taking a stand for grief

above and beyond yiskor and yahrzeit

This is not meant to be a religious piece of writing. Yes, I was raised as a Jewish woman, and had a Bat Mitzvah at 13. (Mom agreed to allowing me a Friday night service and midnight breakfast replete with mini bagels—I was breaking with tradition from a very young age!)

Photo by Sixteen Miles Out on Unsplash

My religion these days mostly consists of the "be a good person” variety and I continue to light a Yahrzeit candle for my mother Ellen on religious occasions, since she died in 1993. On some special days of the year, we light the candle and say a memorial prayer, called Yiskor.

The word, Yiskor, in Hebrew means “remember”. I light a candle that burns for 24 hours on her death anniversary. When we recite Yizkor, we renew our strength of connection between us and our loved one, and our private pledge to give to charity. We dedicate this physical deed that our loved one can no longer participate in, of this world, in their honor and on their behalf.

Yiskor is not only the first word of this special memorial prayer for the departed that is traditionally said in their memory four times of the year, it also represents its overall theme. In this prayer we ask that G-d (spirit, higher power, your-belief-here) to remember the souls of our relatives and friends that have died.

This weekend marks a time of year we share this prayer. We embark on The Jewish New Year of Rosh Hashana and share this solemn prayer ten days later on Yom Kippur.

When my mother died in 1993, I found my way to our local temple to recite this prayer. I had long been taken by my Dad standing for his Dad Bernard, who died when he was just nine, and felt I should do the same for my mother. It was a dedicated place and space where I could honor her and show up for my grief. Sometimes the names of the mourning families are read or names of the dead placed in a memorial book. This tradition was a comfort, when I had no others for myself at the time. I remember her in many ways these days — including buying something at discount on her birthday and death anniversary to honor the fact that she was indeed an Olympic discount shopper. Amen!

One year, a young and newer Rabbi I admired, was leading the service. Rabbi Cosgrove opened sermons with fresh ideas like, “this week in the New Yorker” - and made me feel a connection to my everyday life and how he saw religion. I attended his service to say the prayer for my Mom. He asked all mourners to rise, as we do when this prayer is spoken. As we rose, he asked the congregation, “do you know why you stand for Yiskor?”. Of course I thought it was to be closer to my Mom in her heavenly new digs, and believed maybe others thought closer to the G-d or higher power of their belief. Know what he said? We stand so that the community knows we have experienced a loss. Boom. I know, mind blown. It has impressed me since. A life-changing slice of knowledge.

When we lived much closer and more connectedly to one another in villages and round campfires, this would allow for our neighbors to know we were grieving. It allowed them to show up for us and in turn us for them — if and when it was their time. It was the way.

I have often joked that if we each wore a t-shirt emblazoned with our loss across the front — we would be so much more compassionate to one another. Imagine the grace we could find for someone’s grumpy mood or foul driving if we knew it was the anniversary of their mother’s death, or their beloved dog had just passed or divorce papers served or finalized?

It is hard “to stand” when we are in need. If we stand at work we may feel our weakness is showing and be perceived as unproductive. If our sadness shows, we may bring down the mood of a perfectly lovely day or celebration. We don’t get to wear black for a year or walk around with our heart on our sleeve so the people around us know. Many of the traditions of our past have long been forgotten and so we grieve alone. I not only remember my Mom when I light this candle, I remember that we don’t have to grieve alone — nor should we. We need to stand, and to stand for and with one another.

When I have shared the tradition of lighting this Yahrzeit candle at sundown preceding the start of Yom Kippur and the anniversary of the death of a loved one (often called a soul candle or anniversary candle) with friends of all faiths, they have adopted and adapted this tradition as their own. These special candles magically burn for a full day to honor the memory of our loved ones.

I wish there was a place were I could see you stand in your grief, so that I would know you needed me. That is why I created The Memory Circle. A place where those who experienced a loss could “stand” shoulder to shoulder in their grief of any and every incarnation and be seen and heard.

I will light an extra candle this year. For you and yours. And for all who cannot find a place to stand when they need community most. And may all who celebrate the new year 5784, which starts tomorrow at sundown, find sweetness in this beginning — even as we remember our past and those who are no longer with us.