In Memory of Phyllis Rosenberg:

“Vos Vet Zayn?”  “What’s It Going to Be?”

Today is the eighth anniversary of my Mother’s death.  Like many who have lost influential loved ones, I am faced with ever present grief over this loss.  As time passes, the grief does not lessen, it intensifies--fewer and fewer folks still living persist to carry on her memory.  You know the old trope, “They’ll live on in your memory.”  But the more time passes, the closer you get to your own death, and with that comes another death for those living in your memory.  So the trope becomes less and less comforting; instead, for me, it causes anxiety.

 

 

 

 

My acute grief coincides with a time when many folks are working socially and politically to suppress stories and content that is violent, “unfair” and horrific from the classroom, in literature, science, and history.  This is not a new phenomenon.  I believe Freud called it “repression” but we have lots of additional tools in our social and psychological tool box for coping with the realization that bad things are happening all around us, every day. I'll give you a hint, it is a fool's errand to think you can elude this reality, just as it is a mistake to wallow in grief about it.  Both paths lead to only more pain, for you and for others in your orbit.

One of the coping mechanisms we use to handle the horrors of life is telling ourselves bad things don’t randomly happen to good people.  We wrestle with the idea that perhaps there is some “deserving” justice to life, even if its immediate logic evades us.   We tell ourselves we can elude life's pain by being strong enough or smart enough or manipulative enough to overcome whatever the bad guys throw at us.  It's the stuff of myth, we celebrate those who seem to have achieved those goals.  In our myths, bad people come to bad ends and virtue is rewarded.  But as I tell my students when describing the physical rules of thermodynamics governing the behavior of matter and energy in the universe, "Nature bats last."

Also among these conceptions about nature is the maxim “survival of the fittest” or “natural law.”  Unfortunately as a result of the semantics problem between its usage in science and common language,  the word “fitness” conjures up images of vim and vigor, of good and virtuous ideals winning out over the unfit ones.  But that is not the case: “fitness” in an evolutionary context simply means the ability to survive current conditions and having a population with the genes capable of surviving future challenges.  Biological life is all about reproducing and have one’s offspring continue the pattern.  It’s not survival of the good, bad, pretty, ugly, smart, dumb, noble or cheat.  It’s just survival of whatever works moment-to-moment. Nature and human history is rife with examples of the easy crushing of human conceits.  The most powerful forms of evil fall away against the mists of time; the most awesome beauties erode, only to be replaced by new versions of both . . .

So another coping concept humans developed was the idea that somehow, somewhere, outside of this confusing material world, exists a place where we will be free from all the “bad” and can revel in all that is “good.”  Either we can create it here on earth (nice work if you can get it), or we go there after death.  Usually with the caveat, “If we play by the rules while alive.”  While this is a reasonable thought--perhaps materialism isn’t the only plane of existence--it’s impossible to prove with the tools of the material world.  I find the idea of our loved ones living on, in a “better place,” comforting.  It’s plausible, but I have no logical reason for certainty in this matter, (String Theory aside).  It would be wonderful, and it has the trappings of a reasonable moral equation.  But heaven or nirvana or whatever you want to call it, still exists as a concept in our own minds, collective or otherwise.  As an actual reality, well . . . one can try to get there, just ask Siddhartha.  Ye olde “On earth as it is in heaven.”  This is an endeavor I find helpful in assuaging my grief, as long as I don’t get too attached to the certainty I can achieve it.  It’s nice when grace shows up, it will and it does, but if you want it too bad, it may elude you.  Instead, its better to learn to recognize it and be grateful.  Ye olde, "Glass half full" theory . . .

So recognizing the material world has functional limits to the coping mechanisms it offers for the grief one feels after trauma or death, (in my Mother’s case she suffered both), what can one do when faced with it?

There are two things I do to cope.  One came to me rather late in life–the recognition that by recording and telling stories, we heal and honor the dead.  

Humans have built any number of tangible monuments to memory.  They may not last indefinitely in terms of the time span of the universe, but the act of creating will continue.  We memorialize through art, and LIBRARIANS preserve it, catalog it, and present it.  We’ve had art and literature since the dawn of human civilization.  Cave paintings still exist, Bible stories are still told, prayers are still sung, long after the individuals who created them have passed on.  

I find solace knowing I am not the only one who has walked this path of love and suffering.  I have dedicated my remaining life to serving as a cog in the wheel of the story-telling machine, just as my Mother did before me.  Even the simple act of reading a book honors the existence of the author.  They may be dead, but their thoughts live on in your thoughts when you read their works.  A library is not a trifle. A book is not just a stacked assemblage of ink and paper.  Art and story telling are among the few things truly setting humans apart from the rest of the natural world.  The sharing of art is how we access our souls.  Words matter, let’s not trash and waste them!

The second coping activity in which I participate, harkens back to the opening scene of the creation story, and not just the Christian one.  The story doesn’t start out, “In the beginning, G-d created a fitness center.”  It starts usually in a garden, the human imagination of paradise, a place where nature exists in beautiful harmony.  Raw nature is not necessarily beautiful or harmonious though.  It has two sides, noted by many philosophers.  The canary singing on the skull is one artistic example, or Tennyson’s poem “In Memorium” where he railed against the violence of nature after the death of his friend:

“Nature is red in tooth and claw.  So careful of the type?’ but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone she cries, ‘A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go.”  

However, as many have also noted, although individuals will pass, life will go on.  So for me, the best thing to do in the middle of this carousel ride of life’s ups and downs, is participate in the maintenance of the carousel and facilitate people’s access to a seat.  In that way one can access the soul animating the carousel and keeping it going.  I don’t know if this "soul" is strictly human, it is the larger soul animating the universe.  One accesses the souls of the departed by recalling their history and continuing to partake of their passions and endeavors.  I live and I die, but the struggle for justice is eternal.  As the civil rights anthem says, “Carry It On.”  This is embodied by the Jewish “Prayer for the Dead” called “Kaddish.”  It posits we live on to continue the work of those who have died.  And if that example doesn't ring your bell, try and watch the Disney movie "Coco" without crying . . .

In the vein of continuing family traditions, I come from a long line of gardeners.  People who found solace in nurturing and guiding growing things.  It was no random choice to play, “In the Garden” at my Mom’s funeral, it's no wonder this hymn is popular for funerals. 

I come to the garden alone

While the dew is still on the roses

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear

The Son of God discloses

And He walks with me

And He talks with me

And He tells me I am His own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

He speaks and the sound of His voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing

And the melody that He gave to me

Within my heart is ringing

Respectfully, I don’t literally hear G-d’s voice in my garden.  A special voice and connection is nice to project, but any voice I hear is in my own head of my own brain's making.  But gardening does keep me very busy, it distracts me and occupies my mind.  Visiting a garden is a way to connect to the soul of the gardener.  Individual gardeners live and die, but the act of gardening persists.  I plant trees, shrubs and wildflowers on my property and participate in conservation projects and education.  Individual trees  also come and go, but even if most of the trees I plant die, some will live and pass on their lives through seeds.  Every spring, gardeners will see sprouts of plants popping up all on their own, whether you planted them or not.  

That is when I hear G-d speaking, through the proverbial plant poking up through the crack in the concrete.  The speaking is not with words, but if I were to give it words, it would be, "Nevertheless, I persist."  Or to paraphrase Moses and Jerry Herman, "I Am What I Am."

Meanwhile, the peach tree I planted in memory of the late folksinger John Prine buds out and I recall the words of my late grandmother Sara Rosenberg, “Vos vet zayn?” which in Yiddish means, “What’s it going to be?” or perhaps, “What are WE going to do?”  And what CAN we do?  

Here copied and linked below is a Yiddish poem for an answer.  I would add Rabbi Akiba’s maxim, 

“If you are planting a tree when the Messiah comes, finish planting the tree and then go out to greet him.”

https://yiddishsong.wordpress.com/2010/09/15/vos-vet-zayn-performed-by-rabbi-eli-silberstein/

Zog zhe rebenyu,
vos vet zayn,
ven meshiakh vet kumen?
Ven meshiakh vet kumen,
veln mir makhn a sudenyu.

Tell us, rebbe, what will happen,
when the Messiah comes?
When the Messiah comes,
we’ll make a big feast.

Vos veln mir esn oyf dem sudenyu?
Dem shoyr ha-bor, leviyasan veln mir esn...
oyf dem sudenyu.

What will we eat at the feast?
The Wild Ox and Leviathan we will eat...
at the feast.

Vos veln mir trinken oyf dem sudenyu?
Dem yayin ha-meshumor veln mir trinkn…
oyf dem sudenyu.

What will we drink at the feast?
Preserved wine (from the time of creation) we will drink…
at the feast.

Un ver vet uns toyre zogn oyf dem sudenyu?
Moyshe rabenyu vet uns toyre zogn…
oyf dem sudenyu.

Who will teach us Torah at the feast?
Moses the teacher will teach us Torah…
at the feast.

Un ver vet uns shpiln oyf dem sudenyu?
Dovid ha-melekh vet uns shpiln…
oyf dem sudenyu.

Who will play for us at the feast?
King David will play for us…
at the feast.

Un ver vet uns khokhme zogn oyf dem sudenyu?
Shloymoy ha-melekh vet uns khokhme zogn…
oyf dem sudenyu.

Who will tell us things of wisdom at the feast?
King Solomon will tell us things of wisdom…
at the feast.

Un ver vet tantsn oyf dem sudeynu?
Miryam ha-naviya vet uns tantsn…
oyf dem sudenyu.

Who will dance for us at the feast?
Miriam the Prophetess will dance for us…
at the feast.