Writings shared from Zipporah, Member of the Mending Word: Rosh Hashana Edition
The New Year, 5783
I recently received a set of my great-grandmothers machzorim, Ruth, my second name. I will use it while praying to help me connect, not just to my namesake – who I never met and don’t know much about, but to her son, my Zeidy who I loved dearly and was the one constant in my life with his wife, my yummy Bubby, and to my sweet brother Shia who now rests with them.
As I gently place the machzor on the table decked in white, slowly, carefully turn the yellowed pages hoping they don’t crumble, I will allow my broken heart to connect to the words, the souls who once held these very pages, who once prayed, and perhaps cried, wishing to be inscribed in to the book of life.
This year, as I ask of G-d the same, for life, I will wish for a year of living. Of connection. Of feeling. Grief. Loss. Love. Hope. Sadness. Joy. All the messy human feelings, because that’s what I think, means living. I am leaving anxiety of dying and death. I am leaving a few layers of safety around my heart. I am letting go of guilt of deleting his texts. I am going to live more. I am going to sit and feel all the feelings. I am going to forgive myself for feeling like I haven’t done enough.
- Zipporah Thaler
Writings shared from Michal, Member of the Mending Word: Rosh Hashana Edition
A sweet new year -
Something I’ve always prayed for, diligently swaying my body back and forth, fervently whispering my words
Please god
Save us - save him
Save her
Save my family
Not us, don’t let this happen to us, inscribe them in the book of life, just for one year, I'll wait till the next year, just give us one more. These prayers I whispered in the synagogue as thoughts of my mother drifted into my mind. Can it really even be, can He write now her death, slam the book shut, kill her off in this game of life?
Six months later she was gone.
The next time I opened my book of prayers, a little over a year later, I knew now, looking out the window of the hospital, moments before our fates were sealed, my whispers wouldn’t make a difference. I saw the numbers from the labs, I saw the infections tearing through his body and soul, I knew no miracle would occur.
And yet still, I begged for time. Time is limitless to You, Universal One, Almighty God, there is no such thing as time in Your world, but it is everything in mine, so just give me one more year, please, that’s all I ask, just more time and nothing more. Give me time and I’ll do the rest. I’ll take care of the hospitals, the appointments, the food, the nurses, I’ll take care of everything he needs, I’ll give up whatever I need to, just give us time.
God tore out His ears and shut His book. My father’s name was not to be found in His book of life. Less than two months later, He took His devoted servant for Himself.
I’ve always been curious about the process that happens as our fates are written and then sealed. Do angels intervene on our behalf? Do our dead loved ones get a say? Did my mother, barely settled into her new grave, beg God on our behalf not to take away the only living parent her children had left? And did He respond? Did He explain? Give an answer that justified such destruction and chaos? And did my father, sitting on that hospital bed, blessing me as God sealed his fate, know it would be the last time? And did he wish for something different? Did he, wish for something sweet?
Where could I find the answers to these questions as I prepare for this holiday - the first one without any of my parents, the first one where I know my prayers don’t mean what I’ve been taught they mean - where I know there is only so much you have control over - where praying isn’t enough. Praying doesn’t bring back the dead, and it doesn’t bring back memories of holidays you’ve loved so much spent at home, and it doesn’t bring back home. Praying - that’s a meditation of its own, for you and god, for you and yourself, for whatever you choose it to be, but action - action, not logic or spiritual belief, is what will bring back memories of home, memories of the holidays you’ve loved so much when spent at home, memories of family sitting around at the table, memories of the food you waited all year to taste, the only thing that will bring back these memories and help you keep them in your home is not prayer, but action.
The biggest lesson I am learning at this time is this. To not focus on what is logical to you or what aligns with your spiritual or religious beliefs, but to simply act. To act and focus on the important things, to bring them into your home and into your life. All the traditions you’ve learned, all the stories you’ve heard, all the songs you grew up singing - all the sweet things.
Some sweet and important things I’ve learned from my parents over the years to prepare for the holidays:
Always spend money on the more expensive plastic table clothes, the cheap ones will rip easily and just cause you trouble.
Buy sweets or bake them so the house will smell like yom tov
You can never go wrong with a chicken soup
There’s nothing like staying home, even if it’s more expensive and tiring to host meals
Some foods will stay the same throughout the years but that’s what makes them so sweet
Keep tradition alive, so that when you lose the ones who you taught you them, you’ll find a piece of them in each tradition you uphold and in every memory you try your best to recreate
Spend the holidays with family
Just do your best, the rest isn’t important
Have a warm and loving and open home that guests will always feels welcome to and feel it is like their own.
These are the things I strive to create in my home now and every day. These are things my father always spoke about before his death. How his home was always filled with guests. How strangers felt at home. How they loved my mother’s food, even if it wasn’t fancy, they knew it would be great. These are the things he lamented on, and thought about as he closed his eyes. A good life he lived, he’d say. A good life. A good home. 70 years young, a man of many strengths, of a life well lived, and the last sentences he would tell me, “Michal, your friends always loved coming to us right? They loved our home, they felt comfortable to come and be themselves right?”
“Yes, tatty, they loved our home. We loved our home.”
On my mother’s gravestone, “she excelled in Love of G-d, through trust and in loving fellow Jews, her home was wide open.”
These are the sweet things I take.
From my mom. From my dad. For a sweet new year.
Shana tova to all.