Each time I went to shul on shabbat I had to be reminded by a poke or a harumph tp join in with the mourner's kaddish. I know where they are in the services, but I never had to do with them, other than listening to them. I have to be prodded into realizing that I'm one of "them", now.
When I remind people of the things I can't do now, such as go to the movies or an upcoming Twelfth Night production, they nod sympathetically. However, they gasp when I tell them that I can't play games (during shiva, at least).
My Dad and Games
He used to play some friendly poker with the neighbors before I was born and when I was young. He used to play Bridge with my mom and other couples.
I began to visit the Nassau Community College computer center when I was very little (8 years old or younger) and he set me up on the PDP-11 VAX mainframe games of the time, which is when I learned to play Wumpus and Dungeo and similar games.
Mom and dad taught me Bridge when I was four, and he played with me many times until I was a teenager. After that it was my brothers and my mom and me, with dad joining in only when one of us was away. We played on shabbat and on our many camping trips.
I don't remember playing any other games with him, except MAYBE some occasional rummy and one D&D session we ran for my parents and their friends. I don't remember who taught me Chess and Checkers. I don't think I got him to play It's Alive; I might have gotten him to play some other new game, once.
He played less and less as the years went on. I think it was because he ended up getting into fights with Mom over Bridge, but it may simply have been that he preferred reading the newspaper.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Shiva Impressions II
No More Sorrow
The correct wording is "May God comfort you among all of the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem." Many people add "May you know no more sorrow".
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret the last sentiment. I first thought that it meant that everyone in the entire world all should die soon and at the same time. Then I thought, maybe it means that I should die first.
Either way, I'm not sure it's a comfort.
Today I thought of a third possibility: I should suffer brain damage so that I can no longer experience sorrow.
Who's Comforting Whom?
The ideal comforter responds to your conversation, helps you talk about the departed, or tells you their fond memories of the departed. More than half of my visitors have been ideal. Some have been, uh, less than ideal.
One visitor type who is neither ideal nor specifically problematic is the one who doesn't know how to talk or respond, but simply stares at you. Luckily, other visitors have arrived whenever I had one of those.
How Long to Stay
I was told that one stays until one finds him/herself to be the longest visitor remaining and then new visitors arrive, unless the bereaved specifically indicates that you should stay longer. I now realize that this is because you will already have heard all the stories told by the bereaved, who is starting in on them for the nth time.
Another good time to leave is when the conversation lags for the fourth time and the bereaved is tapping his fingers on his chair and staring pointedly at you.
Words About My Father
A few words about my father, as painted by the ideal visitors:
People set their watches to the times my father arrived at shul for the past few decades. He rarely missed a davening, unless he was in the hospital or away, even during the over two years that he had liver cancer. He went up for an aliyah to the torah on the Thursday before he passed away.
Even the children in his community knew him, and he always had a smile for them. They were inspired by his thrice daily trek to and from shul. One ten year old boy wrote out how he felt about my father so that he could read it to us at the shiva.
My father helped found the early minyan in West Hempstead where I grew up. When he came to Beit Shemesh there was no synagogue yet organized, so he and my mom simply hosted the synagogue in their house for four years. One of the three minyans that they have in the shul on shabbat morning is, even now, referred to as the Berlinger minyan.
He spent the last 7 or 8 years at kollel every morning, and he loved it. He would never let anything go by; he had to understand it, and it had to make sense to him, or the shiur could not continue. He learned in chavruta nearly every shabbat afternoon.
My father grew up religious and stayed religious. He didn't always know what to do, but he always wanted it done properly. Whatever was proper, that was what had to be done, no excuses.
He was, in a word, determined.
The correct wording is "May God comfort you among all of the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem." Many people add "May you know no more sorrow".
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret the last sentiment. I first thought that it meant that everyone in the entire world all should die soon and at the same time. Then I thought, maybe it means that I should die first.
Either way, I'm not sure it's a comfort.
Today I thought of a third possibility: I should suffer brain damage so that I can no longer experience sorrow.
Who's Comforting Whom?
The ideal comforter responds to your conversation, helps you talk about the departed, or tells you their fond memories of the departed. More than half of my visitors have been ideal. Some have been, uh, less than ideal.
One visitor type who is neither ideal nor specifically problematic is the one who doesn't know how to talk or respond, but simply stares at you. Luckily, other visitors have arrived whenever I had one of those.
How Long to Stay
I was told that one stays until one finds him/herself to be the longest visitor remaining and then new visitors arrive, unless the bereaved specifically indicates that you should stay longer. I now realize that this is because you will already have heard all the stories told by the bereaved, who is starting in on them for the nth time.
Another good time to leave is when the conversation lags for the fourth time and the bereaved is tapping his fingers on his chair and staring pointedly at you.
Words About My Father
A few words about my father, as painted by the ideal visitors:
People set their watches to the times my father arrived at shul for the past few decades. He rarely missed a davening, unless he was in the hospital or away, even during the over two years that he had liver cancer. He went up for an aliyah to the torah on the Thursday before he passed away.
Even the children in his community knew him, and he always had a smile for them. They were inspired by his thrice daily trek to and from shul. One ten year old boy wrote out how he felt about my father so that he could read it to us at the shiva.
My father helped found the early minyan in West Hempstead where I grew up. When he came to Beit Shemesh there was no synagogue yet organized, so he and my mom simply hosted the synagogue in their house for four years. One of the three minyans that they have in the shul on shabbat morning is, even now, referred to as the Berlinger minyan.
He spent the last 7 or 8 years at kollel every morning, and he loved it. He would never let anything go by; he had to understand it, and it had to make sense to him, or the shiur could not continue. He learned in chavruta nearly every shabbat afternoon.
My father grew up religious and stayed religious. He didn't always know what to do, but he always wanted it done properly. Whatever was proper, that was what had to be done, no excuses.
He was, in a word, determined.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Shiva Impressions
First off, DO NOT ASK A PARTICULAR ORGANIZATION IN HAR NOF TO PUT UP DEATH NOTICE SIGNS ON YOUR BEHALF ANNOUNCING AN UPCOMING FUNERAL.
They were asked to do this, and in return for blasting the details over a loudspeaker in Har Nof for a half an hour, and putting up some signs in Har Nof, and near my house in Arnona, and two signs each in Beit Shemesh and Kochav Hashachar, they demanded from my mother 5,560 NIS (that's around $1,500). That included 1,200 NIS for Beit Shemesh, and 900 NIS for Kochav Hashachar.
In addition, they added to the bill (without asking us) the cost of a headstone at twice the going rate. We managed to knock that off the bill, and also to shame them down to 5,000 NIS. However, when the funeral hasn't happened yet is not the time you want to be arguing with someone about money, which I believe was their plan to begin with.
I think you could probably get a few yeshiva students to do it for free or for a few hundred NIS at most. This service should really be included free with the funeral costs, or as a gift from the state or city government.
In this day of Facebook and email, the entire endeavor was a complete waste of time, anyway. Maybe, maybe, one or two people who didn't already know heard about the funeral from a sign or from the blasting loudspeaker, but I hardly think it was worth that kind of money.
My father would have been blowing his top.
Impressions
I'm gratified that so many people could come to the funeral on short notice (as Jewish funerals are). Thank you so much. Being Rosh Hodesh, there was no formal eulogy, but Rabbi Shenkolevsky from Nofei Aviv spoke some beautiful words, anyway.
I volunteered to do the final identification of my father before the burial, having not been at the hospital when he passed on. I didn't realize that seeing him in this manner would so emotionally affect me. It was like being punched in the head. Nevertheless, I think it was something I needed to experience.
Many people have expressed condolences and offered kindness, comfort, and food. Generosity abounds in our little Jewish neighborhoods. Many of the condolences came from my non-Jewish friends and acquaintances around the world.
I neglected to realize that sitting shiva with my aunt and mother would require me to hear them tell the same stories over and over again as each new visitor comes along, with the stories often changing as the day went on. I'm thinking of drawing up a FAQ.
The many kind words I hear about my father from friends, neighbors, and relatives is helping me sides to my father that I did not always get to see when he was alive. It is a blessing.
They were asked to do this, and in return for blasting the details over a loudspeaker in Har Nof for a half an hour, and putting up some signs in Har Nof, and near my house in Arnona, and two signs each in Beit Shemesh and Kochav Hashachar, they demanded from my mother 5,560 NIS (that's around $1,500). That included 1,200 NIS for Beit Shemesh, and 900 NIS for Kochav Hashachar.
In addition, they added to the bill (without asking us) the cost of a headstone at twice the going rate. We managed to knock that off the bill, and also to shame them down to 5,000 NIS. However, when the funeral hasn't happened yet is not the time you want to be arguing with someone about money, which I believe was their plan to begin with.
I think you could probably get a few yeshiva students to do it for free or for a few hundred NIS at most. This service should really be included free with the funeral costs, or as a gift from the state or city government.
In this day of Facebook and email, the entire endeavor was a complete waste of time, anyway. Maybe, maybe, one or two people who didn't already know heard about the funeral from a sign or from the blasting loudspeaker, but I hardly think it was worth that kind of money.
My father would have been blowing his top.
Impressions
I'm gratified that so many people could come to the funeral on short notice (as Jewish funerals are). Thank you so much. Being Rosh Hodesh, there was no formal eulogy, but Rabbi Shenkolevsky from Nofei Aviv spoke some beautiful words, anyway.
I volunteered to do the final identification of my father before the burial, having not been at the hospital when he passed on. I didn't realize that seeing him in this manner would so emotionally affect me. It was like being punched in the head. Nevertheless, I think it was something I needed to experience.
Many people have expressed condolences and offered kindness, comfort, and food. Generosity abounds in our little Jewish neighborhoods. Many of the condolences came from my non-Jewish friends and acquaintances around the world.
I neglected to realize that sitting shiva with my aunt and mother would require me to hear them tell the same stories over and over again as each new visitor comes along, with the stories often changing as the day went on. I'm thinking of drawing up a FAQ.
The many kind words I hear about my father from friends, neighbors, and relatives is helping me sides to my father that I did not always get to see when he was alive. It is a blessing.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The 7 Types of People at Shabbat Dinner in the Hospital
An anonymous set of people donates catering to Ein Kerem each shabbat, so that all people who wish to may enjoy traditional shabbat meals in the hospital. You can eat the meals at the set up tables, which includes kiddush, singing, etc. Or you can take packaged meals back to your hospital room, if you prefer to eat together with someone who is bedridden (or for any other reason).
Seven types of people take advantage of these meals:
The first two types are chronic hospital visitors: 1) the chronically ill and 2) those relatives and friends who regularly visit them. In this category are people who don't know when they will get better, or know they will not get better, or know they will get worse, or who regularly visit the hospital for treatment.
It seems to me that chronic hospital visitors live in another world, a reality of daily and weekly hours devoted to themselves (or to their friends or relatives) that is not on the priority list for those of us lucky enough to not have to deal with it. It's an unreal thing to have a makom kavuah [1] in a hospital synagogue.
The second two types are accidental: 3) the temporarily ill and 4) those relatives and friends who are visiting them. If you broke a leg, or had your tonsils out, or similar, but you know that the situation is temporary, you don't have the same sense of unreality as do the chronically ill. You've only put life on hold for a few days.
The fifth type is also a temporary visitor: 5) a new parent. Unlike the previous four types, the hospital visit for someone who just gave birth, or whose spouse just gave birth, is a source of joy. At dinner, while other people are staring at their food, the new parent is handing out celebratory chickpeas and pouring chocolate liqueur.
The sixth type is 6) the hospital staff: doctors, nurses, helpers, cleaners, caterers, security guards, etc. The hospital experience is just a shift for them. All of the staff I met this shabbat were helpful and responsive.
The seventh type, who invisibly mix with the previous six, are 7) poor people who come to the hospital each week for a few free meals. Although, perhaps I should put those people into the first category: chronically ill.
Among many other things I read this shabbat was this fantastic piece in the New Yorker about the world of art forgery. The piece takes a dramatic turn midway.
Yehuda
[1] A regular place in which one sits.
Seven types of people take advantage of these meals:
The first two types are chronic hospital visitors: 1) the chronically ill and 2) those relatives and friends who regularly visit them. In this category are people who don't know when they will get better, or know they will not get better, or know they will get worse, or who regularly visit the hospital for treatment.
It seems to me that chronic hospital visitors live in another world, a reality of daily and weekly hours devoted to themselves (or to their friends or relatives) that is not on the priority list for those of us lucky enough to not have to deal with it. It's an unreal thing to have a makom kavuah [1] in a hospital synagogue.
The second two types are accidental: 3) the temporarily ill and 4) those relatives and friends who are visiting them. If you broke a leg, or had your tonsils out, or similar, but you know that the situation is temporary, you don't have the same sense of unreality as do the chronically ill. You've only put life on hold for a few days.
The fifth type is also a temporary visitor: 5) a new parent. Unlike the previous four types, the hospital visit for someone who just gave birth, or whose spouse just gave birth, is a source of joy. At dinner, while other people are staring at their food, the new parent is handing out celebratory chickpeas and pouring chocolate liqueur.
The sixth type is 6) the hospital staff: doctors, nurses, helpers, cleaners, caterers, security guards, etc. The hospital experience is just a shift for them. All of the staff I met this shabbat were helpful and responsive.
The seventh type, who invisibly mix with the previous six, are 7) poor people who come to the hospital each week for a few free meals. Although, perhaps I should put those people into the first category: chronically ill.
Among many other things I read this shabbat was this fantastic piece in the New Yorker about the world of art forgery. The piece takes a dramatic turn midway.
Yehuda
[1] A regular place in which one sits.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Sitting With My Father in the Hospital
My father lies in a fetal position on the hospital bed. His skin is yellow and translucent, his hair and frame thin. He shivers. He moans sporadically, endlessly. Every few minutes, there is a problem: His chest hurts. The drip has stopped. The needle is leaking. His kippah has fallen off. Where is his siddur?
For the last few months, he's eaten less and less. Now he eats almost nothing. He is emaciated like a survivor.
When they thought he might have colon cancer, they took out his colon. Then they knew he had liver cancer, too metastasized to remove or replace. Or maybe he is just too old. That was two years ago.
I've been planning for my parents' 50th anniversary, which will be, God willing, on September 4. A dinner with the children, his sister, maybe grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. I want to make a reservation at a restaurant. Everyone says: let's see how he's doing a few days before.
Now I'm sitting with my father in the hospital, not allowed to say or write what everyone already knows.
For the last few months, he's eaten less and less. Now he eats almost nothing. He is emaciated like a survivor.
When they thought he might have colon cancer, they took out his colon. Then they knew he had liver cancer, too metastasized to remove or replace. Or maybe he is just too old. That was two years ago.
I've been planning for my parents' 50th anniversary, which will be, God willing, on September 4. A dinner with the children, his sister, maybe grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. I want to make a reservation at a restaurant. Everyone says: let's see how he's doing a few days before.
Now I'm sitting with my father in the hospital, not allowed to say or write what everyone already knows.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Session Report, in which we try the game Nile and I tie with David at Magic
The latest Jerusalem Strategy Gaming Club session report is up. Games played: Nile x 2, Tribune, Magic: the Gathering x 2, Steam, R-Eco, Race for the Galaxy.
I try the game Nile. Full review will eventually make it to Purple Pawn.
I try the game Nile. Full review will eventually make it to Purple Pawn.
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