Huffington Post/Written by Rabbi Chaim Bruk, Shliach to Montana
It was a moment that will forever remain etched in my mind.
Date: Tuesday, December 14th, 2010.
Time: 8:45 AM.
Location: 7th floor of Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City.
My four siblings and I, along with our beloved father, stood around my mother’s hospital bed as she breathed her last breath. We prayed the traditional Jewish prayers when a soul is departing, we held hands tightly and we sang a Chassidic melody called Shamil as we said goodbye to the woman who was everything to us. That morning we cried, we laughed, we tried to internalize, but in vein.
After her burial later that day and the weeklong Shiva mourning observance, our family finally made it back home to the mountainous scenery of beautiful Bozeman. That Friday, at our communal Shabbos table, I began with a L’Chaim, a toast “We begin by saying L’Chaim for our brothers and sisters in the Holy Land, that as we have a peaceful Shabbos here in Bozeman, so should they, and for my mother’s Neshama (soul) Chana Leah Bat (daughter of) Reb Shimon for continued Aliyah (elevation)”.
This tradition continued for six and a half years.
On August 18th, 2017, just two months ago, Chavie and I adopted our fifth child, newborn Chana Laya. I’ve been waiting for years to have the opportunity to name a child for my mom, as my four siblings and many cousins have; but in the world of adoption, we really don’t know what to expect, if anything at all. I wanted this not only because it’s a beautiful name, not only because it’s a symbolic gesture, but because I believed that it would fill a void. It turns out that I was right and let me explain:
My mom and I were very close. She was my confidant, my mentor, my guide. We’d speak via telephone every day and since her passing I do my very best to keep in touch with the values that she engrained in me. Aside from a few visits with Chaya and one visit with Zeesy, she didn’t get to meet or know any of our children. I wanted to be able to reference her name, Chana Leah, countless times each day, hoping it would bring me the comfort I so desperately desired. I keep in touch with my mom’s close friends, visit her grave whenever I’m in New York and love reading old cards and letters that she sent me and me her, but I wanted more, a tangible connection.
Bottom of Form
My Friday night L’Chaim toast was my way of not forgetting. I recognized that after mourning the loss of a loved one, life does go on and we do start forgetting a bit, so I was compelling myself to never forget the mother I loved and who nurtured me with dedication par excellance. Yet, I needed more, so G-d gifted us with our Chana Laya, our little princess who is a 24/7 living legacy of a woman that meant, and means, the world to me.
That first Shabbos after Chana Laya’s birth, I paused as I toasted L’Chaim and said “We are changing our weekly L’Chaim. We have a Chana Laya, we don’t need the symbolic reminder, she is our living reminder. I will toast my wife Chavie and children Shoshana, Chaya, Zeesy, Menny and Chana Laya that Hashem grant them revealed good”.
My mom will always be alive in our home and is as relevant as ever. I am certain, that every now and then I will shed a tear for her premature passing and in memory of her tender embrace, but mostly I will enjoy sharing her story with my five kiddos. I’m not ignoring my beloved mom. I simply stopped mourning my loss, as her life is now imbued into our children who we will raise in the way she would’ve loved, with manners, respect and a healthy Jewish identity.
As King Solomon wrote “There is a season for everything…A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time of wailing and a time of dancing”!
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