From Mourning to Morning, grief to hope...
When I was 21, I lost a close friend to leukaemia. Heidi was just 19; she was vibrant, super-intelligent, and possessed an extraordinary appetite for Torah study and the intellectual life. A runner-up in the Israel World Bible Quiz and a brilliant university student, she had an insatiable curiosity, sharp intensity and capacity to connect to others with ease. She fought her illness with a formidable and determined courage, composure, and with the support of her family and a wide group of friends. Her death left us, her friends, reeling. We were too young to be touched by premature death, unsure how to navigate the road of mourning, rebuild the journey towards meaning.
I'm writing about Heidi today because we have just begun the seven weeks of Consolation following the historical devastation of the Ninth of Av and the three dark weeks recalling the bitter Jewish past. Last Shabbat was called the Sabbath of Comfort (Shabbat Nachamu). A few months after Heidi’s death, I was at her family synagogue for Shabbat and her Dad, Joe, read the storied words of Isaiah (40:1)which was the Haftarah or prophetic reading of this Shabbat: “Nachamu,nachamu Ami, be comforted, be comforted my people, says your God.”
These are poignant words at any time, but on this Shabbat, they tore at my heart, not only because I was longing for consolation, but because of the way he read these anguished words.
Joe was a formidable and determined East European Jew. We were all in awe of his incisive intellect, his Talmudic and general knowledge, as well as his vigorous eloquence. He was a student and admirer of the famed Rabbi Aaron Kotler.
Joe was a man of the mind; objective, rational, not given to the softness of emotion. Tears were not in his book. Yet on this Shabbat, when he read the prophetic words, you felt the depth of his loss, the unbearable ache of the words, and the plangent resonance of the traditional tune. It was on this Shabbat, I began to get a deeper understanding of loss, the power of consolation and the balm of words and melodies.
It’s not only God, who gives comfort but one of the gifts of being human is our capacity to reach out and support someone in pain. In fact, the word nachamu can be translated as a call to all of us to give comfort to others, to one another. We need the tender touch of others to heal us.
Why does Jewish tradition have only three weeks of devastation, but seven of consolation? Loss and injury often happen very quickly, but healing and mending are usually slow and considered. Just think how long it can take to heal wounds after a devastating accident or betrayal.
We need to bear this in mind when we carelessly talk about others or cause harm to their names and reputations. A casual word can kill a lifetime of achievement; it can take years and years to rebuild after a business collapse. The seven weeks are ultimately about the power to reconstruct, to build again and to hope after devastation and destruction. It’s ingrained in the Jewish psyche; it makes us the people of the long vision.
I still carry Heidi in my heart, and in my life‘s work. She is a reminder to me of the unbearable losses of life as well as the unbelievable ways we can cope, renew, rebuild and re-invigorate.