Come Sunday, Be Present, & VaYikra

When Sunday rolled around again this past week, I sang in front of a crowd of over 200 people.

It was in a gothic chapel with high vaulted ceilings.

I’d never done anything like that before.

Of course, I was nervous.

But I did well—

—with the help and encouragement of various people in my life coaching me, telling me I could do it.

“Just be present.”

And I was.

As people left, they thanked me for a beautiful service, and for my beautiful voice.

It felt like they were thanking me for a gift, which was how I wanted it to feel—like the gift I get from others’ voices—

—and from meaningful, thoughtful words shared.

Wow, did that feel good.

Such an accomplishment.

It was for the tragic death of a man in his late 50’s who died of brain cancer.

I was the rabbi who officiated at his funeral, and I wanted to honor him and his family by doing well.

I met with his wife and their children, all three in their 20’s, a couple of days prior.

Three children, whose weddings he would not be attending at some future date.

Anniversaries, holidays, and birthdays he would no longer celebrate with them.

He’d been an overachieving, high-performer who’d wanted to be everything to everyone.

Extremely positive and determined, he’d made it through four whole years—while his prognosis had been but a year and a half!

And he’d accomplished this despite starting at the beginning of a pandemic! (Yes, remember Covid?)

An overachiever—both in life and death!

A star basketball player, successful entrepeneur, he’d coached others constantly—even himself (how else could he make it through?).

He’d saved thousands of inspirational quotes sent to him by his own coach to keep himself going.

Phrases like, “Faith Embraces Uncertainty.”

He was a model patient, never complaining, always encouraging, always smiling: never burdening his family—to the last days.

This was one beautiful gift he gave them at the end of his life.

While he gave them another gift, that of presence, in his last four years, this hadn’t been the case for most of his married and parenting life.

Because when you need to be there for all, in the end, you’re present for very little.

This week in Torah we begin the book of Leviticus, VaYikra, the third of the five Books of Moses.

It begins with sacrifices.

Gifts to God to make expiation for one’s sins—for incurring guilt.

Some of these we do knowingly and intentionally.

Others are done unwittingly.

For each type of wrongdoing, there are specific types of sacrifices, using various animals, for instance.

Adjustments are made depending on means and available resources.

This man I never met was good man—a great man, as many attested—with a big heart, loved by many.

It was evident by the large numbers present for his memorial.

And he loved deeply.

As soon as he knew he was going to die, he put his affairs in order, selling his company and making sure his wife would not be left with medical debt—a sin in itself incurred by our American lack of Universal Health Care—an intentional sin by our government, in my eyes.

So what’s sin got to do with this guy?

He’d tried so hard.

He’d wanted to be everything to everyone, taking his learned Jewish values out into the world, coaching young people from undreprivileged families.

He’d given to the world!

Yet—when you try that hard, when you’re that driven, balance is not one of the achievements you can boast of in life.

Despite everything, he was likely to disappoint.

Despite all his efforts, he still could not achieve all, and save the world.

He was absent, and often harsh, with his own children, as he pushed them to do their best.

He wanted to make sure they knew that this world is tough, and that to survive, you have to be tough.

In my eulogy, I said I understood this.

After all, I’m a parent.

Have I not done these things?

Been absent, if only in my mind?

Been harsh when I thought this would instill a sense of responsibility?

After the memorial service, the family asked if I would lead a shiva minyan the next night.

Of course, I said yes.

Not wanting a traditional service, I experimented with them, leading them in Hebrew chant.

For each chant, I offered an intention and a focus.

“See what memories or thoughts come up for you in the silence after the chant, and see what needs to be shared,” I suggested.

After one chant about healing through nurture, the deceased’s wife shared a story.

She’d found her husband’s relentless positivity exhausting.

One day she’d finally said to him, “This must be really hard and scary for you.”

Tears had immediately sprung to his eyes.

“Yes,” he’d said.

And, “Thank you.”

She’d given him a gift.

His sons—everyone—-talked about what a gift he’d given them, being so positive.

But while giving one gift, he’d deprived them of another.

One boy said, “I always wanted to know what I could do for him, but there was never anything. Instead, he was always doing for me.”

“What a model of how to die with dignity,” he said, shaking his head in admiration.

But he’d modeled that one must never be vulnerable—or show vulnerability.

Not one tear fell from his grown sons’ eyes.

And he’d deprived them of the ability to give.

True, he’d finally learned to be present.

He’d finally learned to stop striving and pushing and running.

But only when nothing else was left to do but die.

And though he was lauded for his positivity and determination, he couldn’t have accomplished any of it if it hadn’t been for the presence and determination of his wife.

(Because behind every great man…)

Though separated from him, she’d immediately stepped in to join forces with him and his doctors.

And let’s not forget that he’d had his own coaches.

We do so many things wrong unwittingly while trying so hard to be good, to accomplish and to achieve.

Can we learn these lessons before we are about to die?

Can we realize that the weight of the world is not on our individual shoulders?

That we can only achieve truly great things when we join forces with others?

That it’s okay to need and ask for help?

That it’s okay to be vulnerable?

It seems to start by being present.

So let’s try that.

May it be so.

And say Amen.