Grief and gravestones

I have two counsellors. One I see free through my local GP, the other sees me for free through the hospice that was looking after my wife. When she passed away, they told me they would still look after me, and they have.

I do not like the first counsellor because she says things like, "The first year is the hardest." While I'm sure she's right, part of me feels like that is letting go, and I don't want to let go. I want to grab on to whatever I can with both hands and never let go. Rationally, I know that will not make me happy, but I also feel like nothing will make me happy, so it doesn't matter. 

The second counsellor doesn't talk about the future, doesn't try to make me feel better, she just sits there in that space and agrees that it's shit. And really, that's what I need: For an hour I don't have to worry about work or the kids or everything I need to take care, I can just recognise that it really is shit. (And grossly unfair.)

A friend shared this with me:

Somehow, I find it very comforting to know that the grief, the loss, doesn't diminish. I'll always have a hole in my heart the size and shape of my late wife. I want to always remember that beautiful smile, and how she made me feel. When I put up the sukkah this year, all I could think about was how happy building a sukkah made her, and how that made it so worthwhile. Now I put it up because I know she would be disappointed if I didn't.

One of the kids called me at 4:30am the other day. She was at the airport and nervous about the flight and just wanted to talk, and that's when I realised I'm now the Mom, too. There wasn't anything I could do; my job was to simply listen and tell her what she needed to hear. I must have done ok because she got on the flight. (I got another call at 2am the next day because they lost her luggage...)

In Jewish tradition, mourning lasts for one year, and at the end of the year you erect a headstone. Although she passed on 18 February, we're going to erect the headstone on 5 February to accommodate everyone. The company that makes memorials suggested we order about three months in advance, which is 5 November. That means the kids and I need to start thinking about the design now.

One thing is clear to me: I bought the plot next to my wife, and so I want a double-wide headstone that will eventually contain both of our names. The reason is simple: She took my name when we got married. I did not ask her to -- in fact, I discouraged it -- but she insisted. I even confirmed with her just before she died that she wanted my name on her headstone and she said yes without hesitation. Her love and loyalty knew no end, and so it's important to me to give her the same commitment, even in death.

Drasha Yom Kippur (2025)

The Talmud teaches, “Three books are opened on Rosh HaShannah: One for the wicked, one for the righteous and one for everyone in the middle, their judgment suspended until Yom Kippur. If they merit, through the good deeds and mitzvot that they perform during this period, they are written for life; if they do not so merit, they are written for death.”

By this logic, my wife should have lived forever. Instead, in 2020, she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. She was 51. Our youngest child was 15.

Every Yom Kippur, as we read Unetaneh Tokef, we wondered if this was the year she would die “by an untimely death,” and if repentance, prayer and righteousness really could avert the severity of the decree.

The answer is, they could not. She fought for five years – five very long yet also very quick years – and she passed away in February, one day short of her 56th birthday. She said at the beginning of the journey that all she wanted was to see the children become adults. Our youngest turns 21 in two weeks.

I knew, when I started this drasha, that I wanted to discuss this concept of judgement. This is the day of atonement, not the day of judgement. Leviticus 16:29 says nothing about judgement: “And this shall be to you a law for all time: In the seventh month, on the tenth day of the month, you shall practice self-denial; and you shall do no manner of work, neither the citizen nor the alien who resides among you. For on this day atonement shall be made for you to purify you of all your sins; you shall be pure before יהוה.”

In my search for answers, I found a drasha written by Rabbi Yerachmiel Shapiro in 2023. Rabbi Shapiro kindly gave me permission to use it, although I have amended it for brevity.

A Chassid went to the Baal Shem Tov and said, “Rebbe, I want to see Elijah the Prophet.” “It’s simple,” said the Baal Shem. “I’ll tell you what to do. Get two boxes and fill one with food and the other with children’s clothes. Then, before Rosh Hashanah, travel to Minsk. On the outskirts of town, right before where the forest begins, is a dilapidated house. Find that house, but don’t knock on the door immediately; stand there for a while and listen. Then, shortly before candle-lighting time at sunset, knock on the door and ask for hospitality.”

The Chassid did as the Baal Shem Tov told him. He arrived shortly before evening and stood in front of the door, listening. Inside, he heard children crying, “Mommy, we’re hungry. And it’s Yom Tov and we don’t even have decent clothes to wear!” He heard the mother answer, “Children, trust in G-d. He’ll bring you everything you need!”

Then the Chassid knocked on the door. When the woman opened it, he asked if he could stay with them for the holiday. “How can I welcome you when I don’t have any food in the house?” she said. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I have enough food for all of us.” He gave her the box of food, and they ate. Then he opened the box of clothes and the children all took clothes for themselves. He stayed all night, he did not even sleep, but he did not see Elijah the Prophet.

So, he returned to the Baal Shem Tov and said, “Master, I did not see Elijah the Prophet!” “Did you do everything I told you?” asked the Baal Shem Tov. “I did!” he said. “Then you’ll have to return for Yom Kippur,” said the Baal Shem Tov. “Go back, with another box of food, to the same house. Again, be sure to arrive an hour before sunset, and don’t knock immediately. Wait for a while and just stand in front of the door, listening.”

So, he went back to Minsk and stood by the door, listening. Inside, he heard children crying, “Mommy, we’re hungry! We haven’t eaten the whole day! How can we fast for Yom Kippur?” “Children!” said the mother. “Do you remember you were crying before Rosh Hashanah that you had no food or clothes and didn’t Elijah the Prophet bring you food and clothing and everything else you need?”

It’s a lovely story, and we should all strive to be Eliyahu Hanavi, but that is not my message today.

Today I want to ask, what about the thousands of poor starving families who don’t have Elijah show up with a big bag of food? How come they don’t deserve a miracle? How come their children have to suffer?

Today I want to talk about divine fairness and the High Holiday prayers, specifically Unetaneh Tokef:

We will observe the mighty holiness of this day. For on this day You sit in judgement, every human being passes before You and all their deeds are known to you. And You inscribe their destiny.

On Rosh Hashana it is inscribed and on Yom Kippur it is sealed, how many shall pass away and how many will be born, who will live and who will die, who will have a long life, and who a short life. But Repentance, Prayer, and Charity Avert the Terrible Decree.”

If you take this to its logical conclusion, every year all the wicked people should die, but many evil people seem to do just fine. They perpetuate wars and conflict, and they seem to succeed.

It is so often the most wonderful people who end up with terrible suffering that has no explanation. Could it be that they didn’t do enough teshuva, tefilla, and tzeddaka?

It’s clearly a flawed paradigm, but it extends to a bigger problem in faith.

We believe that God will protect us and take care of us. We believe that our good deeds should translate into reward and protection from above. When someone points out that this is often not the case, it can create doubt for us.

The most famous of Jewish apostates was Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya, who one day declared: Ein Din, V’Ein Dayan- There is not justice and there is no Judge. He became excommunicated and forever known in Talmudic lore as Acher- The Other.

Proverbs 3:12 states: “For whom the LORD loves, he chastens, and afflicts the son of Israel.”

The Talmud, in tractate Brachos, addresses the question of suffering this way:

If a man sees that he will be tormented by a curse, he should search his deeds. If he searches and does not find it, You should understand it to be the suffering of love, as it is said: "For whom the Lord loves He punishes."

Rashi comments: “God makes people suffer in this world even if they are free of sin in order to increase their reward in the world to come – so that they will receive more than their actions merit.”

So suffering can be because of sins, but it can also be from God’s love. There is divine math going on that we can’t see, and in the end, fairness will be maintained. Undeserved suffering in this world is a way to get an even better place in the world to come.

But at the end of the day, even this explanation by Rashi doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t explain the deaths or illnesses of children, it doesn’t explain the Shoah. To many Jews, faith often means not understanding God, but I need to understand. And I need to understand in my heart and soul, not just in my mind.

The most logical conclusion when a person is suffering is either, there is no God, or God must hate me, or the contradictory: “I don’t believe in God, because God did this awful thing to me.” And it makes sense: Who could believe in a God that is mean and spiteful?

The Talmud is offering another option: There is no good explanation, but remember God loves you and will never stop loving you. No matter what you go through, you are surrounded in God’s light. Our tradition teaches in numerous places that God is actually suffering with us when we suffer.

So why keep the faulty prayers that rely on a paradigm that we know doesn’t really hold up? Why don’t we incorporate the humble answer into our prayers. Maybe Unetaneh Tokef should say, “We don’t know why you choose who will live and who will die, but please, please, give us and our loved ones another year of life!”

One answer that I find beautiful is the reinterpretation of the terms life and death by the rabbis, also in tractate Brachos: “Tzadikim are called alive even in their deaths, and the wicked are called dead even when they are alive.”

With this approach, who will live and who will die takes on a radically new meaning. You can be sealed in the book of life and still pass away, and you can be sealed in the book of death whilst still alive. You may be breathing, but if you are evil, your soul is dead. Your contribution to the world is nothingness and destruction. But the righteousness of good and holy people reverberates for generations as light and love and holy behavior in their children and grandchildren. They are still alive.

The perspective shared in Unetaneh Tokef is essential to our faith and our survival as Jews. In fact all civilized society depends on it. Belief in the paradigm of reward for the righteous and punishment for the wicked is the foundation of our belief that God is good and fair. For the good of our psyche, for the continuation of faith, and for our society to hold up, we must hold tight to the belief that the world is good and that God is fair.

When Moses says to God, “Show me your Glory,” God replies, “I will pass All My Goodness before you.” This is one of the only times when God refers to Godself. And what is God’s self-definition? Not awesome power, not greatness, but rather, “Goodness”. You don’t even have to say, “I believe in God.” You could say, “I believe in Good” and I think it would mean the same thing.

So how do we believe in Good in a world that seems so bad, so often? We cling to the paradigm of divine fairness and goodness as the cornerstone of our faith.

It is exactly this reason, that when we lose someone we love, we say, “Baruch dayan ha'emet” – “Blessed is the true judge" – and why all the prayers at a funeral relate to Tzidduk Hadin- doing our very best to accept that God is still fair, God is still good. We will not give up on this life and close our hearts with darkness. At the moment when the pain is the worst, we are called to proclaim, I believe that the world is still Good!

This is how the Jewish people have survived, because we’ve never lost hope. We strengthen ourselves in faith, and never give up on our mission of mimicking the goodness of the Creator, by being good ourselves.

We wish each other a happy, sweet, healthy, prosperous New Year, and we believe it with all our heart, while at the same time knowing that whatever will come our way, we will never lose our gratitude for life, and the continued desire to make the world a better place for all of God’s children.

May we all be written and sealed in the Book of Life - for joy, for health, for nachas, for shalom, and may we all merit to see and believe that this world is filled with God’s Goodness embracing us and strengthening us with every breath.

G'mar chatima tovah.