As I sifted through my treasure trove of memories, looking for stories that might capture my mother’s unique essence, I kept running into the same problem. The anecdotes are frequently not about her alone, but about her in combination with my father. It’s the same dilemma one runs into in looking through family albums in search of the perfect picture of a loved one, but finds that he or she is never captured on film solo. The image is of someone who is most radiant and alive in relation to others. But seldom is the spotlight shone on that person alone.
When I was a teenager (and not the easiest one, for those of you who remember me attending services on Yom Kippur in this august sanctuary in my combat boots), the chronic upheaval in my room was a source of great consternation to my otherwise laid back mother. Once, when the mess reached epic proportions, she attempted to lay down the law about the standards she expected in her home. My provocative and impertinent response, which I prefer not to share (particularly in the presence of my own daughters) must have hurt her deeply. She left my room without saying a word. Minutes later, in walked my father to confront me and chastise me for my thoughtlessness. I asked why my mother, who was not usually at a loss for words, could not speak on her own behalf. “We are one”, was the reply. “When you hurt her, you hurt me”
My parents’ souls were inextricably bound up with one another. No one who witnessed this magnificent love affair that endured over 6 decades is surprised that we are mourning my mother’s loss today, so soon after my father’s. They built a life of purpose and beauty together – not only raising their 3 girls, but working to build a strong and vibrant Jewish community. As their daughters, we were on the receiving end of boundless love and affection, and support that was as unconditional as it comes.
But while my parents’ bond was truly unparalleled, I would have to challenge what my father told me, his hotheaded adolescent daughter all those years ago. They were in fact not one, but 2 extraordinary and unique individuals, each of whom has left us with life lessons that continue to guide and inspire.
Not long ago, I came across an elegant, beaded purse of my mother’s, one used for the fanciest of occasions. In it were index cards with notes from a speech she gave when my father retired from the Park Avenue Synagogue in 1987. Her wisdom and learning were evident, as were her core values – which were reflected in her actions throughout her life. On that occasion, she said,
I believe that every person lives by certain strongly held convictions and ideals. Sometimes these are realized, sometimes they are not and sometimes they are only partially realized. That is not as important as holding these ideals close to one’s heart.
If I were asked for my personal credo, I could find it in no better place than the sheva brachot during the wedding service. Those words are ahavah, achvah, shalom v’reyut, love, brotherhood, peace and friendship. These four precepts have for me followed a straight path from past to present and so too, in my hopes, in the future.
She goes on to describe her experience of being raised in a home
” where love reigned supreme; a boundless love of parents and a brother that has outlived their mortal spans on earth. This love encompassed not only each other but included a great love of Judaism, the Jewish people, for humanity and especially the Hebrew language. We have tried to continue that strong chain in our own lives” -
Unquestionably, my parents succeeded in that effort. In fact, her description of the home in which she was raised is one which resonates deeply for me and my sisters, and for the many who were hosted by my parents over the years, for meals and visits. Ours was a home where expressions of love were shared frequently and freely. And my parents never stopped telling us how proud they were of us – for all the right reasons. They were not interested in our gaining status or accumulating material wealth. But they schepped endless nachas as we pursued learning, contributed to our community, parented our children or just performed simple acts of menschlichkeit.
My mother went on to discuss the second value of
Achvah – brotherhood, the supreme value of tolerance and understanding among peoples, though they may differ in background and belief. This too we have tried to practice in our lives.
Though my mother lived her life squarely in the center of the Jewish community, her fabled generosity and graciousness knew no bounds. When the hard working woman who cleaned her house became ill, she went to her home, in a neighborhood far from her own, to deliver chicken soup. A Jewish mother in the best sense of the term, she knew of only one response to sickness, and it involved providing the steaming, healing elixir, whose potency had been proven through the generations. It is only fitting that in the last years of her life, my mother was the recipient of similar grace and kindness from women who hailed from a different country and culture. They tended to her just as they would to their own mothers, with dignified and loving care.
Shalom - peace was the 3rd part of her credo, ” the kind of peace, which emanates from a strong faith and which leads to shalom bayit ,peace of mind and peace of soul (in her words). I suppose that no family is completely stress free, but my sisters and I would be hard pressed to identify a time when voices were raised in anger in our home. Ours was a family with an active public life. We had company on a weekly basis, if not more, and not infrequently our guests were quite prominent. But when they left and the doors were closed, nothing shifted. Whether alone or with guests, my parents related to us with consistent respect and genuine interest and we did our best to do the same (with some notable exceptions during a few adolescent moments on the part of one of us..)
My mother concluded her talk by discussing the last value, that of
Reyut, friendship….What greater reward could anybody seek but friendship between us, in our family and in our community. Nothing makes me personally happier that to see the abiding and continuing friendship among our children and grandchildren.
My mother was a keen observer. The connections that she noted over 20 years ago have only grown stronger with time. The friendships in our generation and the next, were carefully cultivated and nurtured by this wise and strong Jewish mother par excellence. Never have been I been more aware of the power of our family bonds than in the last week, when we all acted as anchors to one another throughout the heartbreak of saying goodbye to our beloved Ema.
When I first sat down to prepare this talk, I looked for appropriate material in the Torah portion. My mother’s chosen text from the sheva brachot seemed much more fitting than the arcane and detailed descriptions of sacrifices we read this week in Leviticus. But then I thought about the overall mission undertaken by the Children of Israel at this point in their journey. They were instructed to erect a sanctuary in which the shechinah (God’s presence) would dwell. My sisters and I were blessed to grow up in a modern day sacred space – a home sanctified by the values of ahavah, achvah, shalom v’reyut. We have inherited an enduring legacy from the woman who served as its architect. May her memory be a blessing.
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