Los Angeles Jewish Home

In some of my classes I have been discussing the subject of courage, following the recent Torah readings about the exodus from Egypt and the crossing of the Red Sea. Throughout that period the faith of the Israelites, that they can and will escape their Egyptian slave-masters and become a free people, swings wildly between moments of trust and confidence – Yes, God is on our side! – and times when they want only to remain slaves, for freedom is just too risky.

When the Israelites complain to Moses – Why don’t you leave us alone, to remain in Egypt as slaves? – they want to stay in the world they know, rather than take all the risks of freedom. Freedom carries the dignity of making choices, and the possibility of good and new things in our lives, but also it means we live without knowing what tomorrow brings. Willingness to face the uncertainties and the difficulties of life, as well as its possibilities, is what courage is all about. The alternative, in the words of one resident, is: Just give up, stay in bed, and pull the blankets over your head.

Does growing older call on us to have courage? A resident answered: Yes we need courage, because we never know what’s going to happen. Perhaps she was thinking about the sudden change in health she had recently gone through – without a negative word! Another resident told us her first words on waking each morning: No surprises today please!

It is not just the unknown. Some residents live in almost constant pain or discomfort; others get on as best they can despite physical difficulties. Most know the loneliness of life following the death of their long-time husband or wife. As I see how the majority of residents make the best of life without complaint, it strikes me that courage is indeed an important factor in making senior years a positive time of life. Here at the Home, the staff does a wonderful job in making the life of residents as comfortable, dignified and enjoyable as possible. What is sometimes overlooked is that the residents do a wonderful job too. For me, to see such courage is both humbling and inspiring.

The Torah expresses courage as faith in God. For instance, when the Israelites are facing the Red Sea, with the Egyptian army coming up behind them, they initially complain to Moses who tells them: Have no fear, stand by and watch how God will save you! While many people have courage which is not based on faith is God, there are others for whom faith can be a source of courage. Psalm 23 puts it: Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me. A sense that one is not alone can give great strength.

I have very great respect for those who came through years in the Nazi death camps or work camps. I know from my reading that not everyone kept their determination to survive; some just gave up. I am not surprised, so I asked the Holocaust survivors in my groups what gave them the courage to keep going. All without exception told me their faith was very important to them. One said his recitation of psalms sustained him. Another said she felt God by her side as she volunteered for work – which turned out to be her route to survival. Another said her religion was important to her, but she also believed a person’s childhood upbringing made a big difference. She herself had had a very poor childhood, and that difficult time gave her the strength she needed to face the enormous challenge of life in the camps. I understand that; although we all want an easy life, it is very often difficult experiences that strengthen us to face even greater challenges in the future.

We talked a little about the courage to face death. One resident was sad about the relative shortness of the time still left for her, wishing she had achieved more. But not one person expressed fear about the future.

Perhaps that is why I love being a rabbi at the Jewish Home: while I am no longer young myself, I work amongst my seniors and my teachers, who help me to think that maybe I too will be able to face all the uncertainties and hardships that lie ahead. For that I am grateful.

Labels: Aging, Bible, Courage, Death, Elman, For the Spirit, Holocaust survivors, Inspiring, Israelites, Jewish, Judaism, Letter from the Rabbi, Moses, Rabbi

The thoughts for this letter came to me while walking in a beautiful rainforest in Costa Rica. There are so many different kinds of trees in the forest, trees of all heights and kinds, and vines and creepers. And beneath those trees and vines and creepers, the ground is covered with fallen leaves, twigs, branches, whole tree-trunks … all part of the rich life of the forest.

In the midst of the towering trees and the fallen logs, it struck me that there is no clear distinction between what is alive and what is dead. Rather, there is an astonishingly complex pattern of interdependence and regeneration. The creatures and the plant life need each other, and the so-called “dead” branches and leaves are part of that pattern. They are far from useless: they provide home and nourishment to insects and small animals and other organisms, and gradually they break down to fertilize the soil, giving new growth, new life. In fact they are essential to the life and health of the new trees.

In that way, what is fallen seems as alive as the tall majestic trees. Certainly in the grand scheme of nature, the fallen, the “dead”, seem just as valuable. How odd that we human beings don't regard our dead as alive and valuable and nourishing! But that's exactly what they are.

In the Jewish tradition, we place great value on life: this life. It is not, as in some cultures, merely a preparation for a future life after death. This life, what we do in it, how we behave towards others, what we do to help bring about a better world – these are what count.

So once we die, do we become irrelevant to the rich pattern of life? Do we lose all value? That is how many people think about death, but I believe they are wrong. Just like those fallen trees and branches in the forest, what we have been in our lives will continue to affect those we leave behind, contributing to their lives.

Let me give an example. I continue to be inspired by the man I still regard as "my rabbi", several years after his death. He was a deeply spiritual man, who would speak and sing to God with all his heart and soul, but he combined that with a passion for changing the world for the good. His example taught me that spirituality – our relationship with God – has little value unless it is reflected in how we try to bring good unto the world. Like a great fallen tree in the forest, my rabbi continues to affect the lives of so many people who knew him or studied with him.

It is not just the “big” people in our lives (like parents and significant teachers) who make a lasting difference. Don’t you find that when someone shows trust in you, it adds to your confidence? Or when someone laughs at you, or treats you badly, it makes you feel smaller and less confident in the world? Just think back on the love your parents gave you, or some act of kindness or nobility shown by a friend – how that made you a better person. Whatever we do in our lifetimes affects others, and that effect remains after we have gone.

Where do these reflections lead me? On the one hand, I feel I must try to live up to the good bequeathed to me by so many who have gone before. After all, my life has been enriched enormously by countless people who are no longer alive – not just people I knew, but also people who died even before I was born, like all those men and women over the centuries who contributed to Jewish life and culture.

On the other hand, I think it’s important for me to be aware that every act of mine, for good or for bad – like a leaf on the floor of the rainforest – will continue to do its good or its bad long after my physical death.

I have come to realize that I want to leave behind a real (even if invisible) legacy for good in the lives of others. When my earthly life comes to an end, my hidden influence will continue. And I want that continuing influence to be for the good.

Don’t you feel the same way?

Rabbi Anthony Elman is the Skirball Director of Spiritual Life at the Jewish Home and also serves as Rabbi of the Home's Grancell Village campus. His professional background is multifaceted, encompassing the fields of law, social work, and psychotherapy. Rabbi Elman has been with the Home since his ordination and graduation from the Academy for Jewish Religion-California in May 2007

Labels: Costa Rica, Death, Ecosystem, Elman, Influence, Jewish, Judaism, Life, Rainforest

Skirball Hospice chaplain Rabbi Aviva Winocur Erlick wrote an amazing article for The Jewish Journal. We decided to share it.

I work as an on-call hospice chaplain, and I am often paged following the death of a patient. I was called recently to support a rather large group who had just witnessed the death of a woman in her 90s, whom I’ll call Bea.

Bea had been not just a mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother to family members, but a surrogate grandmother to others, who came to cry with the family.

I shared a prayer written to be read following a death, which includes the phrase: “even though her life was incomplete.”

Bea’s loved ones thanked me but then shared that they disagreed with the prayer. Bea’s life had been absolutely complete. There wasn’t a thing more that she or anyone else had wished she had achieved. They even showed me a video taken the morning of her death. Bea could be seen speaking calmly from her bed, wishing blessings to all of her loved ones, by name. She was clearly at peace with her circumstances and wanted everyone to feel the same.

This week’s portion, Chayei Sara (The Life of Sara), actually begins with her death. The second sentence of the portion reads: “Sarah died in … Canaan; Abraham began to eulogize for her, and to weep for her” (Genesis 23:2).

Commentators often take time this week to eulogize Sara, too. As it says in the Talmud, “Three days are for crying, and seven for eulogizing.” Weeping is essential, but eulogizing, telling the story of a person’s life, must not be put off too long. It is essential to the grieving process to experience both our sadness at the loss, and our faith that the life lived was good, worthy of recollection, an inspiration going forward.

The first sentence of the parasha seems to teach this point. To translate literally, it says: “And the life of Sara was the 100 years and 20 years and 7 years of Sara’s life” (Genesis 3:1).

Why the odd repetitiveness? Rashi, a medieval commentator, writes that it is because all of Sara’s years were equally good. The Sfat Emet, a Chasidic teacher, adds that this doesn’t just mean that no days were especially bad. For a righteous person, no day is any less spectacular than the most amazing day of one’s life. Every year, every day for Sara, was fantastic!

So how do we square this with what we know about Sara’s life: the pain of famine; the disgrace of having to bed local kings to save her husband’s life; the frustration of waiting into her 90s to birth Isaac; and the humiliation of growing to despise, and eventually evict, her servant Hagar and her husband’s first son, Ishmael, from their camp?

Apparently, despite all these hardships, Sara was also consistently happy. According to Jewish teachings, happiness is not the result of good news or pleasant circumstances. It is a matter of perspective. “Aizeh hu ashir? Hasameach b’chelko,” it says in the Mishna: Who is rich? The one that is happy with his lot.” Similarly, the Psalmist writes, “Mi haish hechafetz chayim? Ohev yamim lirot tov.” Who among you loves life? The one who wants to see good all his days.

Sara lived every day as a good day not because good things happened, but because she wanted to see them this way. She chose to be satisfied, to find reason for gratitude — as Bea did even on her deathbed. It is a mental exercise that these women model for us all, both on the physical and spiritual planes.

Being “happy with our lot” usually brings to mind the idea of being aware of, and satisfied with, our circumstances. If we choose to, we can find opportunities to appreciate, rather than take for granted or be chronically discontent. Call it an “attitude of gratitude,” a mindfulness practice or a legacy in the making.

Beyond this is the question of calling. Our “lot” or “portion” could just as easily mean our truest work, our destiny. God speaks to our hearts, and if we listen, we can live God’s work through our own. Sara served as half of the partnership that founded our religion, helping her husband Abraham to teach the word of the One God. According to Rashi, when Genesis says the couple traveled with the “souls they had made,” it meant the people who had been won over to the faith that was yet to be named Judaism. Sara was a Teacher of Israel.

May we all learn to live the life of the righteous taught by Sara and by Bea. When we pass away, may there be many who gather to weep, eulogize and dedicate their lives to what we taught, just by how we chose to live.

Shabbat Shalom.



The Skirball Hospice is a program within the Los Angeles Jewish Home's continuum of care.

Labels: Chaplain, Chayei Sara, Complete, Cross Post, Death, For the Spirit, Hospice Care, Jewish Journal, Life, Rabbi Aviva Winocur Erlick, Share, Skirball Hospice, Staff, Torah