Reflections On My Mother

By: Rav Reuven Taragin

On the third day of Chol HaMoed Sukkos, my dear mother, Mrs. Susan Taragin, appeared to be in good health. She had spent the first day of yom tov with my immediate family and looked forward to another family gathering today.

In the afternoon, she took a nap—and did not wake up. Hashem took her peacefully; after 83 years, her time had come.

My mother had always prayed for this outcome. She did not want to suffer, nor did she wish to endure hospitals, surgeries, medical interventions, or pain. Hashem heard her prayers and granted her wish.

Thankfully, her passing was relatively peaceful for her, but it was profoundly difficult for us, her children. One moment we were speaking with her and planning to see her the next day, and the next moment she was gone, and we found ourselves arranging the funeral.

And now I find myself in an in-between state. I am a mourner, yet am unable to mourn because as I write this it is still Chol HaMoed Sukkos. Although I attend shul, I cannot fully celebrate because I am a mourner. Every aspect becomes a complex halachic question: Should I wear mourning attire? Should I lead prayers? Should I study or teach Torah?

Typically, death is followed by burial, which begins the week of shivah. In my case, there are four intervening days that feel like a twilight zone, neither here nor there. I am formally an avel, yet am unable to express this status in the traditional manner with other people.

So, I reflect alone. This is something I am both able and obligated to do. Perhaps these reflections can help others to be better prepared than I was for the inevitable.

Kohelet (7:4) teaches that “the heart of the wise man is present in the mourner’s home.” While the wise possess wisdom in all circumstances, they become more reflective, and their words are best received, in appropriate settings. May Hashem grant me wisdom in my private, unofficial mourner’s home.

I should have been more prepared, as we recently read Kohelet, which emphasizes the fleeting nature of life (9:12). Life can be, and is often, taken without warning—suddenly.

This serves as a reminder that our lives are not under our control and should not be taken for granted. We are often surprised when people do not awaken; in reality, we should be surprised when they do. The regularity with which people awaken leads us to take this for granted.

The suddenness of loss imparts a second lesson: to live each day as if it is our last. Recognizing this, Rebbe Eliezer encouraged performing teshuvah daily, as any day could be our final one (Avot 2:10). We must remember that our lives can change instantly, often without warning. This awareness should inspire us to improve ourselves today, while we can.

However, daily life is not solely about teshuvah. It encompasses much more, particularly the appreciation of our own lives and the lives of those around us.

Every day we interact with remarkable people we are fortunate to know. We love and are loved by parents, spouses, children, and friends. Do they truly know how we feel about them? Do they sense our love and appreciation? Do we?

“If Tomorrow Never Comes” is a song that encourages us to express our feelings to those who are important to us. We must do so today, as either we or they may not be here tomorrow. We should share our hearts with those who share our lives. Both they and we deserve it.

I hope my mother knew how much I truly loved and appreciated her. I can no longer tell her, but losing her reminds me to make sure to let others know today, in what B.A. Robertson described as “the living years.”

Living each day as our last should entail embracing each moment with a profound sense of meaning and purpose. We are all aware that this world is temporary and meant to give us the opportunity to earn a share in the next. However, we often become distracted by the pleasures and circumstances of this world.

Death provides perspective. It reminds us that we are all destined for the same end, a place of soil and physical decomposition, and we should strive to make the most of our lives by investing in what truly matters in both this world and the next.

A popular song encourages us to “live like you are dying,” and indeed, we should. We ought to live with full awareness of mortality and let this understanding inspire us to live our lives to the fullest.

My mother, Mrs. Susan Taragin, made a significant impact and left a lasting legacy. She was born in Baltimore, which at that time was nearly devoid of Torah observance, yet she left behind six children and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren, all of whom are Shomrei Torah U’Mitzvos and live in Eretz Yisrael.

Each of us inherits a torch from our ancestors. The value of our lives is determined by how we enhance the light of this torch and the light of our own lives.

May the reality of death inspire us to make the most of our lives.

Written on Wednesday, 19 Tishrei, right after the burial and in memory of my mother, Shulamit basHaRav Shmuel Tzvi Halevy z”l. 

Rav Reuven Taragin is the Dean of Overseas Students at Yeshivat Hakotel and the Educational Director of World Mizrachi. His new book, Essentials of Judaism, is available at rabbireuventaragin.com.