To Everything There is a Season

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every
purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a
time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up
that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to
heal, a time to break down, and a time to build up; A
time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn,
and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and
a time to gather stones together;”
Kohelet 3

So it is with any kind of wisdom that it requires this most basic of understandings: all things that are will pass, all things that stand will fall, all things that live will die. And yet – and yet – that which we love endures for all time. A year ago this time I was burying my father. He had been ill but not the kind of ill that would have predicted an imminent
passing. He had walked into a hospital in the late morning and passed away later that day. I am thankful that my father was not alone, he had at his side the woman who he had loved all his life – my mother. I was supposed to have done their 45 year wedding anniversary re-marriage ceremony later that week in Florida. Instead, I was burying him in a grave in New York.
Through this past year I have seen a part of life that I have only witnessed, albeit with many of you at my side. I have stood at the hospital bedsides with you, and the gravesides too. So when it was my time, I didn’t feel alone. In so many ways I had
my congregants with me; through it all you have shown me how one faces these moments in countless ways.
From that time I have often thought of my father, but it was only until Yom Kippur that my father’s death seemed real to me. It was in that moment of Yizkor that I realized what so
many of you have already come to learn – when people we love die they don’t disappear from us, but you can’t go to them for help. We can’t sit down with them and talk, or take them in our arms and hold them. They have no address, and there is no number to ring them - because these that we love are no longer among the living.
Throughout this year as I have said my kaddish my unpredictable schedule forced me at times to visit other shuls this year. I have been so very touched to see how community
plays such an important part in both difficult and painful moments. So as my year of mourning comes to its conclusion I need to acknowledge the little minyans and the big shuls who have all enabled me to fulfill the mitzvah of saying kaddish for my father. For it was in the act of saying those words everyday that I met my father. From our earliest
beginnings we have understood that time is not something we fashion to make order in the world, but we understood that time is real. We knew for thousands of years that we must use time to make the most of our life, to avoid ignoring or forgetting the most precious parts that make our existence worthwhile. And it is of no small measure to consider that it is in these moments that we can meet the souls that we have entrusted
into G-d’s loving embrace. We do it by turning our hearts beyond ‘this’ to something beyond. Kaddish, minyan, community make this happen for us. We could do it alone,
but why would anyone want to?
As we are about to light our Hanukkah candles, I would ask that you help light another kind of light as well. That is the eternal light of prayer, and of comfort. If you are able, come to the shul and participate in the minyan – either the morning or the evening. It is not simply a religious action, it is a great act of kindness to your fellow person in their moment of loss and need. I know it was for me.
Chag Orot Sameach
Rabbi Aaron Flanzraich