I’ve been feeling a bit melancholy lately, as well as grateful for my children despite the fact that they are driving me absolutely crazy. In the last month, three children have died in Los Gatos, the town where I live. A middle school boy took his own life, possibly because his girlfriend broke up with him or because the other children teased him about his sexuality. A high school senior and football player died of a possible heart defect. And four-year-old girl died in her sleep of some bizarre infection. All of these parents now must face the holiday season while dealing with their grief. For them December does not represent a “jolly, jolly season,” as the Christmas song says.
I know another family that lost their son this summer. They went on vacation and he developed appendicitis. The operation was successful, but the 13-year-old boy -their only child – died of complications afterwards.
Last night I was so angry at my son and daughter. Suffice it to say that I felt disappointed in their behavior. I see so much potential in them, and I don’t see them doing what it takes to fulfill that potential. What if I were, however, one of those parents whose children’s lives had been cut short. Their potential now can never be fulfilled.
So, on this Friday night as I smell the roast beef and challah baking, as I watch the sun setting like a crimson and orange ribbon across the sky, I feel both sad and happy. I’m sad for those who have lost someone recently. I remember Rabbi Holtzberg and his wife, who were killed in Mumbai just a few weeks ago…a memorial will be held for him in Monterey, where his cousin lives, this weekend. I remember my daughter’s best friend, who took his own life a year and a half ago. I remember my father and my husband’s father and my friend, Bill Ellis…
I’m happy that my family will join me around the Shabbat dinner table. I may not have a chance to attend Sabbath services tonight or tomorrow, but I’m grateful to have the chance to drive my daughter to an activity that moves her closer to her dreams tomorrow instead. I’m happy that my husband will do the same for my son. I’m at peace with the fact that my husband and I will work together this weekend on our property and that we can send some time together in that manner. I can pray to God while I spread mulch or while I drive my children to their activities or cook breakfast for my family.
And I’m also grateful for Shabbat, a sacred 25 hours when we aren’t allowed to feel sad or to mourn. While those who have lost someone may struggle through Christmas or Chanukah feeling their loss profoundly, on Shabbat, the Sabbath, we are instructed to feel joyous. We must take a break from our negative feelings, our deep sense of tragedy and emptiness and loss, and we instead must fill ourselves with the happiness that comes from connection with God.
Maybe by remembering God, by reaching toward the Divine, by renewing our faith, we develop the strength to get through our losses. Or maybe the “break” from mourning allows our minds and our hearts to process the loss on another level, thus making it easier for us to deal with it come Sunday. In any case, during this sacred time, we let go of all that drags us down and makes us sad, and we lift ourselves up. We pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, if you will, and find a way to smile. And smiling actually changes the body’s chemistry and makes us feel better. And that’s a good thing, even for a little while.
And we can still think about those who have passed, and we can allow their memory to serve as a blessing – not a curse – upon us and our lives. We can smile and remember them and be filled with love and joy at having known them and having experienced their essence – their soul – for even a little while.
So, take a break from the holiday season, especially if it doesn’t feel so joyous this year, and celebrate Shabbat each week. Bring some joy into your life for 25 hours every seven days. When the holiday season doesn’t feel jolly, be happy at least once a week on Shabbat.
