Yizkor Meditation
We are about to enter a sacred time within our holy day of Shavuot. According to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (z’l), “Judaism is a religion aiming at the sanctification of time. Every hour is unique and the only one given at the moment, exclusive and endlessly precious. Judaism teaches us to be attached to holiness in time, to be attached to sacred events.
One of the most distinguished words in the Bible is the word kadosh, holy; a word which more than any other is representative of the mystery and majesty of the divine. The first time that the word kadosh is used is in the Book of Genesis, at the end of the story of creation. How significant is the fact that it is applied to time: ‘And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy.’ There is no reference in the record of creation to any object in space that would be endowed with this quality of holiness.”
Four times a year we pause during a day already deemed as holy, to remember. Yizkor, a metaphorical stop sign after we have completed the initial periods of mourning, serves to jolt our memory. The words of the Psalms, or the melody of the memorial prayer known as El Male, have the power to transport us back to the time of loss. While back then we may have experienced the numbness of disbelief, overwhelming well-wishers, or the whirl of just getting through it, now it takes little to turn on the spigot of tears. Most of us have become experts at masking our grief so that we can resume what others define as “normal.” But we who mourn know that life can never be normal when there is an empty chair at our seder table, no answer when that phone number is called, and no birthday to mark with joy. Rather, we grasp at the memory of seders gone by, the voice in a video recorded, and a date now observed with a different kind of candle.
Judaism’s days of yizkor serve to open the wound. The salt of our tears stains the clothes that we once rent as we affirmed God as the true judge. We long to close the wound, to bring closure to our suffering. The fact is, however, that the ability to close our suffering is as likely as it is to return the torn clothing to its original state. Rather, we make room in our lives for our mourning. We accommodate our new reality. And we find safety in the community that gathers four times a year including this day of Shavuot, as we share the bond of sadness.
What purpose, then, does yizkor serve on a day like this, when we are brought in joy to the foot of Mount Sinai to receive Torah? We can choose to return to our personal Egypt, a place of bitterness, with the weight of the hard work we endured, being slaves to our grief. Or we can look around us, with the generations – past, present, and future – sharing the memory of all that was sweet. We can look to the heights and find guidance and nourishment of lessons learned, as a mother suckles her young. We can recall better times when we shared meaningful conversations, found comfort in their arms, or sat in silence, content in feeling the warm of their nearness. The gift of memory allows us to relive times past, creating a world that was shared in all its imperfection and beauty. It is those times when God makes evident the holiness of that which was created, one human being for another, for all eternity.
Before we turn to the written words of yizkor found in our prayer books, I invite you to close your eyes. Inhale the sweetness of this sacred time, now let it gently leave. Inhale one more time and draw in the nourishment that a loved one provided. Now return it to the universe. With eyes closed, use your mind’s eye to see your loved one. Trace their body, see their eyes. Watch their lips as they form the sounds of your name. Allow them to find a place seated next to you, and feel their warmth next to you. And when you feel their presence, and when you are ready, I invite you to open your eyes and return, with your loved one, as we turn to the yizkor service in our siddur on page 574.
