Of the serious and the not-so serious: movies, death, and rebbetzin guilt and self-doubt
Not-so serious first.
So we saw The Da Vinci Code movie. Here are my thoughts.
(warning: the rest of this post is pretty raw - may be a bit of a downer - read at your own risk)
I said earlier that I was in a beginning-of-summer slump, and I mused about why that might be. So I think I figured it out. This is something that I think of often, but for some reason it's been on my mind quite a bit more than usual over the last few weeks, and I think it's the end-of-school-year thing that's doing it.
You see, this is the time of year in which, some years ago, our shul had to bury a kid.
The kid had been sick. The kid had been suffering. The kid (hereinafter: TK) had been experiencing ups and downs in TK's illness, and had been in and out of the hospital. But we all thought TK was going to make it. I, at least, never seriously considered that TK might die.
But TK did die. And we were all there, at the funeral, at the cemetery, burying TK, watching TK's family, searching for something to say or to do, fumbling about with our helplessness and bewilderment, and then returning home.
It was stuch a strange and painful, almost out-of-body time, probably for all of us, and definitely for me. I found myself being powerfully reminded - way more than I wanted to be - of a short story that I was once forced to read. Anyone ever read "The Death of Ivan Ilych" in high school? I hope not, because it's waaay inappropriate for high school. But I read it in high school anyway, I think in English class, though it may have been for a scholarship application essay. I don't remember.
So the story is about a man (his name is Ivan Ilych - go figure) who, surprisingly, dies. The story begins with his funeral, and then goes back in time chroncling his life, his illness, his suffering, and how he was left alone in his room for days and weeks on end, pondering and struggling with the fact that he was going to die. Eventually, he sort of comes to terms with it. Somewhat. I suppose that part is up for interpretation. The whole thing is sort of horribly difficult and disturbing, and is obviously meant to force us to confront our own mortality, and to consider how we are going to live our lives until That Day comes.
So when TK passed away, I was reminded powerfully of the opening scene of that story, at Ivan Ilych's funeral, and particularly of the thoughts that went through the mind of one of his friends. (attempting to find the text online... searching... searching... got it)
"Three days of frightful suffering and then death! Why, that might suddenly, at any time, happen to me," he thought, and for a moment felt terrified. But -- he did not himself know how -- the customary reflection at once occurred to him that this had happened to Ivan Ilych and not to him, and that it should not and could not happen to him, and that to think that it could would be yielding to depressing which he ought not to do.... After which reflection Peter Ivanovich felt reassured, and began to ask with interest about the details of Ivan Ilych's death, as though death was an accident natural to Ivan Ilych but certainly not to himself.
The thing with Peter Ivanovich is that he, I imagine like most of us, and certainly like Ivan Ilych himself at first, preferred to think of death as something extraordinary. Something remote and unusual, and certainly something that happens to other people. So when it hit close to home, he was uncomfortably faced with the reality that death is not extraordinary, but that it is in fact the most "ordinary" thing in the world.
But Peter Ivanovich could not tolerate that knowledge. The awareness of the reality, the nearness, and especially the ordinariness of death was something he could not permit. And so he fought it off, convinced himself that somehow Ivan Ilych was different, and he settled back into comfort the way all of us do, until perhaps we, like him, are forced to imagine otherwise.
So this, above all else, above even the tragedy itself of watching a child die, is what struck me when I stood there watching TK's family by TK's graveside. More than the tears streaming down our faces, more than the raw pain of the moment, more than the sight of the siblings clinging to their parents - more than any of that, I was struck by the absolute ordinariness of the family. I was struck by how unspectacular they were, how strikingly regular, and by how strange it seemed that their lives had been somehow chosen for this. That in spite of their ordinariness, this extraordinarily unusual thing had happened to them.
Everyone knows that the loss of a child is a wound that never, ever heals. Baruch Hashem most of us have the luxury of knowing this in the abstract, but that abstract knowledge is enough for us to know. And losing a child of the shul is also a wound that never heals, not really. There are various things in the shul with TK's name on them, dedicated in TK's memory, that will be there forever, as long as the building stands, or at least until there's some major renovation, which is probably not going to happen until one of us wins the lottery. But those physical memorials are just a part of the hovering continuity of TK's absence. TK's family is still present, still there every week, still themselves minus one, except now they've been branded with this strange and unusual mark. They still seem so ordinary, but we feel they are not. And none of us will ever forget it.
But the confusion about the strangeness of it was only part of my personal bewilderment. For me, the other most powerful memory of TK's death is the utter bewilderment, still palpable to this day, that I felt regarding my presence as the rebbetzin. I will never forget that confusion, and the worst part is that I can't even say for sure that I've learned from it, and that I would be any less confused if God forbid it were to happen again (chas v'shalom, chas v'shalom, knock on wood and all that stuff times 1,000) (and shut up, Dovie, if I feel like saying those things, I will).
I obviously can't say much here about TK's family. But I will say, since this description might fit any number of people, that they are extremely humble, unassuming people. They didn't ask for help while TK was sick, and they didn't expect to receive it. Really. It's not just that they didn't assume they would receive it; it's that they literally did not expect to. It's hard to believe how true that is, but trust me, if you knew them, you'd understand. The concept of other people taking time and making effort to do things for them is just something that does not enter this family's minds.
Not that they didn't receive help, mind you; people from our shul rose to the occasion, throughout the illness, in a manner fit for angels. I won't go into too much detail about that, either, but they were just amazing, and I know TK's family remains overwhelmed and grateful to this day. And that's where my personal confusion begins. Because I'm ashamed to say that while TK was ill, I, personally, did nothing. I squeezed the mother's hand once or twice, I think - I don't even really remember - and I went out of my way not to treat the siblings differently when I saw them, because I know that's not a good idea, and I participated when people were bringing them food. But other than that? Nothing.
I'm not going to try to make excuses, nor am I looking for reassurance or soothing from my readers (not looking for abuse or lectures, either, so you can hold those back as well). Sure, I was busy with my family; sure, one person can only do so much; sure, I am in general terrible at hospital visits anyway; and sure, the family wasn't asking and didn't expect anything, and I know that they harbor no ill feeling towards me at all. But none of that is a good excuse for my not having done anything. Not really. Not for me.
The thing is, see, that I'm the rebbetzin. It's my job (or is it?) to go above and beyond what people "expect," and to be the one who initiates things, who seeks out interactions, who thinks of things that would be helpful and meaningful to people, even if they haven't asked for them. Sure, TK's mother would not in her wildest dreams have imagined that I would, I don't know, do something like show up on a Friday, out of the blue, with flowers and kugel, I mean on one of the weeks when the shul wasn't already providing food. I mean just because, because I was thinking of her. And she wouldn't ever have wanted or expected me to surprise her at work with lunch and an invitation to coffee. But just because she wouldn't want or expect those efforts doesn't mean she wouldn't have been amazed and grateful to receive them. Just because she didn't assume there would be help doesn't mean she was beyond help. And unsolicited help from me would have been ten times more meaningful than from anybody else, because it would have been coming from the rebbetzin.
These are the things that sometimes make me wonder whether I really have the right to be in this role (hee hee, I said the "r" word). Because sometimes, like it or not, there are things that people need from a rebbetzin. Fair, not fair, sexist, not sexist, it's the truth (BOY is there the mother of all mutant flies buzzing around my head at the moment - anyone have any bug spray?). And if I am not going to provide those things, well, I sometimes wonder whether it's right for me to be in this position, and whether my being here actually amounts to preventing people from getting things they need, or things they would benefit from, and which they might receive if someone else were the rebbetzin instead of me.
Of course, this becomes somewhat complicated when you consider the fact that getting our shul a different rebbetzin would require that my husband marry someone else. Oops.
So I didn't do anything for TK's mother. And I know she wasn't hurt, but I think I felt hurt on her behalf. And I was embarrassed and ashamed, and I stood at the funeral having no idea where I belonged, or what my role should be, if anything. Should I stand next to her? Should I put my arm around her? Should I sort of "take charge" of her the way close friends of the bride do for the bride at weddings? You know, being the ones to bring the bride water, stand guard outside the makeup room, and generally act protective and involved?
In the days leading up to the funeral (it was delayed a few days - long story), I felt quite strongly that I should NOT do any of that for TK's mother, that I had no right to, that it would be presumptuous and rude if I did, and that doing so would indicate that I suddenly felt I was Mrs. Hotshot Rebbetzin, when all that time I had done nothing for her or for the family. Too little, too late, RenReb. You want to play protective and caring, do it when you're not in the spotlight. Do it when it really matters. Do it when the whole shul isn't watching, and when no one will walk away saying "Did you see the rebbetzin? She's amazing." Because I was not amazing, not for this family. Not at all.
So that's what I thought, at first, that I should stay away, keep a respectful distance, and not start asserting Rebbetzin Privilege where I didn't belong.
But then I started to doubt myself the other way. Maybe I should step in and be TK's mother's Special Comfort Person. After all, TK's mother hadn't wanted or expected me to do anything all that time. Maybe she never even noticed that I hadn't done anything. But maybe she does want me to help her now. Maybe this time, she will notice if I don't take charge. Maybe my presence next to her and my arm around her would be helpful, not hurtful and embittering. If that's the case, then I do need to go stand next to her. This is her child's funeral. I must do the right thing. But how do I know what to do? I want to err on the side of caution, but which side is the cautious side in this case? How do I know???
I struggled with this before the funeral, on the way to the funeral, and during the funeral itself. It turns out I need not have worried, however. Not surprisingly, TK's mother was just a bit too shattered and overwhelmed, too prostrated with grief and horror, to have any clue where anyone else was, or certainly what I, personally, was or was not doing. In fact, I'd venture a guess that I was probably quite, quite far from her mind at that moment. Silly rebbetzin. Like at her child's funeral, the only thing on this woman's mind is YOU. Right. I did put my arm around her at some point, I think during the burial, but for all she was aware of anything other than the burial itself, it could have been Jackie Onassis (don't ask why I just thought of her, maybe because she was like the quintessential rebbetzin for those few short years?) putting her arm around her, and I don't think she would have noticed.
Of course, my struggles with what I should do as the negligent rebbetzin were a fairly small portion of what I was feeling that day. But it's a portion I haven't forgotten, and like I said, I'm not sure I've learned from it, either.
Shiva was also horrible, of course. And it made it so much worse how utterly grateful they all were to see me when I showed up. "Oh, thank you SO much for coming. Everyone, have you met our rebbetzin? This is our rebbetzin, [my name]." I felt horrible. Because first of all, I saw how much my presence meant to them - just my being there - and that confirmed what I already knew, that anything I could have done during the illness would have been received as absolutely magical.
And second of all, hearing them introduce me with the r-word just made everything worse, because I knew what the visiting friends and family must be thinking. They were thinking all the usual things people think when they meet me and discover that my husband is a rabbi. They were thinking I must be whatever it is they think a rebbetzin must be, and in this case, I almost could not bear the likelihood that they would all assume that I had been present during the illness, that I had been involved. That I was not a negligent rebbetzin.
My how the whole thing sucked, on so many levels. It was one of those times that I wanted to say "Please don't call me 'rebbetzin.' I don't feel worthy of the title." (yes, there are times like that)
*
*
*
*
*pause to momentarily stare into space*
*
*
*
*
So. Like I said. I think it's possible that memories of all of this, of TK, of TK's death, of thoughts of TK's family, and of my self-doubts and struggles, might be somewhat contributing to my end-of-school-year slump. Because this is the approximate time of the yahrtzeit, so these things have been on my mind lately, a bit more than most years, and I do wonder if I changed from that experience at all. But thank God, I have not been given the opportunity to find out, and I obviously hope I never am.
*pause again*
So! How are we all feeling now? Brightened up your erev Shabbos, did I? No, don't thank me. The RenReb lives to serve.
So that was my big personal post of thedecade moment. Hope it wasn't too torturous to read.
So go see "The Da Vinci Code," and let me know what you think. I, for one, do want to know why there aren't any cups depicted on the table in "The Last Supper."
Shabbat shalom.
So we saw The Da Vinci Code movie. Here are my thoughts.
- AWESOME. Don't know if I'd think so if I hadn't read the book, but alas, there's no way to find that out.
- Ron Howard is a genius. The direction was nothing short of astoundingly breathtaking, and with all the various moods and atmospheres and whatnots that he had to create, well, pulling off "breathtaking" seems like no small feat.
- Tom Hanks has totally won me over. I never liked him that much before, but he's now on my Celebrity List of Five (if you don't recognize that, forget it). I really didn't think he'd be able to pull off Robert Langdon, but he was awesome. He really had me convinced. Brilliant.
- The actor playing Silas should win about ten Oscars, two of which should be for his facial expressions alone. That was some of the most intensely powerful acting I have EVER seen. "Do you mock me, Sister?" *oooh* chills.
- It took until the very end of the movie for me to stop thinking to myself "Hey Gandalf, where's your beard?"
- (spoiler warning) I'm pretty peeved that they ended up making Aringarossa a bad guy, and also that the guy at the church at the end apparently wasn't Sophie's brother. Or at least they didn't say he was. Those were plot points that I personally didn't want changed.
- (another spoiler warning) Tom Hanks's silly little speech at the end about Jesus and faith was, well, silly. A cheap ploy by the writers, I think, to fend off some of the criticism from the Church.
Anyhoo. I loved it.
OK, now the serious.(warning: the rest of this post is pretty raw - may be a bit of a downer - read at your own risk)
I said earlier that I was in a beginning-of-summer slump, and I mused about why that might be. So I think I figured it out. This is something that I think of often, but for some reason it's been on my mind quite a bit more than usual over the last few weeks, and I think it's the end-of-school-year thing that's doing it.
You see, this is the time of year in which, some years ago, our shul had to bury a kid.
The kid had been sick. The kid had been suffering. The kid (hereinafter: TK) had been experiencing ups and downs in TK's illness, and had been in and out of the hospital. But we all thought TK was going to make it. I, at least, never seriously considered that TK might die.
But TK did die. And we were all there, at the funeral, at the cemetery, burying TK, watching TK's family, searching for something to say or to do, fumbling about with our helplessness and bewilderment, and then returning home.
It was stuch a strange and painful, almost out-of-body time, probably for all of us, and definitely for me. I found myself being powerfully reminded - way more than I wanted to be - of a short story that I was once forced to read. Anyone ever read "The Death of Ivan Ilych" in high school? I hope not, because it's waaay inappropriate for high school. But I read it in high school anyway, I think in English class, though it may have been for a scholarship application essay. I don't remember.
So the story is about a man (his name is Ivan Ilych - go figure) who, surprisingly, dies. The story begins with his funeral, and then goes back in time chroncling his life, his illness, his suffering, and how he was left alone in his room for days and weeks on end, pondering and struggling with the fact that he was going to die. Eventually, he sort of comes to terms with it. Somewhat. I suppose that part is up for interpretation. The whole thing is sort of horribly difficult and disturbing, and is obviously meant to force us to confront our own mortality, and to consider how we are going to live our lives until That Day comes.
So when TK passed away, I was reminded powerfully of the opening scene of that story, at Ivan Ilych's funeral, and particularly of the thoughts that went through the mind of one of his friends. (attempting to find the text online... searching... searching... got it)
"Three days of frightful suffering and then death! Why, that might suddenly, at any time, happen to me," he thought, and for a moment felt terrified. But -- he did not himself know how -- the customary reflection at once occurred to him that this had happened to Ivan Ilych and not to him, and that it should not and could not happen to him, and that to think that it could would be yielding to depressing which he ought not to do.... After which reflection Peter Ivanovich felt reassured, and began to ask with interest about the details of Ivan Ilych's death, as though death was an accident natural to Ivan Ilych but certainly not to himself.
The thing with Peter Ivanovich is that he, I imagine like most of us, and certainly like Ivan Ilych himself at first, preferred to think of death as something extraordinary. Something remote and unusual, and certainly something that happens to other people. So when it hit close to home, he was uncomfortably faced with the reality that death is not extraordinary, but that it is in fact the most "ordinary" thing in the world.
But Peter Ivanovich could not tolerate that knowledge. The awareness of the reality, the nearness, and especially the ordinariness of death was something he could not permit. And so he fought it off, convinced himself that somehow Ivan Ilych was different, and he settled back into comfort the way all of us do, until perhaps we, like him, are forced to imagine otherwise.
So this, above all else, above even the tragedy itself of watching a child die, is what struck me when I stood there watching TK's family by TK's graveside. More than the tears streaming down our faces, more than the raw pain of the moment, more than the sight of the siblings clinging to their parents - more than any of that, I was struck by the absolute ordinariness of the family. I was struck by how unspectacular they were, how strikingly regular, and by how strange it seemed that their lives had been somehow chosen for this. That in spite of their ordinariness, this extraordinarily unusual thing had happened to them.
Everyone knows that the loss of a child is a wound that never, ever heals. Baruch Hashem most of us have the luxury of knowing this in the abstract, but that abstract knowledge is enough for us to know. And losing a child of the shul is also a wound that never heals, not really. There are various things in the shul with TK's name on them, dedicated in TK's memory, that will be there forever, as long as the building stands, or at least until there's some major renovation, which is probably not going to happen until one of us wins the lottery. But those physical memorials are just a part of the hovering continuity of TK's absence. TK's family is still present, still there every week, still themselves minus one, except now they've been branded with this strange and unusual mark. They still seem so ordinary, but we feel they are not. And none of us will ever forget it.
But the confusion about the strangeness of it was only part of my personal bewilderment. For me, the other most powerful memory of TK's death is the utter bewilderment, still palpable to this day, that I felt regarding my presence as the rebbetzin. I will never forget that confusion, and the worst part is that I can't even say for sure that I've learned from it, and that I would be any less confused if God forbid it were to happen again (chas v'shalom, chas v'shalom, knock on wood and all that stuff times 1,000) (and shut up, Dovie, if I feel like saying those things, I will).
I obviously can't say much here about TK's family. But I will say, since this description might fit any number of people, that they are extremely humble, unassuming people. They didn't ask for help while TK was sick, and they didn't expect to receive it. Really. It's not just that they didn't assume they would receive it; it's that they literally did not expect to. It's hard to believe how true that is, but trust me, if you knew them, you'd understand. The concept of other people taking time and making effort to do things for them is just something that does not enter this family's minds.
Not that they didn't receive help, mind you; people from our shul rose to the occasion, throughout the illness, in a manner fit for angels. I won't go into too much detail about that, either, but they were just amazing, and I know TK's family remains overwhelmed and grateful to this day. And that's where my personal confusion begins. Because I'm ashamed to say that while TK was ill, I, personally, did nothing. I squeezed the mother's hand once or twice, I think - I don't even really remember - and I went out of my way not to treat the siblings differently when I saw them, because I know that's not a good idea, and I participated when people were bringing them food. But other than that? Nothing.
I'm not going to try to make excuses, nor am I looking for reassurance or soothing from my readers (not looking for abuse or lectures, either, so you can hold those back as well). Sure, I was busy with my family; sure, one person can only do so much; sure, I am in general terrible at hospital visits anyway; and sure, the family wasn't asking and didn't expect anything, and I know that they harbor no ill feeling towards me at all. But none of that is a good excuse for my not having done anything. Not really. Not for me.
The thing is, see, that I'm the rebbetzin. It's my job (or is it?) to go above and beyond what people "expect," and to be the one who initiates things, who seeks out interactions, who thinks of things that would be helpful and meaningful to people, even if they haven't asked for them. Sure, TK's mother would not in her wildest dreams have imagined that I would, I don't know, do something like show up on a Friday, out of the blue, with flowers and kugel, I mean on one of the weeks when the shul wasn't already providing food. I mean just because, because I was thinking of her. And she wouldn't ever have wanted or expected me to surprise her at work with lunch and an invitation to coffee. But just because she wouldn't want or expect those efforts doesn't mean she wouldn't have been amazed and grateful to receive them. Just because she didn't assume there would be help doesn't mean she was beyond help. And unsolicited help from me would have been ten times more meaningful than from anybody else, because it would have been coming from the rebbetzin.
These are the things that sometimes make me wonder whether I really have the right to be in this role (hee hee, I said the "r" word). Because sometimes, like it or not, there are things that people need from a rebbetzin. Fair, not fair, sexist, not sexist, it's the truth (BOY is there the mother of all mutant flies buzzing around my head at the moment - anyone have any bug spray?). And if I am not going to provide those things, well, I sometimes wonder whether it's right for me to be in this position, and whether my being here actually amounts to preventing people from getting things they need, or things they would benefit from, and which they might receive if someone else were the rebbetzin instead of me.
Of course, this becomes somewhat complicated when you consider the fact that getting our shul a different rebbetzin would require that my husband marry someone else. Oops.
So I didn't do anything for TK's mother. And I know she wasn't hurt, but I think I felt hurt on her behalf. And I was embarrassed and ashamed, and I stood at the funeral having no idea where I belonged, or what my role should be, if anything. Should I stand next to her? Should I put my arm around her? Should I sort of "take charge" of her the way close friends of the bride do for the bride at weddings? You know, being the ones to bring the bride water, stand guard outside the makeup room, and generally act protective and involved?
In the days leading up to the funeral (it was delayed a few days - long story), I felt quite strongly that I should NOT do any of that for TK's mother, that I had no right to, that it would be presumptuous and rude if I did, and that doing so would indicate that I suddenly felt I was Mrs. Hotshot Rebbetzin, when all that time I had done nothing for her or for the family. Too little, too late, RenReb. You want to play protective and caring, do it when you're not in the spotlight. Do it when it really matters. Do it when the whole shul isn't watching, and when no one will walk away saying "Did you see the rebbetzin? She's amazing." Because I was not amazing, not for this family. Not at all.
So that's what I thought, at first, that I should stay away, keep a respectful distance, and not start asserting Rebbetzin Privilege where I didn't belong.
But then I started to doubt myself the other way. Maybe I should step in and be TK's mother's Special Comfort Person. After all, TK's mother hadn't wanted or expected me to do anything all that time. Maybe she never even noticed that I hadn't done anything. But maybe she does want me to help her now. Maybe this time, she will notice if I don't take charge. Maybe my presence next to her and my arm around her would be helpful, not hurtful and embittering. If that's the case, then I do need to go stand next to her. This is her child's funeral. I must do the right thing. But how do I know what to do? I want to err on the side of caution, but which side is the cautious side in this case? How do I know???
I struggled with this before the funeral, on the way to the funeral, and during the funeral itself. It turns out I need not have worried, however. Not surprisingly, TK's mother was just a bit too shattered and overwhelmed, too prostrated with grief and horror, to have any clue where anyone else was, or certainly what I, personally, was or was not doing. In fact, I'd venture a guess that I was probably quite, quite far from her mind at that moment. Silly rebbetzin. Like at her child's funeral, the only thing on this woman's mind is YOU. Right. I did put my arm around her at some point, I think during the burial, but for all she was aware of anything other than the burial itself, it could have been Jackie Onassis (don't ask why I just thought of her, maybe because she was like the quintessential rebbetzin for those few short years?) putting her arm around her, and I don't think she would have noticed.
Of course, my struggles with what I should do as the negligent rebbetzin were a fairly small portion of what I was feeling that day. But it's a portion I haven't forgotten, and like I said, I'm not sure I've learned from it, either.
Shiva was also horrible, of course. And it made it so much worse how utterly grateful they all were to see me when I showed up. "Oh, thank you SO much for coming. Everyone, have you met our rebbetzin? This is our rebbetzin, [my name]." I felt horrible. Because first of all, I saw how much my presence meant to them - just my being there - and that confirmed what I already knew, that anything I could have done during the illness would have been received as absolutely magical.
And second of all, hearing them introduce me with the r-word just made everything worse, because I knew what the visiting friends and family must be thinking. They were thinking all the usual things people think when they meet me and discover that my husband is a rabbi. They were thinking I must be whatever it is they think a rebbetzin must be, and in this case, I almost could not bear the likelihood that they would all assume that I had been present during the illness, that I had been involved. That I was not a negligent rebbetzin.
My how the whole thing sucked, on so many levels. It was one of those times that I wanted to say "Please don't call me 'rebbetzin.' I don't feel worthy of the title." (yes, there are times like that)
*
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*
*
*pause to momentarily stare into space*
*
*
*
*
So. Like I said. I think it's possible that memories of all of this, of TK, of TK's death, of thoughts of TK's family, and of my self-doubts and struggles, might be somewhat contributing to my end-of-school-year slump. Because this is the approximate time of the yahrtzeit, so these things have been on my mind lately, a bit more than most years, and I do wonder if I changed from that experience at all. But thank God, I have not been given the opportunity to find out, and I obviously hope I never am.
*pause again*
So! How are we all feeling now? Brightened up your erev Shabbos, did I? No, don't thank me. The RenReb lives to serve.
So that was my big personal post of the
So go see "The Da Vinci Code," and let me know what you think. I, for one, do want to know why there aren't any cups depicted on the table in "The Last Supper."
Shabbat shalom.
Labels: The Rebbetzinate
This entry was posted on Friday, June 09, 2006 at 6/09/2006 11:35:00 AM.
ByWoah. This may be the best post I've ever read here.
ByTo add to the misery (sorry)... It's an impossible situation to know what to do. Most of the time, go with your gut. A close friend of ours had a baby a couple of nights ago - only the baby didn't make it. The same night, the husband's best friend DID have a healthy baby on the other side of the country. It's hard enough for us to figure out how we should and shouldn't speak to them, cry with them, etc.; it must be impossible for the other couple who received the present they didn't THAT VERY NIGHT.
Impossible situations which we can (hopefully) never relate to - how can we comfort them?
***
Okay, before I break down... Have a great Shabbos. I hate cliches, but: May we ALL know ONLY simchas.
Thank you for your post.
ByI lost my wife a year ago after a long illness, somewhat unexpectantly, because to the last we davenend and trusted that she would make it.
Not to be immodest, but I identify just a glimmer with TK's family, we never expected people to do anything for us.
Sad to say however, our expectation has been largely fufilled. Aside from attendance at the levaya, platitudes at the shiva and the obligatory one-time invitation for a shabbos meal (with the exception of one or two really good people, there never is a follow up invitation, or a rain check if we cannot make the date our "hosts" deign to allow us in)it occurs to no one to offer a bit of emotional support for me or the children ( we have 4 B'H coping as best we can).
B'H we do not need financial support, but emotional support and just a bit of kindness would have gone a long way.
Being a year out, let me tell you the hurt and the pain is not lessened. My advice. its not too late. Show up erev shabbos with that Kugel, drop by unexpectantly to take Tk's mom out to lunch or coffee just for the heck of it. Trust me it will do aworld of good.
Oh by the way, we live in the largest orthodox jewish community in the world, where people will write a check for a cause without a second glance, but sadly have all the sensitivity of an ameoba when it comes to giving just a bit of themselves.
So, forget the past, don't beat yourself up as to what you should or shouldn't have done, or what you did or did not do. Just look forward and provide that bit of emotional support that makes all the difference between feeling connected and feeling abandonded and alone, even if outwardly it doesn't show.
Trust me.
From one who wishes you were our Rebbitzen.
Good Shabbos.
Ren Reb,
ByI would be far more concerned if I heard/read you say that you thought that you were the perfect person for the job.
It is a role that doesn't have clearly defined rules, maybe in some places, but on the whole there are all sorts of shades of gray.
There are going to be times when we stumble and fail. There are going to be times when we don't feel good about our actions.
All we can do is our best so that the good days out number the bad.
That was amazing. I'm sorry you had to have such material to write about.
ByThat sounds incredibly painful. I am sorry you and that family had to go through that. I think self-doubt is a part of the 'role' - inevitable, actually, because of so many expectations from so many different areas and people; it is hard to know sometimes which direction is appropriate. The best indication that you ARE learning and fulfilling your 'role' is that you care enough to stop and ask the questions. And the right questions at that. chazak chazak, etc. i hope you have a restful shabbes.
ByYou can't beat yourself over the head for the person you are not - the person who knows how and when to take charge. You are the person who is always filled with a level of self-doubt, and is not comfortbale imposing yourself on others. You always are placing yourself into others shoes and trying to figure out where they place you in their lives.
ByThis is not a fault, it is who you are. Stop trying to fit into some stereotypical rebetzin role and be yourself.
I think that if the opportunity ever presents itself you could mention to TK's parents how you think of him often and how his memory, and how he and the family faced the worst with faith and dignity is indellibly ethed in your heart.
I think that knowledge will be more comfort than anything else you could do or say.
27 yrs ago my grandmother suddenly passed away at age 48. It was before I was even born. Yet, every time it starts to rain in the tropics there is a darkness that sorrounds our home. I carry that sadness from my mom even if I never met my Bobbe. I dread those first tropical rains and the global depression they bring along in my family...
ByAs for what you could've should've would've... sounds to me like you are an amazing human being and whatever felt right must have been right. I agree with anonymous, show up with the kugel. It is never ever late to show what you feel and how much you care.
Shabbat Shalom and my best wishes.
i also think that anonymous is quite right, show up now, let them know your still thinking about it.
Bymabye talk to them, i mean you never believed that it would get as bad as it did, and i also agree you are an extreemely kind and sensative person, you wouldn't have done something objectively wrong.
again you really should do something for them, mabye invite them for shabbos? and i think you should make a clear resolution to take the charge next time something (chas v'shalom!) bad happens, dont' let it get bad before you do something, if doing this is what you think you should do then do it! don't put your self down either rebbetzin, you really are a special person for even carring about all this.
I don't think you said how long ago this happened, but yeah, it's never too late. To be honest, when my FIL was going through a terrible illness, none of noticed nor cared if the rebbetzin was around. I honestly can't tell you if she was even at the funeral. And that's nothing against her at all; our minds were too full of taking care of FIL and grief to notice one way or the other.
ByHowever, AFTER the fact, now that FIL's been dead for a few years, we would definitely have noticed (and appreciated) if the rebbetzin had called to see how MIL was doing or offering to go for coffee.
It sounds like TK's family's physical needs were taken care of during that difficult time, and you did your part there. Emotional needs simply can't be taken care of by anyone BUT family. It's what happens afterwards, when the family has to learn to live without this person, when their thoughts and time are no longer taken up with caring for this person, when they now have all the time in the world to think about their loss, *this* is when comfort is needed most.
You are so unbelievably thoughtful. I don't know how long you've been a renreb, but if this is your growth process, you're going to be incredible someday. Shabbat shalom.
Grr. Blogger ate my thoughtful comment.
ByTo sum up:
Job's friends were doing all right helping him in his grief and suffering until they opened their damnfool mouths.
Being present is often more important than being erudite.
Shabbat Shalom.
"... nor am I looking for reassurance or soothing from my readers." bummer ... I guess the only thing I can say is that your introspection and questioning are some of the things that make you the great rebbetzin, the great woman, that we know you are. I know it.
By-C
RenReb, You are indeed a very very compassionate loving rebbetizin. Your posting speaks volumes! Thank you. There's no statute of limitations on kindness. A phone call, an email, a visit to say that you're thinking of them ANYTIME would be a welcome gesture. The death of a child is always a tragedy and it's never "over". Kindness and compassion go a long way and I KNOW that you'll know just the right and appropriate things to say. Even going out for a walk in the woods is comforting.
ByWhen my FIL died, there were tons of people around. We all got through it, somehow, and then the tons of people went away. All I know is that every year, the yahrzeit is horrible, and the people we really love are the ones who remember, year after year, that we still miss my FIL terribly. There are a couple folks who we hear from every year around the yahrzeit, and I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that others remember my FIL, and miss him, too. As other commenters have said, it's never too late to let people know you're thinking of them. Sometimes, actually, later is better...
ByThat is a difficult situation for anyone to be in. It would be hard for anyone to know what to do. Sounds like you did your best, what you thought was right at the time and you can only improve in the future. I'm sorry that you and your community had to go through such a thing, only good things in the future!
By****
Now the not-so-serious.
I saw the Da Vinci Code. But I'd read the book so there were no surprises. And because there were no surprises (and it was quite long, my friend dozed off), I found it a little boring! Had I not read the book it would probably have been a much more enjoyable movie due to the suspense and thrill of it all because it was a good movie. There's nothing like a car chase and some art history and Paris. The image I had of Langdon (when I read the book) was nothing like Tom Hanks. So yeah, wish I hadn't read the book before the movie this time!
Shavua Tov!!
I read your story and was very touched by all your feelings. I think what happened to you was a spiritual learning experience..this is the gift that TK gave you..a very important lesson that you as a Reb will use over and over again in your life. It also taught me, an ordinary person a lot of things. Before my mother died..may she rest in peace..I did not know what death felt like..i did not know what ppl felt like to lose one so close and loved..not until Her death. Her death taught me to have such compassion for people that lose a loved one..I didn't know this before her death. TK's passing taught this to you in another way.
ByYou are right that the loss of a kid stays in a shul forever. 19 years ago, our shul where I grew up lost a kid in a car accident. I will never forget the kid, or his levaya. All that the Sefer Torah in his memory has ever done for me is remind me that his parents will never be the same.
ByRenreb- from one in the field-
Bywe try the best we can to be there for people, and wish we did more, and wish we could be a bigger part of our flock's lives, and we try, and sometimes fail. And sometimes we don't even know what to say, but to hug them and cry. But our job is to watch the Lord's Flocks, and He expects us just to do the best we can.
This was a beautiful, beautiful post. I especially felt what you were trying to say with "The Death of Ivan Ilych". I have been saying things of a similar nature to my family and friends lately. You know that bad things happen in this world, but you somehow just don't expect them to happen to YOU. As if you alone are destined to have an easy, peaceful life.
ByI also thought the same, before my first child was diagnosed with a terrible, lifelong condition. Autism. I won't go into my personal feelings about the subject, but it's just amazing how much we deny that anything bad can happen to us.
I don't think that during those first years of diagnosis, that i really wanted any outside help that I could construe as pity. I think that now, with a better acceptance of things, I would more appreciate help for a rebbitzen type figure. Not that I'm looking for it, and this family might not as well. You have to gauge them and see.
What I'm trying to say is that it's possible that during the illness and death, that the family DID NOT want special attention of any kind. Some people do, some people don't. I didn't. I just wanted to be treated like anyone else. With the passing of a few years, though, I think it's the best time to approach them now.
I bet, that if you asked the mom over for coffee or something, and said, you know, I really wish I had done this a lot sooner (don't fall over yourself, just be earnest), I remember that this time of year is TK's yarzheit, and I wonder how you're doing even though it's been a few years, and then just let her talk. That would probably mean the world to her. And you've done a mitzvah, because she certainly hasn't forgotten her son, and she may feel like the rest of the world has.
ByJust listening could be the best gift and indication of caring you could give her, no matter how late.
I feel woefully inadequate trying to give YOU advice, but my mom passed away very suddenly when I was 29 and she was 49 (8 years ago), and I don't get many chances to talk about her, except when my 7 year old asks questions about how she died, and I'm just not ready to talk about that with her. :( Like, she wants DETAILS. I just can't. But once in awhile I don't mind having a new person to tell about my mom. TK's mom might love having you to brag about her son to!
Whoops. After you went through great pains not to assign a gender to TK, I went and did it, maybe because of the novel you referred to. Sorry.
ByI have a friend who unfortunately r"l lost more than one child. I too thought these were "regular" people, but she and her husband have exhibited such strength, emunah and grace in dealing with this tragedy, that I can only marvel at them. They still retain a sense of humor (perhaps a little dark, but there nonetheless), and so make it easy for their friends to be able to comfort and talk to them. I devoutly hope that no one is ever tested this way, but I've seen that sometimes the regular, normal, ordinary people can show themselves to be angels.
ByRenReb,
ByJust wanted to say hello and introduce myself. I've been reading your blog for about a month now, and I've done my best to catch up on all the archived stuff...You have me in hysterics one minute and in tears the next! I absolutely love reading your blog. It's really made me think more about the rebbetzin at my shul...Maybe she's got a wild side just like you ;-) We'll never know, will we?
Anyway, I didn't have much of a point to this comment, just wanted to introduce myself so I can stop feeling like a big creepy stalker who just reads the blog but doesn't post any comments LOL..Buuuut I guess I can put my 2 cents in:
*DaVinci Code movie: haven't seen it but I don't ever think books-to-movies are all that good, they're too much of a disappointment because you don't get to use your own imagination to embellish the story like you do with a book...Sounds like this one was like all the others...
*TK and family: I am so sorry for your (and your shul's) loss...As for the advice to call on her now or invite her over, I think it's an excellent idea. One of my dearest friends lost his brother 3 years ago, and every year around the anniversary of his death, the pastor from their church and his wife have the family over for dinner. While the pain that the family feels doesn't just happen around the anniversary of his death, it is heightened then and having someone reach out to them really helps (or so my friend thinks)...Anyway, my point is that it's NEVER too late to reach out to someone. Don't be afraid that you've been a "bad rebbetzin" because you haven't. You're human. And a fine one at that.
~Hila
Today is Uzi's mum's birthday. I honestly think she could care less whether I ring her bcs her life pretty much ended the day he died. But I will ring her bcs it feels like the right thing to do, and bcs she does care abt my remembering her which ultimately is bcs of him.
ByI am still touched when people let me know they think of Uzi, I am always touched when he is remembered. It is not too late to let the family, especially when people stop talking abt TK either bcs they don't know what to say or are afraid that the parents being reminded will hurt them more. Guess what, that's all they think abt anyway and nothing can hurt more than that. I am certain they will appreciate knowing you too will remember.
Renreb:
ByIn my not so humble opinion, you are doing fine. Most marriages are comprised of two different people who complement each other and feed of ach others strengths. When it comes to congregational interpersonal relationships it is very rare to find a great Rabbi who is married to a great Rebbitzen, usually it is either one or the other. So while it is always the Rabbi who renders the halachic decisions either spouse can be the confidant/therapist.
So ultimately if in fulfillng your job as Rebbitzen you have to "lay low" so be it. I bet your husband is great at those things and therefore you can not be or he would not be married to you.
SY
Um, I thought Da Vinci Code was just okay. I thought the dialogue was lame and that Tom Hanks's perfomance was disappointing. The photography was beautiful, that's the only redeeming thing I can say about the movie. It was definitely not worth full ticket price, IMO.
ByUm, I thought Da Vinci Code was just okay. I thought the dialogue was lame and that Tom Hanks's perfomance was disappointing. The photography was beautiful, that's the only redeeming thing I can say about the movie. It was definitely not worth full ticket price, IMO.
Bythe other day i said to my husband that we are so lucky to have a rav to go to when we have a question or are in need of advice. then it occurred to me, "who does our rav go to?"
Byin your case, who does the rebbitzen go to? people expect that you have the answers, that you always know what to do, even when the regular folks may not. while you might think that you need to somehow perfect this role and always know what to do, understand that many of us in the non-rebbitzen position understand and appreciate that you (and our own rebbitzens) are just as human as the rest of us and often have the same reactions and thoughts that we do. reading your blog (and especially this post) reminds me that despite having the title "rebbitzen" you are still a person struggling with the same questions that we all have. hang in there and don't drive yourself crazy. we all do the best we can in these difficult circumstances, rebbitzens or not. :)
Wow, have you clued in to my life. As a fellow renegade I sometimes think that my husband could use two wives, me and then the other one who could be the powerhouse rebbetzin since that is so not me. Too bad for him.
» Post a CommentI wish I could just do chesed without thinking its my "job." I wish at funerals, weddings and bar mitzvahs I could just be sad/happy without worrying how other people are judging my character, personality and competence based on every word I say, what I do and for whom. Keep up what you are doing. Remember our goal is to do mitzvos, have a good marriage and raise well-adjusted kids - not to support the weight of the world on our small shoulders.
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