I’ve invited some of my rabbinic mentees as guests to A Time to Write, an opportunity for them to give expression/testimony to their experiences at this time, and also to allow us a view into their often difficult and painful worlds, to see the extraordinary ways in which they serve. Writing is a way to give voice to our deepest feelings, and listening is a way to witness, opening the opportunity to offer comfort and appreciation. You are welcome to comment below or to send me thoughts you’d like me to pass on. Our guest contributor today is Rabbi Ariel Russo, spiritual leader of Congregation Sons of Israel in Upper Nyack, NY.
Raindrops landed on my windshield as I was about halfway to my destination. I remember feeling annoyed at myself that I hadn’t checked the weather and packed an umbrella. Prioritizing my mask, gloves, rabbi’s manual, and water bottle took precedence. Cones blocked the parking lot of the cemetery, a rare sight for me as a not infrequent funeral officiant. Instead of the parking lot, there was a row of hearses in lines followed by one or two cars. There were so many deaths and so few mourners. I found my hearse and waited for the foreman to direct us - just me and the hearse - to the grave. I was told to stay in my car as a team of men dressed in yellow protective gear carefully and quickly took the deceased to her grave. Protocol now dictates that they are the only ones who can handle the casket, especially when the deceased suffered from COVID-19. There were no mourners to follow the casket and no shovel with which to place earth on the casket. The gravediggers cautioned me to stay healthy and be cautious. Even though I didn’t know the deceased, there was an intimacy as the funeral director and I stood over the grave. I gave a eulogy about someone I had never met. Reaching down into the earth, the non-Jewish funeral director and I, with bags under our eyes, threw the dirt onto the coffin. I am still getting the dirt from out of my fingernails. The Psalms, the El Malei Rachamim recited into the quiet outdoors, oddly gave me comfort as I tried to honor this woman. An entire life lived with people and at the end, there was no one there who knew her.
A few hours later I called her daughter to let her know that everything went as expected. She asked me about the weather. “How odd,” I thought to myself that of all the things to ask me, she was most curious about the weather. I thought about it and realized that the rain had stopped for the 25-minute funeral. On my way home I once again activated my windshield wipers, reminding me that there was no rain during the burial itself. My unease from conducting the burial alone dissipated as I heard the voice of the daughter relax in her Florida apartment.
It feels like it is always pouring right now. The funeral director has me on his speed dial. My colleagues are all tired, weary, and soaked with the enormity of the losses our communities and extended communities are facing. But today the rain stopped for just a few minutes and it made all the difference. The hospital down the street from my home just released its 300th patient who came in with COVID-19. In celebration, the hospital played “Here Comes The Sun” echoing throughout its hallways and corridors. There will come a time when familiar rhythms will return. When we will gather, celebrate, and mourn together.
Have you lost someone close to you, been prevented from being present to lay them to rest? How have you been living through your pain? What has been of comfort?
Have you been at a virtual funeral in these days? a virtual shiva? How did those officiating/leading work to create meaning? What seemed helpful to the mourners? What were your feelings?
Are you yourself, like Rabbi Russo, bearing the weight of this plague for others? How? How can we be of help to you? What do you need from us? Can you give yourself some time to write about it, to release and relieve some of what you carry? Might it help you to also share what you’ve written? With whom?
How can those of us who are at a remove from the front lines show appreciation, support for those who serve us? Those we know and those we don’t know? What are ways you can “hold” them when you can’t hold them? How has listening become like holding? To whom can you offer an ear?