2008 Woodie Awards
The rare gifts of mourning: Jewish rituals are ancient and wise
Jane Eisner
Issue date: 9/10/07 Section: Forum
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Closure once again defines these waning days of summer. Usually, it's the end of hot days and sandy vacations, of summer hours and easier commutes. But this year, I am marking a different passage.
As the sun sets today, my 11 months of mourning for my father come to a close. His death last October, so close to my mother's death a year earlier, means for nearly two years, I have been living in what has often felt like an alternative universe.
Jewish mourning rituals are ancient and wise. They also stand in stark contrast to much of modern life, where a three-second delay on the computer can seem like an eternity, where moments for contemplation are few, and occasions for public emotion even fewer.
Countering all that, for much of the last two years, I have tried to say the mourner's kaddish, or prayer, every day. In the beginning, when I felt weighed down by sadness, the thought of plodding through this ritual for 11 months sometimes weighed me down even more.
It seemed as if I would be doing this forever - rushing to attend the morning or evening service at my synagogue, or making arrangements when I was elsewhere. Once, before giving an evening speech in New Jersey, I even led a makeshift service in a community center's utility closet.
In the age of TiVo and On Demand, the requirement to be at a specific time and place seems horribly old-fashioned. So does the self-denial that traditionally accompanies the months of prayer. No going out dancing, or to concerts, theater, films. Honestly, there were times when I felt like Scarlett O'Hara, dressed in widow's black and forced to sit on the sidelines while other Southern belles partied with abandon.
But O'Hara was compelled by her society to play the part. My choices are my own. And even though I longed to twirl and shimmy at that wedding in June, and missed a summer's worth of outdoor concerts, and all the first-run movies, I have no regrets. Even though my interest and energy tended to wane around month five or six, and at times I came perilously close to going through the motions, I am glad I persevered.
As the sun sets today, my 11 months of mourning for my father come to a close. His death last October, so close to my mother's death a year earlier, means for nearly two years, I have been living in what has often felt like an alternative universe.
Jewish mourning rituals are ancient and wise. They also stand in stark contrast to much of modern life, where a three-second delay on the computer can seem like an eternity, where moments for contemplation are few, and occasions for public emotion even fewer.
Countering all that, for much of the last two years, I have tried to say the mourner's kaddish, or prayer, every day. In the beginning, when I felt weighed down by sadness, the thought of plodding through this ritual for 11 months sometimes weighed me down even more.
It seemed as if I would be doing this forever - rushing to attend the morning or evening service at my synagogue, or making arrangements when I was elsewhere. Once, before giving an evening speech in New Jersey, I even led a makeshift service in a community center's utility closet.
In the age of TiVo and On Demand, the requirement to be at a specific time and place seems horribly old-fashioned. So does the self-denial that traditionally accompanies the months of prayer. No going out dancing, or to concerts, theater, films. Honestly, there were times when I felt like Scarlett O'Hara, dressed in widow's black and forced to sit on the sidelines while other Southern belles partied with abandon.
But O'Hara was compelled by her society to play the part. My choices are my own. And even though I longed to twirl and shimmy at that wedding in June, and missed a summer's worth of outdoor concerts, and all the first-run movies, I have no regrets. Even though my interest and energy tended to wane around month five or six, and at times I came perilously close to going through the motions, I am glad I persevered.
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