A
few weeks ago, I had a chance to visit with my grandfather. He is 96 years old.
Our family recently moved him from the assisted living part of the Jewish Home
to the actual Jewish home. He has a room, he has some pictures of his family,
and he has the 24 hour care that he now requires. Until he turned 96, he
certainly did not act his age, now as my wife lovingly reminds me, “You have a
96 year old grandfather.” Even though for last ten or so years, it was always
in the back of my mind that something may happen to my grandfather: severe dementia, Alzheimer’s, some
debilitating disease and death. However,
having such thoughts in the back of one’s mind is substantially different than
the cold stark reality of my grandfather’s dementia and residing in the Jewish
Home in Rochester. Seeing him now, is very different than visiting with him
even a couple of years ago. Now, when I
visit or call, I tell him my name and who I am. Our conversations are generally
the same. I know that when I hang up with him or when my visit concludes, he
will put me and memory of me away deep in the recesses of his mind. Yet, even now,
I recall conversations with my grandfather, not all that many years ago. One
conversation strikes me as particularly poignant given this week’s parsha and
the fact that Rosh Hashanah begins less than a week from now. He complimented
me on my family: my wife, three daughters and son. He reminded me to take care
of myself and “take good care of that family of yours.” I joked and told him
that they were his family too. He laughed and said that is why he was reminding
me to take care of them. Then he said that he has truly been blessed, children,
grandchildren and great grandchildren. He continued by saying even though his
wife passed away several years before, he has no regrets in his life. He
finished by saying that he could die tomorrow completely at peace and satisfied
with his life, and the blessings that he received. That was last meaningful conversation that he
and I have had. It probably occurred a year ago.
This week’s Parsha is the Parsha Nitzavim. According the
Aggadah, this is the recounting of Moshe Rabeinu’s last day of life. Unafraid
of his imminent death, he gathers his family: Rosheichem, Shivteichem, Zikneichem, v’Shotreichem, Kol Ish Yisroel,
Topchem N’Sheichem V’Geircha Asher B’Kerev Machanecha Meichotev Eitzecha Ad
Sho’eiv Meimecha – The heads of your
tribes, your elders, and your officers, all the men of Yisroel; your children,
your women, and the stranger who is in the midst of our camp, from the
woodchopper to the one who draws water (Deut. 29:9-10). Moshe imparts his
last vestiges of wisdom to his children, his people. Moshe wants to make sure
that everything is in order when he dies and Joshua takes over. Moshe truly has
been blessed. He has had the blessing of old age, and here God has granted him
the gift of saying goodbye in perhaps the most wonderful fashion. God has
commanded Moshe to say his goodbyes and impart the final vestiges of wisdom.
We are taught that death is a part of life. Yet many of
us are afraid of death. Many of us believe that we should shield our children
from death, sadness and loss. However when we read Parsha Nitzavim, we learn
that while impending death is sad, death in the manner of Moshe’s can take on
an aura of holiness – of Kedusha. It is in holiness that we attain the highest
level of life, a life that is directly connected to God. When death comes like
this, from God, with an opportunity to say Goodbye- with an opportunity to
impart wisdom to one’s children, death is not mundane; death is not ordinary,
but rather holy and part of life, the final expression of holiness in a very
physical endeavor.
When we talk of strength, we unfortunately think of the
person who lifts a lot of weight. We think of the person who doesn’t cry, who
remains stoic if he/she is all torn up inside. At this time of year, from Elul
through Succot, when we recite the 27th Psalm and conclude with the
words Chazak v’Ya’Ameitz Libecha, v’Kavei
El Adoshem – Strengthen yourself, and
he will give you courage; and hope to HaShem! We now understand what it
means to strengthen oneself. Moshe had
that kind of strength. To be aware of the end of life, to prepare for it, to
draw loved ones toward and tell them how we feel is the epitome of courage. Not
having the opportunity to say goodbye, not having a chance to speak ones final
words to people who matter most is far more tragic.
Now, I realize the significance of the conversation that
transpired between me and my grandfather a year ago. Somewhere deep down, he
understood what was happening to him and what would eventually result. So
before his condition worsened, before his memory was diminished and he became
far less than what he ever was even a short time ago; he needed to say goodbye
to me, and so he did. It’s just that I have to accept and learn that I said goodbye
to my grandfather during that conversation as well. With each phone call and visit over the past
year and especially now that he is in the Jewish Home; that last conversation
in my car is what I hear. I hear the courage in his voice, the acceptance of
his reality, the understanding that his life has truly been blessed, and the
happiness of no regrets. On this Shabbat,
the Shabbat before Rosh HaShanah, before Yom HaDin (Judgement Day), let us all
have the courage to impart our wisdom to our loved ones every day, and be able
to understand and accept our blessings.
Peace & Shanah Tova,
Rav Yitz
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