Jews do a nice job with death. Sounds strange, I know, but, let me explain. One of the first volunteer tasks that I was asked to undertake when I became a member of Temple Beth Israel was to prepare the weekly mailings that notify members of the congregation about an impending anniversary of the death of a loved one … the yahrzeit. As MyJewishLearning explains, “Yahrzeit is a Yiddush word meaning anniversary of a death. It is the yearly anniversary of a loved one’s death (traditionally the anniversary of the Hebrew date, not the Gregorian date). Jews observe yahrzeit by lighting a special long-burning candle in memory of the deceased.” Every week at the conclusion of the Saturday morning service, the names of those of who have passed on during the week past are read out loud and then the congregation recites the mourner’s Kaddish–a 2,000 year old prayer that commemorates the memory of the dead. What’s interesting about the prayer is that it makes no mention of death. Instead, it is a prayer dedicated to praising God. Traditionally, Jews are required to say the Kaddish for 30 days after burial for a child, spouse or sibling, and for 11 months after burial for a parent. From then on, one recites Kaddish on a loved one’s yahrzeit.
We do this every week, and there are always people in attendance that are celebrating a yahrzeit. As a Lutheran Christian, I grew accustomed to participating in the Lord’s Supper every Sunday–the commemoration of the sacrifice and death of Jesus on the cross. In my Jewish practice, we remember the deaths of the loved ones whose souls have returned to the Creator. This difference in the focus on the one versus the many is something that I noticed right away. Both practices have great value and serve an important purpose; however, I can’t but help feel more connected to the practice of remembering and connecting to the memory of someone who I knew in this life rather than one who lived centuries ago and who I’ve never met in the flesh. And this is a significant difference between Christianity and Judaism. Both faiths embody vertical and horizontal dimensions, but the latter is more grounded in the here and how while the former seems to have as much to do with what happens after death as it does with la vie quotidienne.
It might seem a little grim to focus on death every week, but I like it. The loved ones we have lost are a part of us. As we remember them, we realize our place in the continuity of being. They preceded us. We follow. They loved us. We love them and honor their memory. The Creator brings us all into being and then takes us back when we breath our last. Nothing is lost. Everything is preserved. Life and death. It’s where we begin and where we end and then it goes on.
All of this was brought home to me in an unexpected but powerful way this past year. Have you seen the movie Coco? If not, put it on your watch list. The film is a beautiful and moving explication of the interplay between life and death, along with a reminder of the potent power of memory–specifically the purposeful celebration of remembrance. You would think a movie carrying such a heavy theme would be too scary or inappropriate for children. Wrong! In fact, I think Coco is a must see for kids, even as young as two years old. My grand daughter Parker is proof perfect of this. As a deeply loved, secure and sensitive child, she is not afraid of Coco’s message. In fact, it resonates with her on an enviable level. The following song from the movie is one of her favorites. It’s easy for the tears to well up when she sings along. She gets it!
Remember Me (Dúo) Miguel
Remember me
Though I have to say goodbye
Remember me
Don’t let it make you cry
For even if I’m far away
I hold you in my heart
I sing a secret song to you
Each night we are apart
Remember me
Though I have to travel far
Remember me
Each time you hear a sad guitar
Know that I’m with you
The only way that I can be
Until you’re in my arms again
Remember me
Take it from a two-year old, and please … remember me. I’ll be waiting on the other side.