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A thread about grief, memory, witnessing and community, as today I observe my mom's 2nd yahrzeit (anniversary of her death)
When I moved to VT many years ago I joined the Reform temple here, and like most Reform congregations, services felt very familiar but with one key difference. We tell stories when we observe a yahrzeit.
For context for the non-Jews: part of the Jewish worship service is the Mourner's Kaddish, a prayer we use to remember the dead.
In Reform congregations, it's typically preceded by the reading of a list of names who have died on this week in years past, as well as those who died in the past 30 days.
Usually, if you are remembering one of the people whose name is read, you simply rise, and then sometimes the whole congregation rises with you to recite the prayer. This has been the practice at every Reform temple I've ever been to.
So I wasn't expecting it the first time I was present at Temple Sinai here in VT when the person observing a yahrzeit rose at their loved ones name, but then also began to speak.
Over the last 10ish years I've listened to these stories and unfortunately had cause to speak my own.
Usually it's just a few sentences. Sometimes people ramble but it's okay. We usually begin with our connection: "she was my cousin," "he was my father."
The stories are often a fond remembrance. What the person loved, a happy memory. The stories are often funny- sometime shared one last night that had us all laughing out loud.
There are often stories of survival and immigration as people remember their parents and grandparents. There are stories of those who built the Jewish community in Vermont. I love witnessing these stories of our collective history as a people.
We also tell hard stories. Of friends and relatives who struggled. Of people whose deaths were tragic and awful. We say "I'm thinking of how old she'd be today" or "I wish I could tell him"
As a listener, these stories are so important to me. The names on the yahrzeit list come alive through the people who love them. And together we tell the collective history of our people, made up of those we've lost.
And now I want to share what this ritual has meant to me as a mourner. I observe the yahrzeit of my cousin, who died young, my grandmother, who died after a long life, and my mother, who died 2 years ago today at 64.
The week leading up to the Friday of their yahrzeit, I start thinking about what I'll say- although there's no need to plan or rehearse. It's a needed moment of reflection each year.
It's fascinating to notice what memory I'm moved to share in a particular year. Does my grief feel fresh and raw? Am I feeling haunted or warmed by thoughts of my loved one? How am I honoring their memory lately?
There have been times I couldn't make it through my couple of sentences without weeping. There have been times I smiled so big and the congregation smiles with me, like when I shared that my grandmother was a lifelong Girl Scout and asked them all to eat a cookie in her memory.
Last night I spoke simply of a cherished memory of my mom.
When we share our stories at Temple Sinai, we create moments of witness. We sit with one another's grief and love. We invite each other into the narrative of our loss. For a moment each year we have the floor to say "I remember" and speak our loved one into the room.
Sometimes when I share my memory at their yahrzeit, it's the only time I've spoken about the person all year. We avoid grief so often, don't we? We don't pause to name it or ask one another whose losses we carry.
After the list is read and we've told our stories, we rise together and speak the Mourner's Kaddish in unison. We collectively hold the stories, spoken and unspoken, as we enact this ritual.
So I guess I share this all to say: witnessing is powerful. Speaking our grief is too. And being in community for that is transformative. Thanks for listening.
