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A: Remembering the day of passing rather than the birthday of a loved
one could seem a bit morbid, I have to admit. Yet while casting
about in reference books for sources that would help illuminate
this question, I found only one reference to a birthday celebration,
(for an adult, as opposed to birth celebrations when the child
is actually born), in the Bible or other ancient texts. Who had
that ancient birthday party? A pharoah, the king of Egypt, during
the time when Joseph was in captivity there. (Genesis 40:20) The
text says that the king had a birthday and made a great feast
for all his servants- except for the chief baker, whom he had
executed for some transgression.
I'm mentioning this because I think there is a historical irony
here- it was ancient Egpytian religion, with its god-kings who
killed on a whim and its death cult of mummies, pyramids, and
embalming, who celebrated birthdays (at least the king's) while
it is Judaism, the religion that sanctifies life over almost everything
else, which observe "yahrzeit," or the anniversary of a person's
passing. Actually, I don't think this is accidental, for the rituals
of yarhzeit seem to me to be life-affirming rather than merely
occasions for sadness.
Let's consider a typical yahrzeit observance in the Ashkenazi
(i.e., Jews of European descent) community. One lights a candle
in the home, in remembrance of the verse " the light of God is
the human soul." (Proverbs 20:27) Then one might study Torah or
other Jewish texts and give charity in memory of the deceased,
and one goes to the synagogue to say kaddish at daily services.
Torah, charity, and prayer- these things not only bring us comfort
on a sad day, but also give our lives meaning through the values
we- and those who came before us- hold dear. Furthermore, by going
to the synagogue to say kaddish, not only do we affirm life's
essential goodness and meaning through the words of the kaddish
itself, but we also connect to the larger community, the ongoing
life of the Jewish people, with whom we are bound up in values,
history, and destiny. At a moment when we might be feeling alone,
sad, and wrapped up in personal grief, Judaism insists that we
reach out to God, Torah, and the Jewish people, all of which connect
us to a life larger and deeper than our own solitary existance.
The contemporary Orthodox rabbi Barry Freundel, quoted in the
excellent book <Wrestling with the Angel: Jewish Insights on Death
and Mourning>, edited by Jack Riemer, says that yahrzeit is a
day for "conversations with the dead." What he means by this is
not dark rooms and spooky rituals, but a kind of existential conversation
or revisiting the meaning of a person's presence in our lives.
What did this person teach me? What were the good times, the bad
times, the gifts, the legacies? To me, one of the most profound
aspects of Jewish grieving rituals is that after the first year
they seem to limit or confine our grief-work to certain significant
occasions throughout the year: yizkor on the major holidays, and
yahrzeit on the anniversary of passing. What this suggests is
that, if one has properly grieved at the time of death, what's
appropriate thereafter is a periodic revisiting or "conversation"
with the deceased, a time to "check in" with memories and feelings,
done on certain occasions, but not allowed to suffuse one's life
with unending sadness.
So now all of this gets back to your question: why yahrzeit and
not birthday? One possible answer is that it is only after someone
has lived that we understand the meaning and teaching of their
life. Everybody gets a birthday- saint or sinner, good person
or bad- but yahrzeit is more personal, in that we miss specific
qualities or character traits of the person who died. In fact,
in this week's Torah portion, "Chayey Sarah," many Torah commentators
make exactly this point when they explain the puzzling first verse
of the portion: "Sarah's lifetime was one hundred years, twenty
years, and seven years, the years of Sarah's life." (Genesis 23:1)
Some say the redundant wording refers to how her years were full
of good deeds and reverent living, and some refer to a famous
rabbinic statement that the righteous are considered alive, even
after death, while evil people are considered dead, even while
alive. One could easily apply this to Pharoah: even though he
was celebrating his aliveness, his birthday, he was really spiritually
dead to the meaning and sanctity of life. Sarah, on the other
hand, is understood to be an exemplary figure- her memory and
good deeds live on in our hearts and minds, even thousands of
years after her passing.
Two final thoughts: first, there is nothing actually prohibiting
the marking of someone's birthday, even after death, and if it
brings you comfort to mark your parent's birthdays in some personal
way, I think this could be a very lovely example of both "kavod
ha-met," (honoring the deceased) and "kibud av v'em" (honoring
the father and mother), both praiseworthy things to do. Secondly,
perhaps Judaism marks the yarhzeit as a way to get us to consider
our own life's meaning and finitude. If we remember that our parents
and loved ones died, probably without fulfilling all of their
life's dreams and ambitions (as most people die), perhaps it will
spur us to live life a bit more intensely, with more love, Torah,
forgiveness, and generosity. Yarhzeit teaches that our time is
limited, and we'd better start living out our ideals now, rather
than thinking we have all the time in the world.
NJL |
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