This afternoon I led another funeral.

This woman was kind and brave and full of love.

She knew how to keep on living and find joy—create joy—in life, despite suffering and grief.

She was an accepting person who did not judge others.

Rather she listened intently, and made every effort to understand their point of view.

And ultimately accepted their decision as their right, even if she might ultimately still disagree.

Professionally, as a Hearings Officer, she had defended the rights of those seeking disability from the government.

Sometimes to the point of controversy—because she cared so deeply about accuracy and fairness.

At the end of her life, when dying of leukemia, she made a lot of people angry when choosing to stop treatment.

Many people who loved her thought she was giving up.

What she was actually doing was surrendering to the inevitable.

Some of her doctors were uncaring once she made this decision.

As you can imagine, this was very painful to her daughter who cared for her and had to fight for her comfort.

She wondered if their main concern was for their “statistics.”

Jewish tradition does not support the right for a person to hasten death, say by taking pills to end life sooner than would be natural.

Saving a life is also one of the highest values in Judaism.

But Judaism does not prohibit removing treatment when the end is inevitable.

I think this woman’s decision was a brave one.

Especially in the face of so much opposition, anger, and sometimes lack of kindness.

I wish we all had the bravery to defend the rights of others and our own rights as well.

I think of those who seem dispensable in our society, and have few people defending them.

Today, I think of the immigrant workers on the Key Bridge in Maryland who died yesterday morning when the cargo ship hit it—-because of the lack of an emergency system in place to warn them. (There was enough time to stop traffic, but no communication system for those filling potholes.)

Today, I think of people like the Arizona State Senator fighting to maintain some remnant of the right to choose abortion in this country.

Today, I think of those willing to stand up against rising antisemitism despite what Israel is doing in Gaza.

Today, I think of those willing to report and speak out against the criminal actions of the Israeli government in Gaza in blocking aid to starving Palestinians.

This week’s parsha continues to explain the rules of the Temple and the sacrifices brought to clean the people of their wrongdoings.

One rule is to keep the fire burning continually on the altar.

It must not go out.

I leave you with this poem by Mark Nepo from The Way Under the Way.

I read it at the memorial service in honor of the deceased:

Yes, We Can Talk

Having loved enough and lost enough,

I’m no longer searching

Just opening.

No longer trying to make sense of pain

But trying to be a soft and sturdy home

In which real things can land.

These are the irritations

That rub into a pearl.

So we can talk for a while

But then we must listen,

The way rocks listen to the sea.

And we can churn at all that goes wrong

But then we must lay all distractions

Down and water every living seed.

And yes, on nights like tonight

I, too, feel alone. But seldom do I 

Face it squarely enough

To see that it’s a door

Into the endless breath that has no breather, 

In the surf that human

Shells call God. 

May we learn to listen better, hear other people’s pain.

May we be a soft and sturdy home for that pain, see it as a seed, and open the door to peace and positive change in the world.

May we make a world where people die in dignity.

May we remember our highest values, live through them, and create a world where saving lives is a priority.

May the fire of our bravery in defending ourselves and others not go out.

And say Amen.