Miles of Moments (Yizkor 5777)
We traveled 35,000 miles, circumnavigating the globe and visiting both the northern and southern hemispheres this summer. We spent almost 64 hours in the air, covering every time zone. It was an amazing 40th anniversary trip! And we were able to cross off a number of things on my husband Gary’s bucket list. I don’t have one. Gary planned every moment and adventure. Truth be told, until I got on the airplane, I really didn’t know much about where we were going, other than the fact that I had a suitcase for winter and one for summer. I had no idea how wonderful it was going to be. It was an amazing trip and I loved every minute.
With the aide of my iPhone and Gary’s android whatever, and a real camera, we captured snapshots of our adventure, each photo memorializing a moment we didn’t want to forget. My bravest moment, without a doubt, was when I actually got on a helicopter to tour the Bay of Islands at the northernmost tip of New Zealand. I am not known for my bravery, but I was pretty proud of myself for taking the challenge, and the views were breathtaking. Gary’s bravest moment was flying in a 1930’s Tiger Moth plane, open to the air, flying on a cold, windy winter’s morning. Thankfully, there was no room on that two-seater for me.
There were simple and memorable moments that took my breath away, from an amazing light show in Singapore to watching a sunrise in total silence at the break of dawn. And the moments I will treasure most were “together moments,” those times we didn’t do anything extraordinary. What was special about them was that we were doing them together.
When we got home, it was my job to create the Shutterfly photo album to help us remember our great around-the-world-in-22-days adventure,. For the past few years, I have recorded and captured the moments of our lives in big, beautiful photo albums. I didn’t seem to have or make the time when my kids were little, but now with digital photography, I find it so much easier to create treasures of memory.
I even wrote a children’s book for my granddaughter Miriam’s first birthday in June called “Bigger than a Challah” capturing 52 pictures of Miriam with a challah for Shabbat for her entire first year of life, lovingly taken by her amazing parents. Forever and always, Miriam will be able to see how she was born smaller than a challah, then was a big as a challah, and then, one day was bigger than a challah. It is now one of her favorite books, although she spends most of it identifying her Pop. Gary is “Pop-ular, for sure.” Next year’s book might be entitled, “The Runaway Challah,” now that she has mastered walking and running this summer.
As I sit in the quiet of my house, or sit with my grandchildren as they look at pictures of our family moments together, and as I traveled for days around this planet, it has become so clear to me that life is not about the miles traveled, or the hours, but about the moments shared. At the end of the day, we had 35,000 miles of moments, some of which will become lifetime memories.
In the course of a lifetime, there are more moments than any one person can remember. When our loved ones die, our brains sort through all the moments and memories to decide what will be a part of our permanent collection and what will go into cold storage or find its way in the discard pile.
There are:
· Moments of pain, illness, tragedy, and dying
· Spiritual moments and emotional moments
· Moments of love and sharing, caring and tenderness
· Religious moments and once-in-a-lifetime moments
· Moments of generosity and charity, kindness and graciousness
· Moments of self-sacrifice and moments of selfishness
· Moments of gratitude and thanksgiving
· Private moments and public ones
· Moments of sin and moments of mitzvah
· Moments of anger and moments of consolation
· Moments of doubt and moments of certainty
· Tearful moments and joyful moments
· Moments of friendship and family that made life worth living, and moments that drove us crazy or hurt us deeply.
· Moments of opportunity and moments of missed opportunities
When our loved ones die, we each tenderly gather the moments of their lives in order to to share a glimpse of who they were, or to pay tribute to them at the funeral. As I craft a eulogy, I take down facts and things that fill resumes, but what most families really want to hear about are the precious times, funny and tender moments, family gatherings and traditions, those times when our loved ones touched our lives and we touched theirs. I hold letters written by the people I am eulogizing, and their smiles, kindness, and even their hugs, or touch, or scent flood back to me. I watch a mourner gaze into space while telling me a story, and I know that in the mourner’s mind, they are reliving a moment, a precious few minutes, indelibly and forever recorded and cherished upon the heart. And I wipe tears from eyes that are remembering painful moments, moments of remorse, moments of love, and even moments of regret.
A story is told that:
During the funeral of a woman from his congregation, a rabbi saw her husband break down at the graveside. The husband kept repeating, “I loved her. I loved her. I loved her,” and he refused to leave the grave. Finally, the rabbi tried to comfort the man by pointing out that he was so fortunate to have spent so many years with the woman he loved. The bereaved husband said through his tears, “I loved her very much, Rabbi, but I never let her know.”
There can be moments of guilt and regret after a loved one has died. There can be moments when you want a “redo” for the last conversation, a lifetime of bickering, or a grudge that wasn’t worth keeping.
As 85 year old Nadine Stair, from Louisville, Kentucky wrote:
“If I had my life to live over, I’d dare to make more mistakes next time. I’d relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would take more trips. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I’d have fewer imaginary ones… Oh, I’ve had my moments, and if I had it to do over again, I’d have more of them. In fact, I’d try to have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I’ve been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat and a parachute. If had it do it again, I would travel lighter than I have…”
As we each travel through life, Judaism teaches us to fill our lives with Shehecheyanu moments: those moments of firsts and blessings, those moments when we thank God for love and life and the loved ones who share their love and life with us. Judaism gives us Mi Shebeirach moments of hope and strength, and Kaddish and Yizkor moments of memory. Life is made up of joys and sorrows and every one of us is touched by both. We take turns, don’t we, experiencing the joy or grieving in sorrow?
Yizkor is a moment of memory. It is the moment to say, “I am here to remember you and honor you. I am here on this holiest day of the year to look back in the album of our lives at all the precious moments we have shared. I am here because I will always love you. Always.” This may be your first Yizkor or your 31st, but each one is a moment to remember, reflect, and show honor.
The poem says that “birth is a beginning and death a destination, and life is a journey…” We travel through life with those we love, in health and happiness, sickness and sorrow. And along the way, we collect moments, souvenirs of those precious times we shared with those we have loved.
I had all of my kids and grandkids together for my 60th birthday week, which was also our 40th anniversary week. And the album I created to capture that precious time, will always remind me of the hugs and kisses, the wet waterpark times and the wonder times. In the blink of an eye, they will grow up, and I pray that they will have those family moments to remember, long after I am gone.
Almost 30 years ago, this young rabbi told a story on Yom Kippur:
A young rabbi serving his first congregation in a small town sought advice from the old retired rabbi who was living there. On one occasion, the young rabbi asked, “What would you preach about if you knew that you had only one sermon to deliver?” After a pause, the older man replied, “I’d tell the people to get themselves some moments that are worth remembering.”
It was good advice then. And its seems like good advice now.
Moments worth remembering. In the end, those moments are what makes life worth living, and death just a little more bearable.