May, 2022 Megillah
RABBI'S NOTES
My dearest community,
Mickey died three weeks and two days ago as I write.
I am grateful beyond words—though I’ll try to come up with some here—for the profound support of our community and our tradition from the time Mickey first began to feel unwell until now, and beyond, I am sure.
Mickey’s illness had, if you like, three chapters. In the first he had abdominal pain, and a scan showed a mass. Because of his family history of pancreatic cancer, we knew the likely nature of the mass. But it hadn’t yet been named and, more importantly, though Mickey was uncomfortable, he wasn’t yet terribly ill. Things moved slowly: it was over a month before he had a biopsy and a definitive diagnosis. We both looked back at that month as a blessed time, when we knew that our time together was limited, and our hearts were full with love and sadness and wonder at what was to come. We had time, so much time, to talk with each other, about love, about death, about our family and friends, about our life together, about what was important to Mickey and to me. His three children and two of his grandchildren came for a three-day visit that filled our hearts with happiness. His son Noah came back on his own a few weeks later.
There wasn’t a day when Mickey—walking around our house, sitting in the yard—didn’t say, “This is Paradise!” And nearly that often he said, “I have had a wonderful life!” He said he was ready to die if death was what was coming.
The biopsy plunged us into Chapter Two: The World of Big Medicine: formal diagnosis and treatment plan coming at us like a freight train. There was a period of time when it felt like we were on a conveyor belt feeding Mickey inexorably into many months of painful, debilitating treatment that had a very low likelihood of success. At other times it felt irresponsible to decline even a minute chance of extended life. I felt despair during that time, and I think Mickey did too.
Meanwhile, he got immensely sicker, and the pain and nausea became dreadful. Narcotic pain relief has its own challenges, but up the ladder of stronger and stronger medications he went, nothing quite alleviating his symptoms. Mickey listened and deliberated, but fundamentally he was clear: he was not interested in life-prolonging treatment. In fact, he wanted to pursue Aid in Dying, and we began the process which would enable him to procure medication to end his life.
Mickey’s beautiful daughter, Shirra, had said that she would show up the minute I needed her. That day came, and I reached her at the end of a vacation in Mexico. She arrived the next day in her beach clothes on a one-way ticket. Shirra’s arrival brought about Chapter Three, where we—with loving help from Dr. Mark Apfel—were able to care for Mick at home, give him the pain relief he needed, hydrate him (once in our yard with an IV saline bag hanging from a gardening fork attached to a ladder), and just be with him every minute. One night about a week later Shirra noticed that Mickey seemed hot to the touch. Mark came over the next morning and told us the infection causing the fever could be treated with antibiotics, but untreated it would carry Mickey to a fairly quick and gentle death. Mickey opted not to treat the infection. After Mark left, we went out in the yard. A friend visited with us all for an hour or so, and then Mickey said he was tired. He went inside and lay down on the couch and quickly slipped into a deep sleep from which he never entirely awoke.
The next day I wrote to all of you asking for you to come and offer prayers while Mickey moved toward death. I didn’t even really know what I was asking for. I went outside only briefly, late in the day, but I’ve heard some accounts of what was going on in our yard: of the many, many of you who came, who prayed, meditated, read and chanted, and I don’t know what else. Occasionally, we could hear some soft singing. At one point we heard the music of a harp. It was one of the most powerful experiences of my life, that circle of love and spiritual strength that we could feel every minute from inside the house. It felt like a wall of love, like a fortress, so holding and containing and protecting. I will be grateful for the rest of my life for the circle you all created to hold us. It was exactly what we needed, and you knew exactly what to do.
That evening we noticed that Mick looked uncomfortably scrunched into the couch so we moved him to some quilts on the floor. Shirra curled up next to him. I was, as usual, in my red chair, a hand-squeeze away. Shirra and I dozed. At 11:00 PM she woke up and noticed that Mick wasn’t breathing. We both sat up. He took one more breath and that was his last.
In the morning we washed him, dressed him in white shrouds, and placed him in the beautiful box his friends had built for him. We put him in the window seat in our bedroom. Shomrim came through the day and the night, creeping in quietly with kind nods to Shirra and me, and sat with him. One shomer told me later that he had read Mickey jokes from The Big Book of Jewish Humor. The gentle presence of the shomrim felt angelic.
The next day we buried him. So, so many of you were there, and you came back to our house, day after day, and led beautiful Shiva services every evening and filled our house with food and friendship and love. I was largely numb during the funeral and Shiva, existing somewhere outside my body as the week went on. Our beautiful family was here, and left a few at a time over the ensuing days.
Even in the midst of all my enormous sadness I was aware that losing a beloved partner is a very common experience. It has been very helpful, and very tender, for me to talk with some of you who have also lived through the death of long-time spouses.
One morning during the Shiva a rabbi friend from back East called and asked me, ”What do you need right now?” Out of my mouth flew the words, “I need God.” “Okay then,” he replied, “Shall we pray? Shall we sing?” We sang a few beautiful songs together over the phone, and I felt my heart settle a bit.
In the time since, I’ve mostly needed quiet and rest. It’s not easy these days for me to chat. People have been so very kind, checking in but not imposing. I have received dozens, maybe hundreds, of loving notes, which I read and then put in a box to take out and look at again. Not unlike the day you all prayed outside in the yard, I feel your loving presence holding me.
Every evening I have joined the Nechama Minyon, a minyan started by a rabbi a year and some ago after her mother died, when she wanted to say Kaddish every day. It is very simple. A different person leads it every evening in whatever style they prefer. There is always time for healing prayers and for the Mourners’ Kaddish. In a few weeks I have started to feel close to this collection of people I mostly don’t know. Anyone is welcome. It meets at 6:00 PM every night except Friday. Here’s the Zoom info if you’re interested:
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82588965994?pwd=emQ5c2tFeW9LV2Z1Z3Q1UEZkWmdjUT09
Meeting ID: 825 8896 5994
Passcode: 19027
One day shortly after Shiva had ended I was out in town and I impulsively bought a quilt with a map of the constellations and an image of the Milky Way. Every night now I sleep under my beloved night sky. I’ve found myself thinking that, when the moon is full or the sun is out, you can’t see the stars. But they are always there. Maybe a bit like that, when I lived daily life with my beloved in our house that was often full of light and laughter, I didn’t need to see the stars so much. But now that the light has gone out, I can see and feel presences that I wasn’t so aware of before. I feel the strength of our Jewish community, of the mourning cycle, of neighbors and friends far and near, of prayer and song, of those who have walked this path before me. I feel the Mystery above and throughout it all. I feel the bulwark of all that love and all that wisdom. While I am immensely sad and will be, I’m sure, for a long time to come, I know that I am not alone. For that I am so deeply grateful.
Sunday The Rabbi Came Back
I will return to MCJC on May 1st, which will be just a few days after Mickey’s shloshim (the 30-day period of intensive mourning). I look forward to rejoining services, meetings and projects with all of you. I don’t know how much stamina I will have, and I know you will be gentle with me. At the same time, I am eager to get back into community life.
I want to express my enormous gratitude to all who led Friday night and Shabbat morning services, more people than I can name here. Also to Leslie Krongold, who has presided over the weekly Cuppa every Wednesday, keeping up enthusiastic chats all these months, I hear.
To Linda Jupiter and Joy Lancaster, who have kept the Elders’ Conversation going strong all this time, offering up provocative questions about important issues. And to Nancy Harris and Judy Stavely, who have chaired the Justice Group and led them to do important work.
To Andrea Luna for housing our Torah scroll until she could return to the shul. To Marnie Press, who has taken the lead in the big project of getting us ready for hybrid shul/Zoom life, and all the tech learners who will keep us rolling. To Alix Sabin, Harriet Bye, Susan Tubbesing, Raven Deerwater, and others I may not know about, who made sure that there were leaders for all of these services and groups. A special thank you to Susan T. for keeping everyone informed about MCJC goings-on with her warm and efficient e-mail messages. I am a very blessed rabbi to know that my community can be so strong and growth-ful in my absence.
Nancy and Judy are aboard with the Justices for the time being and I look forward to checking in with the other groups that have been moving forward so beautifully under communal leadership to figure out how we might share leadership and learn together.
