hear and follow along without difficulty. When I don't recognize anyone in the crowd, I find myself anxious throughout the service wondering whether there will be someone present to recite Kaddish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How synagogues can help:</span></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Note on the website the Shul's policy when it comes to Kaddish -</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whether a woman can recite Kaddish alone or accompanied</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whether the Shul has a custom of reciting Kaddish regardless of whether a male mourner is present (there are many reasons for this, but not knowing whether or not this is the case in a particular minyan has caused me no small angst over time). </span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A sign, a flag, a nod, a conversation... to let me and/or other women know that Kaddish will be recited and what our responsibility is vis a vis the Shul custom: recite alone, follow along quietly, follow along aloud, etc. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Make sure that the men reciting Kaddish in various areas in the room are synchronized, so that women can easily hear and follow. If possible, mourners stationed near the mechitza allow for the easiest follow by women mourners. </span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3. </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Knowing that there will be time to recite Aleinu before Kaddish begins</b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Different leaders lead at different paces. That said, many seem to rush through Aleinu at breakneck pace. Given that Aleinu is almost always followed by Mourner's Kaddish, would it not make sense to slow it down just a smidge so that mourners can complete the Aleinu without racing against time? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How synagogues can help:</span></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Create a policy whereby Aleinu is given an extra beat or two on a consistent basis so that mourners looking toward Kaddish might be able to predict the amount of time allotted and pace themselves accordingly. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Extend the the leader's repetition so that mourners have a bit more notice in advance of Kaddish.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Based on conversations with other mourners, I think that if synagogues took steps to grant us these three wishes, our experiences saying Kaddish would be greatly ameliorated. Any additional steps they can take toward smoothing the way in these three categories would be vastly appreciated. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-16590943433909437622018-01-09T09:32:00.001-05:002018-03-19T22:39:57.946-04:00Men: Please Don’t Sit in the Women’s Section!<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This is a pubic service announcement for all men who choose to sit in the </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">women’s section out of convenience, comfort, curiosity, or just sheer ignorance. </span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-a723e1e9-db57-471e-07d6-9eb01c179e2b" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">You may never have thought about it before and your sitting in the </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">women’s </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">section may be completely accidental on one particular day - but it matters. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or you may be someone who likes to spread out, and you see a whole empty (for now) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">section where you won’t have to share a row with another man. But the fact that </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">so many men seem to make this choice on a regular basis truly baffles me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">In many Orthodox synagogues, men have 75-90% of the space at their disposal </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">on a weekday, so I wonder why some decide to also claim the tiny corner reserved </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">for us women. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">To all of you, I ask this question:</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Have you (man) ever stopped to consider how your choice could affect the </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">women for whom that section is designated?</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Please take a moment and try to imagine how you might feel if, already </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">running late for Mourner’s Kaddish, you arrive at shul and need to </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">displace one (or several) men from the women’s section in order to join the service. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Outcome:</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Those few moments of movement may prevent you from reciting the Kaddish! </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The discomfort of the encounter itself may last a few moments into</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">your prayer, affecting your mood and your ability to focus on the words and your intention. </span></span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now imagine if that woman was your own mother or sister or wife or daughter... </span></span></li>
</ul>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And when this happens again and again, it takes a toll. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">After 4 months of Kaddish, there are probably about an equal number of times </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that my simple presence has displaced men from the women’s section as not. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’ve tried to be polite and non-judgemental about it, asking “Is this the Women’s </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Section?” when I arrive, instead of “Can you (man) please move from this section </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">designated for me (woman) so I can stand here to say Kaddish for my father.” </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But after five encounters in the last two days, I’m tired of being subtle. From now on, </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I plan to ask the men WHY they choose to sit in the women’s section.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Here’s a tip:</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">If you can’t answer that question with something other than “Oops” (really?!) or “I was </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">going to move when you got here” (not helpful) -- or anything that will make me feel better </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">about displacing you by my simple presence and potentially missing the Mourner’s </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kaddish that I came to recite… well, please, please, PLEASE… just DON’T sit in the </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">women’s section!</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Final note to all the men out there who want to help:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Please spread the word among members of your gender and help reserve the </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">women’s </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">section for women. We may not always manage to arrive at the beginning </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">of the service, </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">but it’s doubly hard to run late and then negotiate for a place </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">to stand. Your help with keeping the women’s section clear of men will be </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">invaluable to all women who ever enter a synagogue to pray.</span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-68227906785201548652017-12-20T21:30:00.000-05:002017-12-20T21:36:58.358-05:00Holidays - Prepare To Be Unprepared (The First Chanukah Without Dad)<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everyone says that moments of remembering can hit at the most unexpected times. I am finding this to be very true.<br /><br />In hindsight, I guess that I should have expected the wave of sadness that hit me in the middle of lighting Chanukah candles this first year. I called home like I always do, with the intention of keeping my mom company as we lit the candles together across the distance. Intellectually I knew the facts on the ground, but I didn’t stop to think about the implications for this favorite tradition. In the middle of singing the blessings, though, I remembered that singing all six verses of “Maoz Tzur” was a special ritual my dad and I shared every year. My voice broke. It was hard to continue. Realizing that I would not hear his voice this year caught me by surprise - even though I well knew the reality. It was somewhat comforting to sing his own improvised tune to “Hanerot Halalu,” but truth be told, it is nearly impossible to sing and cry at the same time. <br /><br />Holidays present an extra challenge for our grief, especially during the first year. Just as we need to get accustomed to the new reality of the absence of our loved one during daily routines, we need to find a new normal for holiday celebrations. The challenge is that these “special occasions” are more memorable for the traditions they invoke and more poignant for their lack of frequency. This means we have less opportunity to practice adjusting to the change. <br /><br />I’d like to offer suggestions for how to prepare for the moments that catch us off guard… but I can’t. At least not after only 4 months in this new reality.<br /><br />The best I can do is take the moments as they come and remember that the tears are a reflection of my love for my father. I guess like finding new love, remembering also happens when we least expect. Those we love impact our lives in more ways than we can count; their presence in our lives constitutes such a powerful part of who we are that moments large and small will trigger emotions both at times we can anticipate and at times we can’t. <br /><br /><br />If I could offer any advice to myself and others in the future, it would be this:<br /><br />Holidays can be hard. Especially at first. <br /><br />Treasure and savor the memories, but don’t miss out on making new ones. <br />Take pictures and enjoy the company of those around you. <br /><br />And carry tissues… because there really is no way to prepare to be unprepared.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7170078241389619578.post-12282377119393152962017-11-30T19:02:00.000-05:002018-01-11T22:42:43.056-05:00Food Serving and Storage During Shiva<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Part of the shiva experience is the community mobilizing to send in meals for the mourners and their families. Friends and non-immediate relatives take care of serving the meals and managing the kitchen, while the mourners receive comfort from callers. The amount of food gifts can be overwhelming, and if not treated strategically, can spoil and crowd the refrigerator. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All scheduling and planning of meals should go through one point person. There are online tools such as www.takethemameal.com that can assist with this process. For all gifts, be sure to record both</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the names of those who sent it (for acknowledgement purposes)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t leave the freezing and food storage for the end of the week - things will spoil - once the next meal arrives at the home, left overs from previous meal should be frozen right away in portions appropriate to the family size</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Make sure to remind the mourners to drink throughout the day - shiva is exhausting and the mourners are not focused on their bodily needs. Have available cold bottles of water, glasses with ice, coffee, gatorade, etc. and distribute regularly.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Plan designated meal times spaced reasonably around services so that mourners have time to chew and swallow some food without being inundated by visitors. Note that eating may be onerous for the mourner during this time… try not to rush the meal if possible. You may want to post specific times for visitors and specific times for family privacy. If these are listed outside a locked front door, visitors will know when to return.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">For those involved with organizing the shiva house, you can find a shopping list <a href="http://jewishmourning.blogspot.com/2017/11/shopping-list-for-shiva.html">here</a> for some items you will want to have on hand.</span></span></div>
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Amy Fechter Mezrahihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04144970204480934769noreply@blogger.com0