In our tefillot and Torah readings during Elul and the Yomim Nora’im, the trait of areyvut was a prominent theme. Areyvut, which speaks to the connectedness and obligation we have toward one another, as members of Klal Yisrael, is most visible in family relationships and friendships; moreover, reaching to achieve the ideal of areyvut, in all of our relationships, creates the emotional safety that can be a powerful springboard for teshuvah throughout the year. Indeed, experiencing the acceptance, love and forgiveness that family members and friends typically offer one another can foster the self-confidence to forgive others and even oneself. These are all vital steps in making the changes that will return us to God, as well as our true selves, as we transition from the intense spirituality of these past weeks.
As one of four siblings, children of survivors, my sisters and I learned the value of friendship very early on in life. Still, I always thought of friendships as something I could hold onto forever. This morning, however, as I recited the bracha for the refuah shleima of cholim, I cried when I had to cross off the name of my dear friend Giselle, Gitel Bas Yaakov Baruch, z”l, whom many of us davened for in the past few months. On Motzei Rosh Hashanah, we received the heartbreaking news that she was nifter. While I am deeply saddened, I also recognize how fortunate I was to enjoy our friendship that began in high school and continued through the years. Giselle was part of a close-knit chevra from Boro Park. Adele, my twin, and I met her when we entered Central High School for Girls (YUHSG). The group was so special to us because until that period in our lives we were busy helping our parents with household duties and the caretaking of younger siblings; as a result, we had very little time for friends outside of the home. Yet, from the day we met Giselle and the “girls,” a new world opened up for us, where friendship was the most memorable part of our experience.
For four years, almost every Shabbat afternoon included strolling along 14th Avenue, the frum social scene of the ‘60s and ‘70s. The rest of the day was spent in someone’s home, schmoozing and sharing our deepest thoughts and secrets; after all, our parents had enough burdens to bear, so why add our adolescent angst? Moreover, for Adele and I, the “girls” also taught us how to let go of the serious, pseudo-adult persona we carried. We learned to laugh, have fun and enjoy the unique character traits of each friend. Giselle was most notable for her brilliance, modesty, compassion and wry sense of humor. She had no “shtick,” and never said a bad word about anyone. Even though Giselle was a genius, she was totally unassuming and non-threatening. Giselle was also among the friends we met during the summers, when our families moved into bungalows in the Catskills. I especially remember how we were there for each other during the challenges of dating in high school and college, and then were rewarded when we danced at each other’s weddings. When Giselle became engaged to the love of her life, Eli, a fellow classmate of my husband, Jack, at Ner Yisroel and roommate at Brooklyn College, the bond was further strengthened—a bond that continued for the past 50+ years. This included regularly scheduled lunch dates with the girls, as well as sharing in smachot, and supporting one another through challenges and losses.
Early this summer, I learned Giselle was gravely ill. In July, taking a break from chemo, she met us for lunch; she was so happy to be part of this and for the first time in many weeks could enjoy a meal. A fellow sushi lover, we shared a California roll; the last time we would do so. A week prior to her petira, we visited with her again, but this time in the ICU; while there was still hope, we were also aware of the possibility that this could be our goodbye. True to character, and despite the pain she suffered, Giselle’s kindness, compassion and wry sense of humor were far more evident to us than the weight she had lost and the pallor of her skin, and we weren’t surprised when she apologized for the fact that she “dozed off” at times due to the meds, and worried over “boring” us. On Erev Shabbat we were told that Giselle was moved to a hospice and that the doctors didn’t expect her to make it through Shabbat. But Giselle was always a fighter; all through Rosh Hashanah, while I davened, I kept repeating the mantra: “Ain od milvado, there is no one but God.” Indeed, His decrees can override the predictions of doctors. Yet, after Yom Tov, we received the dreaded phone call that began with “Baruch dayan HaEmet….”
At the levaya, our hearts went out to Eli, their children and grandchildren. And while we felt the intensity of the loss, there was great comfort in being surrounded by the warm embrace of friends; Giselle came to life for just a short while, which was an unexpected gift. Through the poignant portrait Eli and their children portrayed, they painted a picture that captured the true essence behind our soft-spoken, witty friend. It felt as if she was in the room with us. Eli spoke of her brilliance, compassion and the value she placed on friendship; he also noted specific qualities she admired in others, describing three of her friends as Giselle saw them: The first: “She doesn’t have a bad bone in her body.” The second: “She’s straight as an arrow,” and the third: “She’s a class act.” Eli was right on target when he shared that the reasons these qualities resonated for Giselle was because she possessed these same character traits, but due to her modesty she failed to recognize them in herself. Another family member characterized her as “royalty.” Giselle was all of these and more.
In Sefer Devarim, which we just completed, we learned that Moshe was 120 when he was niftar, yet his “….eyes were undimmed and his strength undiminished” (34:7). This wording speaks to the spiritual vitality he still possessed. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks cites research on the personality markers that account for “flourishing” in the middle-aged and elderly population. He notes that the most critical qualities identified in this study, “generativity” and “keeper of the meaning,” are the middot that defined Moshe Rabbeinu. Generativity, he explains, “is the commitment to taking care of the next generation, by engaging in a form of life work that will outlive oneself.” In a similar fashion, the personality type defined as keeper of the meaning: “… uses the wisdom and skills gained through his own experiences, in teaching and passing these understandings, values and skills to the next generation… handing the past over to the future.” This is our tradition, our mesorah. Moreover, as Rabbi Sacks reminds us, that while Moshe Rabbeinu was essentially a “leader of the nation throughout his life, during his last month he became a “master teacher… [directing his attention] to the next generation… no longer Moses the liberator and lawgiver, [but] as Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses our teacher…. the task for which he has become known to tradition and, in some ways, his greatest achievement.”
I recently read a novel describing a four-decade friendship between four friends. The author, I believe, was communicating the idea that the love between dear friends is everlasting; not because it is rooted in the similarities between them; but rather, because it is based on the opportunity the friendship affords to integrate the qualities of one’s friends and become the best one can be. Moreover, in expressing these traits, the friendship remains alive forever, even in the absence of his or her physical presence. Even though my dear friend Giselle was taken far too soon, we can all take comfort from the knowledge that her character and the life she led reflects the important middot and life-cycle patterns set by our great role model Moshe Rabbeinu, the traits of generativity and keeper of meaning. Like Moshe, she leaves behind a legacy that will surely outlive her.
She was always devoted to her family and friends and her exemplary professional work ethic was a true Kiddush Hashem. Yet, when she retired from her first career, where she used her skills in mathematics and business, she could easily have settled for a leisurely lifestyle; instead, she began a new career as an adjunct professor at Brooklyn College. She grew to love her role as teacher, where she could summon her wisdom and experience, and in return she was beloved by them, and I know she immensely enjoyed the extra benefit of the time and flexibility it afforded her to shower her husband, children, grandchildren and friends with her love and caring.
And so she lives on in the hearts and souls of those whose lives she touched. I will miss her dearly; but Hashem does send us special gifts that impact our lives, and for me it is the ongoing relationship with “the girls,” the longstanding friendship Jack and Eli share, and now, the unexpected friendship my eldest daughter, Tammy, forged with Esti [Giselle and Eli’s daughter] when both of their families moved to Passaic. These are the miracles Hashem sent my way—vehicles for keeping Giselle alive in my heart, and ever remaining a role model and a friend.
By Renee Nussbaum
Renee Nussbaum is a practicing psychoanalyst with special training in Imago Relational Therapy. She can be reached at: doctorreneenussbaum @gmail.com.
