On Friday I took a walk in a nearby Christmas tree farm. Many people who live near to me walk there. It’s quite beautiful. I walked in the morning because in the afternoon the tree farm would be filled with people buying trees–or rather cutting down trees.

As I walked I looked at the trees. I noticed how many of them were actually new trees grown from the trunk of a tree that had been cut down by a happy Christmas tree shopper. Each time someone cuts a tree, a new tree sprouts from the stump. The same thing happens with the Redwoods that grow around my home. When the loggers came through the area, they cut many trees. Now new trees have grown out of those stumps. Additionally, baby trees grew in circles around the stumps, creating beautiful “cathedrals.”

Trees have an amazing resiliency. We can actually learn a lot from them. When something is cut or torn away from them–when they lose something essential, they simply grow it back. We tend to  focus on what we have lost rather than on how we can create something new to take it’s place or to replace in some way that vital element we need or miss. We would do better to focus our attention on discovering ways to survive without what we have lost and to create something new out of the loss.

Thinking about trees also reminds me of the huge loss of trees in Israel due to the raging wildfire in the Carmel Mountains. You can help put the fire out by donating to one of these two organizations.

On Erev Yom Kippur, my rabbi, Eli Cohen, gave a moving sermon about Psalm 23. This psalm is most often read after someone dies, so for most of us it bears a negative connotation. Yet, it is meant to offer us consolation during difficult times in general, not just when someone has passed on.

If you don’t remember the words, here is just one translation (there are many):

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He causes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. 3 He restores my soul: he leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. 5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 6 Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

For most of us, this prayer holds little true meaning. Reb Eli, however, dissected the psalm line by line until he came up with a totally new translation (below). I won’t go through his whole sermon, although would like to mention two parts I found most meaningful.

First, the line “You prepare a banquet before me in the presence of my enemies” when truly understood gave this psalm an every-day relevance to me that brought tears to my eyes. Reb Eli explained, “In Hebrew, neged tzor’rai.  Neged means “in the presence of;’ but often with the connotation of ‘parallel to.’ You prepare a table before me in the presence of, parallel to tzor’rai.

“But tzor’rai is not ‘my enemies,’” he continues. “There is a different word for that. Tzor’rai is from the same word as tzar, narrow, tight, or restricted.  Like Mitzrayim, Egypt, the narrow place. Or tzuris, the Yiddish word for troubles. Or as we sing in the El Maleh Rachamim prayer, u-tzror bi-tzror ha-chayim, to be bound up, in the bonds of life.  Tz’ror. Bound, constricted. The same as the word for a ‘pebble,’ as a pebble in one’s shoe, that which oppresses.”

Thus, the word in Psalm 23 so often translated as “enemies” actually is a word for “those people or things which oppress or distress me.” According to Reb Eli, the line really means, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of, parallel to those people and those things that cause me my greatest distress.”

The next line of the psalm and Reb Eli’s explanation struck me poignantly as well. The question to ask at this point in the psalm is: “How do I respond when at the table and faced with these things that distress me most in my life?” How do we respond to life’s challenges?

The Psalm says:  ‘You anoint my head with oil; my cup runneth over.’  Reb Eli explained that this means we have the opportunity to respond like the best of our ancient kings—even in the manner befitting the Messiah. We realize that we can rise to the occasion; we can take the opportunity to respond from our most noble selves, our best or highest selves, and see that we and the situation overflow with possibility.

Reb Eli’s mother, of blessed memory, died this summer of breast cancer. He shared with us that she liked to say, “Everyone is dealt a full shissel, a full dish”—of blessings and of troubles.  The psalm reminds us we can behave at the most difficult times—when faced with life’s challenges—as if anointed as kings and that are cups are always full.

Later on Yom Kippur during the yizkor, or memorial service, we all read Psalm 23 together in its original translation. I still remembered Reb Eli’s translation and the meaning behind each line. I cried all the way through, not because I was mourning anyone in particular. Instead, I cried because the psalm suddenly offered me the consolation it is meant to offer. Here is Reb Eli’s translation; I hope it offers you daily consolation as well. (If you pass this along, please attribute it to Rabbi Eli Cohen.)

The Eternal G-d is my constant shepherd; I shall not lack for anything. 2 G-d brings me to rest in green pastures; and leads me beside calming waters, 3 refreshing my soul; leading me in the winding paths of right action, so that all will come to know G-d’s ways. 4 Though I will walk through the valley of the shadow of death, may I fear no evil, knowing You are with me; Your callings and Your proddings are of comfort to me. 5 You prepare a table before me corresponding to my greatest challenges; You call me to my most noble self; my life overflows with possibilities. 6 Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Sacred for the length of my days.

Copyright 2010 Eli Cohen

On Monday we celebrate Memorial Day. This holiday started off as a somber day of remembrance, a day where we in America went to cemeteries and placed flags or flowers on the graves of those who died in battle or in some way during the course of war. We remembered our ancestors, family members, loved ones, and even unknown soldiers who  gave the ultimate sacrifice for us. They died for our freedom.  Possibly they died to help give freedom to someone else as well.

Today, many people  actually “celebrate” this day with little thought about it’s original purpose or meaning. They have picnics and parties. They enjoy the fact that they have a three-day weekend without ever stopping to consider why.

This holiday came with a price—and is no cause for celebration. The fact that we have a day off should be for one reason only: as a memorial.

From what I can discern, there have been approximately 654,446 Americans in uniform killed under arms between 1775 and 2008 and another 525,930 who died while performing military service other than combat during that time. These numbers don’t include those lost in Iraq after May 2008. It’s true, freedom is never free.

We have other national days of celebration but only one Memorial Day. We should use it as such. I’ve heard it said that we should “put the ‘memorial’ back in Memorial Day,” and I’d have to agree.

There is meaning  in  parades and such, but the energy in a parade is upbeat and celebratory. I’d suggest other ways of recognizing our dead soldiers. Go back to cemeteries of the fallen and places flags or flowers on their graves, visiting war memorials, and support the care of these cemeteries and memorials.

I’d suggest doing something totally related to the holiday. Remember that while most of us are the beneficiaries of the sacrifice made by those who gave their lives, most of us also are untouched by that loss. There are those whose lives have been deeply touched by the loss…such as the families and friends of the fallen soldiers. A wonderful way to make Memorial Day more meaningful involves reaching out to these people. I’m sure that more often than not they feel their loss goes unnoticed and unappreciated.

What if on Memorial day you brought the families of fallen soldiers a thank you card, or even put one anonymously in their mailbox? You could place flowers and a note at their door. You could cook them a meal, or simply go to visit them. In particular, if these people live alone, they might enjoy the company—especially on this holiday.

Others have suggested doing more traditional things, such as

• visiting the graves of unknown soldiers
• flying the U.S. Flag at half-staff until noon
• flying the POW/MIA Flag
• renewing a pledge to aid the widows, widowers, and orphans of our fallen dead, and to aid the disabled veterans
• do something for disabled veterans

You might also consider adding your support to the efforts to restore the traditional day of observance of Memorial Day back to May 30th (instead of the last Monday in May). Don’t just make it a holiday; make the day a memorial day.

From a spiritual perspective, you could make the day more spiritual by participating in a National Moment of Remembrance at 3 p.m., which gives you a chance to actually pause and consider the true meaning of the day and offer up prayers to the fallen or for those soldiers still fighting around the world. You can pray for the soldiers who protect our country now.

Judaism has a prayer for the dead, the kaddish. Jews could say this prayer on memorial day for all the fallen soldiers. People from other religions could do something similar or light one of those seven day candles or a yartzeit candle, one that burns for a full day, as is used in the Jewish tradition to mark the anniversary of someone’s death. You could create a small memorial to someone you know who has fallen during battle or war—or to all the soldiers; place a candle there and some flowers, and simply say a brief payer or blessing after creating it.

Whatever you do, don’t just go out and have a picnic or party and celebrate. That’s not what Memorial Day is all about. Remember that. Remember.

Everyone has a mother…or had a mother. We are all born into this world from a mother, but some of us may be orphans,  adults whose mother’s have died, or estranged from our mother. Even those of us in these situations can celebrate Mother’s Day. We need only think outside the box a bit.

One way for us to celebrate Mother’s Day involves honoring our deceased mothers or those who gave birth to us whether we know them or not. We all came from a mother, and we can in some way dedicate the day to them. We can set up a small altar and place mementos on it. We can write journal entries or poems in honor of our parents. We can thank them or at least acknowledge what they have given us – life, certain predilections, certain abilities, gifts and talents, hair color, likes and dislikes.

If we are estranged from our mothers, we can still work on honoring the person who gave us life and possibly work on healing that relationship. A great way to accomplish this involves doing a gratitude exercise and trying to find as many things as possible for which to feel grateful in relationship to that person…no matter how hard that feels. Actually get out a piece of paper and write down 10-20 things you feel grateful to your mother for. You can at least be grateful she brought you into the world, gave you genetics that offered good health, strong bones, blue eyes, quick wit, etc. This goes a long way toward healing a relationship and changing your energy around your mother – or anyone – from whom you feel estranged.

If you don’t want to do these things, or you don’t know who your mother is, you can always honor Mother Earth or the Divine Mother. Or pick another mother…a biblical mother, like Mary or Sarah, for instance. Spend the day honoring them. Do something like set up an altar for them on this day. Put out flowers for them, acknowledge with a list their positive qualities, thank them for being your ancestors. If you go back far enough, one of these biblical ancestors at least is your great, great, great, great….and onward great grandmother.

think you definitely can honor Mother Earth on Mother’s Day as well. She gives us life every day in so, so many ways. Why wouldn’t we want to honor her? She is our home…She gives us a home, just like many of us feel we can go home to our mothers.

On Mother’s Day we can choose to honor any type of mother we want. Take your pick…just don’t forget about your biological mother. She might get angry! That reminds me of an old commercial for Chiffon Margarine that featured Mother Nature…another mother. It said, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.” So don’t fool your mother…don’t not show up in some way to honor her on Mother’s Day.

This is a day to remember the power of women – the power of feminine energy – of women’s ability to give birth and to give life in all forms. If nothing else, make it about that. Honor women. Honor the feminine. Honor women’s ability to create and give birth to new life.

Happy Mother’s Day!

And if you don’t remember that commercial I mentioned, here it is. Enjoy!

[]

Yesterday many Jews observed Holocaust Memorial Day. Yom Hashoah Ve-Hagevurah, literally the “Day of (remembrance of) the Holocaust and the Heroism,” is celebrated on the 27th day in the month of Nisan, a week after  the seventh day of Passover, and a week before Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day for Israel’s fallen soldiers). It marks the anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising as well.

For me, this day feels quite personal. My family is quite small because of the Holocaust. My mother, her sister and her parents escaped Czechoslovakia and went to Israel. One or two other relatives went to Peru. That’s it. (My father was already in Israel with his mother.) Everyone else was killed by the Nazis.

My mother’s grandmother gave her a ring just before the train left Prague for Trieste, Italy. She handed it to her through the window. My mother never saw her again. I now wear that ring.

My mother took me to the Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem when it still had a room with six million black tiles and an eternal flame for every concentration camp. She told me who in her family died in each of the camps. I’m still moved to tears when I think about that day.

Since the Holocaust, my mother no longer believes in God. She, like many Jews, suffers from what I call the real Shoah. Shoah means catastrophe. Yes, it’s a catastrophe that so many people died during the Holocaust, but to me the greater catastrophe lies in the fact that so many Jews lost faith in God.

Some say many Jews had already lost faith in God. So, the fact that Jews were being killed in gas chambers and burned or shot and buried in mass graves simply confirmed what they already believed: God did not exist. If he did, he wouldn’t have let such a thing happen to his Chosen People.

Only the faithful…those observant Jews who retained a strong belief in God…remained faithful throughout and after the Holocaust. Their belief in God and their faith was sorely tested, but it kept them going. It gave them hope. It gave life meaning despite the meaningless death they saw around them.

Their faith allowed them to believe that God’s hand must be in their lives in some way, shape or form. They might not see it or understand the events around them, but they had faith that one day they might understand.

Today, like the less observant Jews during the and after the Holocaust, many people suffer from a shoah of faith. We saw this after 9/11, for example. Most American’s could not grasp why God would let this terrorist act happen.

However, everyday people suffer crisis of faith. I have seen it in those closest to me. Falling into debt, death of loved ones, loss of jobs, feeling burned out make them feel hopeless. Then they get angry at God. They think God is doing this “to them.”

After they are done feeling like the victim, they decide God doesn’t exist. “If there is a God,” they say, “why would he allow such things to happen. Why doesn’t he hear my prayers? Why doesn’t he see the good things I do and reward me?”

Like the Jews during the Holocaust, however, they don’t really believe any longer in Divine retribution.

They also can’t see beyond the moment. They don’t believe anything happens for a reason…at least not the terrible things happening to them. “What reason could there be for those things to happen?” they ask.

They can’t see that the loss of the job they hated allows them to find a new one they enjoy. They can’t see that their spending habits or choices about where to live allowed them to get into debt; they are not being victimized. They can’t see that their unresolved issues with their dead loved ones cause them to feel depressed.

They lose faith. And then they cycle downward. Things get worse. Their life, their work, has no meaning. They experience a shoah of faith.

As Rabbi Wayne Dosick says, “The way to faith is through faith. The way to faith is though doing faith.” We must, “Do faith,” he says.

How do we do faith? Just as the Jews swore, “Never Forget,” we never forget…God. We place God before us always. Shiviti Adonai l’negde tamid (I place God before me always). We pray ceaselessly, as Jesus taught. We look for the signs of God’s hand in our lives…both in the good and in what we judge as bad.

And we try to look backward with 20-20 vision. As a Jew, I can look back and say that possibly without the Holocaust my people might never have mustered the energy to create the state of Israel. They might never have changed their mentality…their nature…so that they would say, “Never again…never again will we let such a thing happen.”

Someone else might say, “If I hadn’t have lost that job, I wouldn’t have gotten out of the terrible situation I hated and changed careers….or found a new job…or moved.”

We must learn to do faith, to have faith, to see God’s hand in our lives, indeed, to see and feel God every day…no matter what happens in our lives and in the world. Without that, indeed, we are alone in a meaningless world.

And that is a shoah….a catastrophe.

Today another young man in my children’s school took his life. (This is not the first, and it is the second that my daughter has known well.) Some people on Facebook were commenting on this tragedy…we were trying to understand why children feel the need to take their lives.

There never seems a good reason. Therapists and counselors tell us children don’t understand the consequences of their actions…We still don’t get it. We can’t comprehend.

To us, life seems worth living no mater what. And there are people all over the world living in poverty, in pain, with illness, without homes, suffering from tragedies of all sorts (think Haiti, Chili, Katrina, 9/11, etc.), and yet they find reasons to go on. They find meaning in their lives.

How can we impress upon our youth that they have value, or that their lives have more value if they continue living them–no matter what problems or issues they face?

Remind your children that they have value–whether they succeed or fail, whether they go to college or choose to drop out of high school, whether they use their talents or allow them to dwindle away. Love your children…and help them see their value and the value in living–even through the tough times. Teach them to live through the tough times.

Life is worth living…

Joannie Rochette grieving after her Olympic performance in Vancouver.

It’s a Jewish tradition when someone dies to say, “May his or her memory be for blessing.” The actual honorific is “of blessed memory,” a translation of the Hebrew “zikhrono livrakha” (m.)  or “zikhronah livrakha” (f.).

It’s an odd type of statement really. I tend to say, “May his or her memory be a blessing.” My words mean, when you think of the person who has passed on, may the memory bless you. However, I actually think “May his or her memory be for blessing” mean that we are to bless—or that we do bless—the deceased with our memories.

This phrase was on my mind last night and all day today as I thought about Canadian Olympic skater Joannie Rochette, whose mother died just two days before she had to compete last night. Despite her grief, she took to the ice and offered the performance of her life. Although she could have declined to skate, she did so possibly for no other reason than that her mother provided her with a reason to skate in the first place. Joannie didn’t plan to be a figure skater. Her mother encouraged her obvious talent and determination to compete. Rochette became an Olympian for the first time in Turin four years ago, where she finished fifth.

As I watched Joannie skate—and as I watched her teary eyed father watching her proudly as he sat alone instead of with his wife—I knew each of them held in their minds such strong memories and thoughts of Therese Rochette. And with each thought, with each memory, they bless her…and her memory blessed them.  In a packed stadium in Vancouver, Joannie’s performance surely blessed her mother’s soul with each movement—and, based on how well she skated, surely her mother’s soul blessed her.

Who do you know who has died? Imagine that you bless them and they bless you each time you think of them or recall a happy time with them. Our memories truly are blessed. They keep the people who have passed on close to us always.  By simply closing our eyes and recalling time together, once again we can feel their love and enjoy their company. That truly is a blessing.

If you want to watch Joannie’s performance from last night, click here.

For more information about Joannie and her personal-best performance, read my Examiner column.

This past weekend I attended a memorial for a friend’s wife. I recently wrote about Tofah’s passing in another blog post. The memorial provided a truly beautiful testimonial to a life well lived, and I was struck not only by the good she had done in the world but by the lovely lessons she and her husband had taught our community during her illness and death.

Tofah taught all of us how to die. She approached her end time with such dignity and acceptance. Although she tried alternative medicine to treat her brain cancer, she didn’t fight the inevitable. Rather from what I could tell from the beautiful writings her husband, Jay, shared on her Care Pages, she relaxed into the process. She invited in her angels and guides and focused on the spiritual plane that would soon encompass her. And she died with her husband by her side reciting the names of God to her. In the background, people were chanting and singing, as they had much of the time she had been ill.

Why do most of us run away from death? Are we so afraid of what lies on the other side of this physical plane, so afraid to see the place from whence we came?

I can’t say that I won’t have fear when my time comes, but intellectually I know that my soul will live on. I know that the spiritual plane has to be an easier, more peaceful place to be than this physical earth plane. I know that I will finally truly experience oneness with my Creator again.

So, why fear? Yet, we do. Maybe it’s just a fear of the unknown. But Tofah knew that spiritual realm. For her, I believe it was not unknown. And, therein, lies the key. To make the unknown known prior to the time of passing.

Possibly we also harbor a fear of leaving behind the known, just as those of us left behind fear being left behind. I felt such awe for Jay, who never ran away, never seemed to balk, but rather stayed by Tofah’s side every moment. Many a good man or woman has been known to run away – from the pain, the reality, the emotions – from the side of a dying loved one. Jay taaught us how to help a loved one die.

It’s hard to be without those we love, to not feel their physical presence any longer. For those who leave us, I can’t imagine they feel that pain. I think they stay close by, at least for a while, lingering near those they love. Yet, maybe it’s hard to not be able to communicate, to have someone you love feel your touch.

Once or twice I’ve had someone who passed communicate with me. My daughter, too, has had someone who passed come to her in a dream. So, I know it is possible. But it doesn’t happen often, unless you are a medium. I’m not. Or maybe I’m just an occasional one.

I’ve often wished my father, who died when I was just seven, would communicate with me in some way. I’ve had the same desire of my friend, Bill, who died just before my daughter was born. Then again, I’ve sometimes wondered if he didn’t reincarnate into the body of one of my children…in which case, he communicates with me often, I just don’t know it.

And that’s a whole different discussion, a different experience…when you look into someone’s eyes and you could swear you know them from somewhere, sometime. They seem just so familiar, like a friend or lover you lost long ago.

If you don’t believe in a spiritual realm, life after death, that our souls live on or that they come back in new bodies, watch this video. It might change your mind.

[ ]

Today I signed onto the Internet to discover that Senator Ted Kennedy had died. Those who know me well would say I’m not very politically inclined, and they’d be correct. However, Ted Kennedy’s death moved me. It seems his passing marks the end of an era. The Kennedy era.  We could sing, “Where have all the Kennedy’s gone? Long time passing…” His death left me feeling quite nostalgic and melancholy.

His death also seems to mark the end of something else for me–maybe my youth. So many good ones have passed recently, notable people from my younger days: Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Beatrice Arthur,  Dom DeLuise, Ed McMahon, Walter Cronkite… I suppose this simply brings up my own mortality, my own sense of time passing and getting older.

Not that I’m that old, but 2010 will mark my 50th birthday. During the same year, my daughter will graduate from high school. Just two years later, my son will follow her off to college or a career in the dance world, God willing. Their lives will be starting, and my life will be half over.

Maybe that’s part of what I’m feeling. I look at Senator Kennedy’s life, the good and the bad, and I see how much he achieved. I see the mark people like Michael Jackson and Walter Cronkite left on the world, although I realize they were very different people leading very different lives. Will I leave a mark? Will I leave a hole when I’m gone? Their death did. I feel it.

In Judaism we someone dies we say their memory ”should be for blessing” or “be a blessing.” The blessing in these people’s memory should be that by their passing we become inspired to leave our own marks on the world. We should go out and do good, stand up for the things in which we believe, create art, speak our mind, be “all that we can be,” live up to our fullest potential, and then leave a hole when we are gone. We should live lives that have impact.

We never know how much time we have to achieve that goal–it could be one more day, one more year, or half a decade. Live a life of impact now. Make a difference to the current era…or start a new one.