ברשות הקהל, את רוב דבריי אשא באנגלית לטובת בני המשפחה שצופים מרחוק ומקרוב. אזכיר בעברית רק איך היא גילמה בכל אבריה ובכל גידיה את מאמרו של ירמיה הנביא "זכרתי לך חסד נעורייך אהבת כלולותייך". כל ימיה עסקה בחסד – בקהילה, ובמשפחה, במדבר הרוחני בחו"ל ועד ארץ קודשנו. הריני כפרת משכבה.
Eema,
Unfortunately, I have had quite a bit of time to think about what I might say when standing here. I know, since you told us not one week ago, that you don’t want us thinking of you as you were this past year. So, I will refrain for the most part of talking of your final battle. But one thing I will mention:
Last Friday, Hoshana Raba, when the doctors told us that there were only hours left, we all gathered around to bid you goodbye. We sang and cried, and sang and cried, trying to go through all your favorite zemirot and Jewish songs. Though you could hardly talk, you were still mouthing the words with us. And then at one point, Abba said, “let’s sing לכתך אחרי במדבר”.
כה אמר ה' – זכרתי לך חסד נעורייך, אהבת כלולותייך, לכתך אחרי במדבר בארץ לא זרועה
I felt it was divine inspiration – for every time I thought about what to say here, that was the pasuk that jumped immediately into my mind. The chesed, kindness, of your youth, following G-d into the desert. No pasuk could better encompass your life and personality. Growing up in a veritable spiritual wilderness, where, as you put it, your entire high school class had 2 and a half Jews. From an early age you got most of your spiritual guidance from inside the house, while learning that to follow G-d took effort, going out to follow Him. At the young age of 14, you decided for yourself that you wanted a traditional Jewish life in your house, in a place and time where it was very much not in fashion. While quickly standing out academically from all your peers, being the first of your school to get accepted to Harvard, you still stated that one of your goals there was to find someone with whom to make a proper Jewish home. You were indeed following G-d out in the wilderness.
And then you followed literally – out of the comfort of the States, out of a promising young career, following a dream you hadn’t even contemplated when starting your journey – out here to our Promised Land. And despite the challenges you always stated how proud and happy you were that you made the leap out into the desert, the ultimate symbol and venue of our faith.
And not just following Him in tradition and worship, but in Chessed, in kindness and charity. Wherever you went – in חו"ל and in Israel, you quickly made sure to get involved with the community and its institutions, the ועד of the shul, and even the Chevra Kadisha in St. Louis. [Imagine having to deal with the burial of your own best friend, tragically lost in a car accident!]. Making sure our house was a home away from home for dozens of young students – in St. Louis and here in Israel. Chessed with those surrounding you was a fundamental part of your character.
Of course, Chessed was not only poured outwards, but inwards, towards your own family as well. You were the most attentive, involved and caring mother anyone could ask for, even while balancing a career and your other undertakings. Creative projects, educational activities, music [not to mention amazing cooking] – you did it all.
And when it came to your grandchildren – you made it a point to be the most involved grandmother possible. Every one got visited regularly, regardless of the distances, for as long as you physically could. When you no longer physically could, when you had to miss your granddaughter’s bat mitzva, you merely determined to make the next simcha, and the next. I’m so sorry you won’t get to see the next ones, at least not standing among us.
That determination, that strong heart, is what refused to give up through these last months as well. You made Heaven work hard to get you, to wrest you from your chosen path of chessed in the wilderness.
While I know there are countless instances for which I need to apologize to you, I will only mention the last one. We went against your wishes in helping care for you ourselves in your last months and weeks, trying to give back a fraction of the chessed you did us all these years. You wanted to spare us the pain of watching as you slowly lost your fight, and we did not let you. I hope you can forgive us for this.
You want us to remember you as you really were – and we will. Our memories and images will be of your smiling, loving face and your countless acts of kindness and devotion.