The Pain of Loss

Rabbi Irwin Wiener, D.D.


The mystics teach us that to appreciate the joy and fulfillment of life we must experience pain. The teachings go further with an example of thirst. We surely can appreciate water if we are thirsty but if we satisfy that thirst and then given a glass of some other cool refreshing drink we would not want to indulge because our need has been satisfied. The conclusion reached is that agony and ecstasy were created because life does not exist with just one or the other.

Sometimes we lose sight of this fact. We rush to accomplish so much we tend to ignore the signs of defeat. Nothing that is ever accomplished is done without working at it and, in some instances, struggling for it. Even those who inherit must work at keeping what is given so that it can enrich their lives and those that follow.

And there are losses that have no comparison. These losses create in us a vacuum that defies explanation. The most devastating of these is the loss of a child. We understand that in the course of human existence the younger bury the older. But when we are faced with the task of opening the earth to receive a child, not only do we mourn, but the angels sob uncontrollably for the pain which this loss inflicts.

Life is filled with anticipation and expectation. We melt into a dream of delightful embrace and complete this magical adventure by bringing forth another human-being. We look at this creation and begin the journey of contemplation and anticipation. Should he be a doctor, should she be a teacher? Will she look like her mother or he like his father? Will I make the same mistakes my parents made or will I be different? I will be the best parent. That is my pledge as I watch this tiny creature reach out to touch the world.

These dreams and visions are interrupted by tragedy. Our child has died and so has our posterity. The romantic notions of success and abundance are lost in a tunnel of emptiness and despair. There is no light in this tunnel, just a darkness that envelops
and consumes us. We sink into the depths of dejection. Where is my little one? Why is there an empty bed and an empty place in our heart? Why can’t I cry? I need to shed tears where smiles once lived and grieve for the hopelessness. I am stunned and frozen. Everything moves around me but I am motionless.

I recall the cry of King David when he learned of the death of his son Absalom: “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Could it only be, I would die for you, O Absalom, my son, my son!” (II Samuel 19:1) Nothing brings more joy than to see our children grow and prosper and then the greatest of pain gives us pause and we too are consumed by the madness of a forfeited future.

Is this what the mystics referred to in their declarations of pain endurance? Must there be bereavement in order to appreciate life? We all know that we are born to die, but there are paths to the end of days and they should not include the young. Age is a blessing that is not just reserved for the aged but rather a gift earned through great effort. Are not the young entitled to experience the durability associated with growth?

I believe that our ancestors were trying to teach us how to cope with adversity, some so devastating as to cause us to languish in total sadness. I believe the message is that terrible things happen and we have the ability to overcome these troublesome experiences by learning to extend a helping hand and to comfort and offer solace. This is our obligation as human-beings. This is our duty as survivors.

We need not try to make sense of diminishing involvement but rather take the memory of the love we gave and the love we received and bundle into a treasure chest of keepsakes and recollections. We must endeavor to release the guilt because it only prolongs the agony and causes us to fall deeper into the pit. There is no one to blame. And for sure God was not there to steal the future but rather to aid in the comfort needed to walk through the valley into a new day, a new life, a new beginning. We never forget, but we can’t stop time and remain in this spot forever.

I am reminded of a story of two men, both seriously ill, who occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each day to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst the flowers of every color, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn’t hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, “Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.”

I believe that is what the ancients were trying to tell us when they talked about pain and how to appreciate it because of the painless possibilities in our lives. It is never easy to explain away a loss – a loss of a child, but maybe we should try to understand that pain can be relieved with hope and faith and a belief that things happen and we need to learn to role with the punches so that life will continue.

We never forget but we learn to live with memories that can and should help us reach another day filled with light and sunshine and the promise of tomorrow.

Cpmpassion

Rabbi Irwin Wiener, D.D.

As is my custom, I set aside two days a week to concentrate on writing and studying. Occasionally I come across something that hits me and inspires me to sit down at the computer and begin writing. Today (Sunday, January 9th) was such a day. And the lesson involves compassion.

It occurred to me that usually during this time of the year we commemorate a particular tradition called Gemilut Hesed – acts of loving kindness demonstrated by charitable expressions. At this time a section of the Torah (Bible) that is read at Sabbath Services is referred to as Mishpatim (Exodus 21). Loosely translated the word means rules and within this chapter we find rules that enabled us to create a livable society.

For example it specifically mentions that we are prohibited from charging interest with loans intended to alleviate financial hardships. The need for assistance should not be compromised with additional debt. It is a noble idea and well before its time in understanding the responsibilities we have toward people who find themselves unable to meet everyday requirements such as food or shelter.

One of the very first things we did, as a people, when we settled into new surroundings was to establish Benevolent Societies which were designed to prevent people from becoming burdens on society. However, just as important was the concept of giving those in need the ability to survive with dignity. The Talmud emphasizes that to embarrass an individual is tantamount to the spilling of blood; in other words, the taking of a life.

The Jewish Free Loan Associations were established to provide help by lending what was needed, without interest thus enabling communities to benefit from collective renewal. These loans enabled people to become self-sufficient in a way that was beneficial to them and everyone around them. In essence the needy were taught to lift their heads high because these were not hand-outs.

And there is a benefit to those who contribute to this effort: the funds donated are never gone because they are loaned over and over again and as the loans are repaid they are lent again. There is no social service program in existence that can make that claim.

Monies that remain after all have been served are invested so that the income from these funds defray the cost of operating this Society dedicated to relieving human suffering by offering the impetus for self-determination.

This is the essence of Gemilut Hesed – of benevolence that is not charity. And those who contribute to this action are the true heroes by saving the world one person at a time.