Tearing and Repairing -- Yizkor, 5780

Tearing and Repairing

Yizkor, 5780

Rabbi Jason Rosenberg

            Among the many rituals which Judaism has for times of mourning, one of the better known and more visible of them is the cutting of the Kria ribbon. Jews everywhere, and many non-Jews, as well, know when they see someone wearing a small black ribbon, torn and pinned to their clothes, that this person has suffered a loss; someone dear to them has died. However, many aren’t aware that the use of a ribbon in this ritual is a relatively recent innovation. Throughout most of Jewish history, and still in many parts of the Jewish world today, the practice has been not to wear a cut ribbon or piece of cloth, but rather to make a tear in the clothes which we were already wearing. A collar, maybe a lapel, is torn on a piece of clothing which the mourner can wear throughout the period of their mourning.

            When we use a ribbon, it’s easy to take it off at the end of that time. But, what do we do if we have actually torn our clothes, when the time of our mourning has passed? We are told to mend the tear, which is, among other things, a reminder that morning is not meant to continue forever. But, Rabbi David Stern points out that the Babylonian Talmud, the ancient source of rabbinic law, has some specific instructions about how we are to make that repair.

            We are allowed to use a herringbone stitch, or a cross stitch. But we are not allowed to use the stitching of the skilled tailors of Alexandria. Apparently, they were so good at their craft that, when they were done, the tear would disappear completely. There would be no evidence that anything had ever happened to this piece of cloth.

            A beautifully, but imperfectly, repaired tear is the perfect metaphor for Judaism’s understanding of grief. We are, indeed, instructed to not mourn forever. Depending on who we lost, we mourn for a week, a month, a year. But, inevitably, mourning must be followed by something else. We must get back to our lives. We have to move forward.

            But, at the same time, we never, ever fully move on. Or, maybe more to the point, we never go back to the way things were. How could we? Our world has been changed, and we know that it can never change back. Life will never be what it was when some of its spaces were filled with the presence of the person we loved.

            That’s not to say that there isn’t healing. Of course there is. The pain, which may have been so very acute, does soften. At the very least, it becomes bearable, where once it may have seemed impossible to bear. We learn to live in a world which looks so much the same as it once did, but has been irrevocably changed. We learn to live without the person who meant so much to us. We learn to live, and we do live.

            But the scar – the scar remains. An ever present reminder of what we had, and what we lost. Some scars might be visible, to us and to those who love us, all our lives. Some fade with time, almost to the point of imperceptibly. But, it’s always there. Always a reminder of the love, the loss, and that pain.

            Would we have it be other than this? Would we, given the chance, choose to heal fully? To no longer feel the pangs of grief, and the loneliness of absence? What would it mean for the pain of loss to fade away completely? What would it mean to no longer feel grief, even in the slightest, we think of a loved one who is no longer with us? What would it mean for the tear to be sewn so perfectly?

            When I think of my grandparents, when I think of the few friends I have lost, well before their time, when I think of my father who died in this season, just a few years ago, it hurts. Thank God. Grief is the residue of love, and that sharp sliver of pain is a reminder of how much this person meant to me. Their memory always brings some sorrow along with the joy, precisely because I love them.

            God forbid we can’t move forward. God forbid the pain of the loss is as great today as it was those years ago. God forbid we can’t sew up the tear in our lives. We thank God for healing, and we thank God for the lives we been able to lead since the terrible day when they first left us. But we also thank God for the scars which are left, which provide us with a constant, enduring reminder of the place they held in our lives, and the dearness of their presence.

            Blessed are You, Adonai or God, who tears and sews.

            Zichronam Livracha—may their memories be a blessing.