Widow's Voice

Prayers in Honor of the Dead

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This is the time of year when Jewish people celebrate the High Holy Days, which include Rosh Hashanah (Jewish  New Year) and Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). Since at least the fourteenth century, they have followed a custom known in Hebrew as Kever Avot, meaning “grave of the fathers,” where they offer graveside prayers in honor of their parents, their close relatives, and, possibly, other venerated departed figures. In their prayers, they ask God to grant eternal peace to the departed and to aid the living in recognition of the good deeds that the deceased performed during their lives.

The custom of Kever Avot is observed on just a few special occasions each year.  Individual Jews thus participate in it as part of belonging to a larger community. Recently, the cemetery where both my parents and my sister are buried sent out notices that there will be a Kever Avot service this coming Sunday, September 28.  It is an appropriate time because themes of forgiveness and repentance underscore the impending holiday of Yom Kippur. Meanwhile, “Rosh Hashanah is a time to plan for the future,” says Rabbi Brian Schuldenfrei of Sinai Temple. “By thinking of the legacy of those who came before us, we consider the legacy we want to leave.”

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Neither mere happenstance nor serendipity, elsewhere on September 28, Robyn’s daughter-in-law will be holding a morning lakeside memorial service for her own deceased daughter, Sarah.  Angie is not Jewish, yet Robyn and I will be in attendance to honor Sarah’s memory. I will say a prayer for Sarah, and, for the second time on that day, ask God to aid the living.

About Gary Ravitz

In relevant part, my musings are for me. It’s one of the ways in which I process losing my sweetest. Of course, Lee didn’t want to die. She had fought like hell, but the relentless cancers kept coming: Skin cancers; breast cancer; head and neck cancer; colon cancer; and finally, the deadly pancreatic cancer. In June 2020, and only after being pressed hard by Lee, her oncologist opined that my wife had from two weeks to two months left to live, turned on her heels and nearly sprinted from the hospital room, never again to be seen or heard from by us. I promptly removed Lee from the hospital and brought her home. It was the right thing to do and I only wish I had acted sooner over “the best” medical advice to the contrary. In fact, my sweet wife only had nine days left to live. At the final, she embraced her own death with great courage and unfailing kindness. It was a truly remarkable display of grace and wondrous to behold. It was my great privilege and honor to be with her every step of the way. And now, it’s my privilege to be able to write a few words to you each week. In a nutshell, I believe every journey is unique, but, hopefully, to know that you do not have to walk it alone can also be reassuring. And, along the way, you might hear a bit more information about me.
Gary