A Matter Of Perspective
Spending Shavuos on the East Coast, I was enjoying the unseasonal sunshine and the pleasant warmth. Then the weather reverted to its local May norm and the wind picked up and rain threatened. While walking to shul, I passed a man waiting at a bus stop and as our eyes met, I wished him a good afternoon. To my delight, he replied with a similar greeting and we smiled. As I stood waiting to cross the busy boulevard, I commented to him that it was cold. He nodded and said, “Finally.” I was curious and said, “Finally?” He nodded and said that he couldn’t stand the heat and was glad that the “normal” weather was returning. I smiled and continued on my way.
Our expectations are based on our experiences, and our experiences shape our perspective. I’m accustomed to the heat and am uncomfortable when the temperature drops. When May comes, I’m used to feeling the traces of warm summer weather, and relish the bluer skies and the toasty days. Cold in May is not something I expect, and was acutely aware of the chill in the New Jersey air. Meanwhile, the man at the bus stop was accustomed to colder weather and the hot sun actually rattled him. He welcomed the crisp shift in the weather since it was the norm for him, something he delightfully expected.
My sister had also come to New Jersey for yom tov and we ate together on the second day. I asked her how Yizkor had been for her this year. She reminisced how as children, as we had filed out of shul during Yizkor, the mood was somber. We could hear the sobbing and sensed the anguish of those staying inside as they prayed and remembered those they had lost. Time seemed to stand still as those of us who exited waited for the “all clear” sign to return to daven Musaf. We both remembered the tearful faces of those who had prayed the Yizkorpassages and embarked on this emotional and spiritual interlude.
My sister remarked that nowadays, there’s no preface from the pulpit, no sense of something big about to happen. At most, someone bangs on the table, most of the people file out, then return a few minutes later. Looking around the room, it seems that fewer people are crying and sobbing, and everyone seems to go back to the norm of getting on with Musaf and then going home. What happened to the old Yizkor?
We mused over this. Maybe it was because in our childhood, there were still Holocaust survivors who mourned their murdered families. Or maybe it was because in those days, people lived shorter lifespans, leaving spouses and children behind to mourn them. Or maybe it was because medicine was less advanced in those days, causing people to die younger from diseases that are now more treatable. Who knows?
The question that struck us both is that as deeply as she and I mourned our parents, grandparents, great religious mentors, and loved ones, we realized that others may be conditioned to view Yizkor differently.
We were raised to believe that davening was meant to be an intense emotional and spiritual experience, and this still affected us, especially during intense prayers such as Yizkor. Others may have been raised to believe that proper davening meant pronouncing each word properly, or with less focus on the meaning of the words, or with the advent of good English translations of the Siddur and Machzor, davening may have taken on a different form and flavor.
Like those who prefer warmer climates versus colder climates, it’s a matter of perspective. Yizkor is a deeply personal matter, unique to each person’s situation—yet everyone agrees that pledging money to charity during Yizkor and davening with kavanah can help elevate the departed loved one’s soul and bring them great simcha, which even on a cold and cloudy day, can bring great sunshine. n
Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox is a forensic and clinical psychologist, and director of Chai Lifeline Crisis Services. To contact Chai Lifeline’s 24-hour crisis helpline, call 855-3-CRISIS or email [email protected]. Learn more at ChaiLifeline.org/crisis.
