As the High Holiday season was approaching following this extraordinarily unusual year, my thoughts drifted towards family members who are no longer in this world; in particular my mother, may she rest in peace, who died in 2009. I realized how many years had gone by since the last time I had visited her grave at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Fairview, and I felt about an inch tall. I suggested to my wife Ruchie that we visit there on the upcoming Sunday. She similarly thought about how she had not been to her maternal grandparents’ graves at the Cedar Park/Beth El Cemetery in Paramus for too long and asked why we didn’t also go there as well. Since it was the Hebrew month of Elul, when many Jews have a practice to specifically make such visits at this time, it was very fitting.
So on the beautiful, sunny Sunday morning of September 6th, we left our home in Highland Park and began the hour-long drive to Paramus. By coincidence, my paternal grandfather, who died long before I was born, is also buried in Cedar Park, and his plot was within walking distance of where we were parked, so we went there first. I had visited it several times before, and it has always seemed surreal because I never met him, but I felt it was appropriate to pay my respects nonetheless.
After I recited the Keil Malei, the traditional prayer for those who have passed on, we returned to the car and drove deep into this very vast cemetery. We soon discovered the tall tombstones that bore the inscription of my wife’s grandparents’ names, lifetimes and certain praiseworthy descriptions. Naturally, my wife began to weep copiously. She had shared stories about her grandparents with me during the drive up and her relationship with them. Just by her tears, I could see how much she truly loved and missed them, and although I never had the chance to meet them, I was quite moved. Following my reciting the Keil Malei for them, I respected Ruchie’s wish for a few minutes alone there to say additional Tehillim. Then it was time to drive to the Mount Moriah Cemetery in Fairview.
Once we arrived there, I suggested that besides visiting my mother and grandmother’s plots, we should also go to the graves of my grand-uncle and grand-aunt, who were buried not far away in another part of the cemetery and with whom my father was very close. Being that my father is now restricted from traveling, I knew he would very much appreciate our doing this, so we located the plot and I said prayers for them as well.
Next, we walked up the hill to see the wide headstone that bears my family’s last name, next to the design of a candle burning. In the plot at the front was my mother’s grave. Having over 20 years of experience as a chaplain, I have witnessed many sad sights, but even so, seeing my mother’s grave once again was a different story. Instantly, I found myself crying up a river. Not just from sadness, but also guilt, and the first thing I could think to say, between the sobbing, was “Please forgive me for taking so long to come back here.” This time it was considerably more challenging for me to recite the Keil Malei, but I managed to do it. Then I went over to the grave of my paternal grandmother, who passed away in 1999, and prayed for her as well. As with the other visits, I concluded by the tradition of placing a stone on the monument. My wife offered to give me a few minutes by myself, but it was such an emotional moment that I truly found it difficult to say anything at all. As I later realized, although I treasure my mother’s memory and certainly feel that she is still a part of me, seeing her grave and reading the inscription on her tombstone powerfully reminded me how much it hurts not having her physically present.
Since that visit, memories of experiences with these various relatives, as well as others, have flooded my mind. As painful as it was, it has made me resolve that I will be more vigilant in paying my respects on a regular basis.
But the day was not only one of sad recollections; at least two pleasant silver linings emerged as well.
As I told Ruchie, I realized that with the exception of my maternal grandmother, who is buried in New Montefiore Cemetery in Long Island, in one day we had visited the final resting places of nearly all those whom our children are named after. Our visits linked our pasts with our vibrant present.
On the way home, we drove by MetLife Stadium, the location of the past two Siyum HaShas events, most recently this past January. The gathering filled that stadium to capacity, concurrent with similar gatherings in locations around the world, in celebration of the completion of the Daf Yomi seven-year cycle.
Although I was not physically at MetLife Stadium that day, since I am not fond of crowds or cold weather, my older daughter and her class were there, and she found it inspiring. Right around that time, I merited to complete my first learning of the entire cycle and shared my celebration with my wife and children on the Shabbat immediately prior to the Siyum HaShas. For me, this was not only the celebration of achieving a personal goal, but a tangible manifestation of how important learning and living Torah is to my wife and me and highlights the values we are trying so hard to instill in our children.
Thus, within the same day, I experienced what I see as the circle of life. Honoring and connecting with the past, living in the present, and seeing a location which, to me, evokes that which gives me hope for the future.
Rabbi David Blum provides pastoral care throughout New Jersey as part of the Rabbi Chaim Yosef Furst Chaplaincy Program, which is conducted via Congregation Ohav Emeth of Highland Park, and the Joint Chaplaincy Program of the Jewish Federation of Greater Metrowest. He resides with his family in Highland Park, and may be contacted at [email protected].
