Recently, an elderly cousin of mine died at the age of 96. "Frieda" had lived a very independent life. Though she neither married nor had children, she spent her career as both a teacher and social worker, essentially caring for the needs of others. Frieda and I lived in the same area for a good number of years. In addition to our familial relationship, we developed a closeness that certainly enriched my life.
For the past five years, Frieda had been a resident of an assisted living facility, where she received both personal, loving care and close medical attention. During most of her stay in the facility, she no longer recognized those familiar to her, and she was no longer able to communicate any more than perhaps a nod of the head. My visits with her became far less frequent, with my relocation away from her. Though I would speak to her and talk about people and things familiar, I never really had the sense that she could hear or understand what I was saying.
After her death, I've shared the news of Frieda with a number of acquaintances. More often than not, their response has been, "It was a blessing."
"It was a blessing" is a phrase that many of us toss about (myself included) after hearing of the death of someone whose last years were plagued with difficulties. There was a certain irony in the timing of Frieda's demise. During the week that she died, Jews all over the world were reading from the Book of Genesis and the story of Abram. In Chapter 12, God says to Abram, "Go forth from your land ... to a land that I will show you ... I will make of you a great nation, And I will bless you; I will make your name great, And you shall be a blessing."
And so, I find myself in mourning Frieda's memory, considering what it means to "be a blessing." The irony comes from the fact that Frieda, like her parents before her, lived a life that might be described as that of a "non-believer." Frieda and her parents lived a life that was defined by their Eastern European-Jewish roots. They spoke Yiddish, the language of our ancestors, and participated in the cultural trappings of our people. But synagogue worship or the "religious" rituals of our people did not have a place in their lives. Indeed, Frieda had requested of me not to have a religious service at her internment.
As a person of faith, I struggle to understand this abject rejection of any kind of relationship with a divine power. And yet, I am fully aware that such rejection is a reality, not just within the Jewish community, but among those coming from other faith traditions.
Though I and others find meaning in faith, I've come to realize that Frieda found meaning in her involvement in making the world a better place for humankind. Frieda was one who did not acknowledge a Divine Command. Yet she heard a call and answered it in the best way that she knew. May we all, according to our various beliefs and creeds, find ways -- like Frieda -- to be a blessing.
NAN Religion on 11/16/2019