Yiddishe Mamas (44 page)

Rabbi Greenberg, has said that the central principle of Judaism is the triumph of life over death, and that all of the mitzvot are intended to achieve that goal. He therefore made the case for organ donations as “the ultimate mitzvah” in preserving and sustaining life. (Five of J. J. Greenberg’s organs were donated for transplants.) This was another way for the grieving parents to deal with their tragedy and heal the world. In keeping with his spirit, Blu Greenberg said her son’s liver was donated to an Arab man being treated in an Israeli hospital and that the transplant saved his life. She also spoke of the man’s family with affection and said that she envisioned a day when such interactions would be common in both Israel and the occupied territories.

The Web site in tribute of her son is
jjgreenberg.org
.

Nothing stops the people of Jerusalem from living normal lives, writes Tim Boxer. On a warm June Saturday night, thirty-two relatives and friends gather at Ahavat Hayam, to toast Orit Tsarafi on her thirtieth birthday. They sing, they talk, and they laugh.

But this is Israel and the laughter is leavened with tears.

Orit’s husband isn’t here. He died in a training accident at an army base, leaving her with an eight-year-old daughter.

Her mother isn’t here. She died when a terrorist blew up a bus between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

Orit’s cousin, Roi, is here. He got a weekend pass.

While partying with his cousins, Roi gets a call from his base that two of his army buddies were just killed in a terrorist ambush. They were both in their early twenties.

This has become a normal way to celebrate a birthday in Israel—with laughter and with tears.

“M
y mom was in the hospital dying, when I was eight weeks pregnant,” said Mallory Lewis, speaking of her mother Shari Lewis. “After her final surgery and something went wrong, as the doctor came running into the room, she looked at me, and
Mom’s last words were, ‘I want you to know how happy I am about the baby and how much I love you.’”

There are 1,167 tombstones in the ancient Jewish cemetery of Rhodes. In 1997, when more than two hundred were uncovered during a restoration of the cemetery undertaken by the Jewish community, they found that many dated back to the 1500s and 1600s.

During the 1920s, the Island of Rhodes had an estimated Jewish population of 4,000, mostly of Sephardic origin. The tombstones are chiseled in Hebrew, sometimes utilizing letters of the alphabet for abbreviations such as N.A. (“Nun, Ayin”), which stands for
“Nishmata Eden”
and means “His (Her) Soul in Paradise.” These abbreviations are the equivalent to the English usage of “R.I.P.” for Rest in Peace.

The poetic passages on the tombstones reflect Ladino, along with lyrics of songs, called “canticas” and “romanzas.”

Rebekah Gumpert was born in Philadelphia in 1816 to a Jewish father and Christian mother. She was raised a Jew and was devout throughout her life. In 1845, she married Benjamin Hyneman, a jewelry peddler, and officially converted to Judaism. She was left widowed after five years of marriage. It was thought that Benjamin may have been robbed and murdered. The young widow began writing, and became noted for her poetry; many were Jewish-themed.

Her life was scarred by tragedy. She lost her two sons, Sam, from a fatal disease, and Elias Leon, a hero, during the Civil War. Elias had been captured and imprisoned in the dread Andersonville prison where he died.

Perhaps the most moving sentiments of this Jewish mother were expressed in her last letter to Elias following the death of his brother.

Elias Hyneman applied for a furlough, but his request was denied. One week after this letter was written, Hyneman’s regiment was in a cavalry raid at Reams Station, Virginia (Kautz’s Raid). They were surrounded and outnumbered. Hyneman and a compatriot were almost out of the danger zone when the comrade’s horse fell, breaking a leg and injuring the rider. Hyneman helped the wounded man onto his own horse, saying he would attempt to escape on foot. Further on, he came upon another wounded comrade, barefoot and bleeding. He gave him his boots. Hyneman was later captured and sent on a transport to the dreaded Andersonville prison where he died of starvation and exposure six months later on January 7, 1865. His family had his remains disinterred and brought home. On April 22, 1866, he was reburied by his brother’s side, in Mikveh Israel, the old Jewish cemetery in Philadelphia.

Charlotte Mayerson, a writer, poet, and editor, is also a Jewish mother who lost her son, Robert Henry, to AIDS. It was difficult to find comfort, even in religious study. Some solace came from Robert’s memory (her own anger and anguish led her to write a collection of poems,
The Death Cycle),
and in recalling the women of the Holocaust. She told the
Jewish News Weekly
of northern California: “… as I thought I was going under, I thought of these women. I realized my experience [of not being able to protect my child] wasn’t unique. Other women of our tradition have gone through this, too.”

“As a parent losing a child you realize that grief leaves you with a permanent hole in your heart. I believe that for me the grieving really began on March 7, 1997, the day my husband, Gary, and I were given the diagnosis of Tay-sachs,” wrote Monica Gettleman in
beingjewish.org
. “I will never forget the actual pain I felt in my womb when the ophthalmologist told us Brooke had Tay-sachs.

“In the first few months after Brooke was diagnosed, I would find myself looking at other little girls her age and seeing what they do and longing for what I would never have with my daughter. If I was out, and a mother was close by with her child, I would compulsively ask how old her daughter was. I remember times when I would be in my car and just burst into tears. There was always a feeling that I was being cheated of watching the baby that I carried for nine months grow into a little girl.

“For the next year as I watched Brooke’s health deteriorate, I had such an overwhelming feeling of sadness as I saw there was no stopping this disease.

“When Brooke required twenty-four-hour care, Gary and I made the decision to place Brooke in a skilled nursing facility that was thirty minutes from our home. The day after we took her there I literally couldn’t move or get out of bed.

“On Friday, December 18, 1998, I had the most amazing visit with Brooke. I took her for a walk and she actually cooed
and smiled. After leaving her on that Sunday, we got a call … that Brooke was running a fever and didn’t look well. We went by ambulance with Brooke to the hospital, where we found out she had a case of pneumonia. Over the next few days, we knew she was dying and it was just a matter of time. What helped me tremendously was holding her in my arms, feeling her heartbeat next to mine, and being able to say goodbye. When we left the hospital on December 23 at 9:00, I knew that was going to be the last time I would see her alive. I woke up in the middle of the night knowing that she was gone; a few minutes later the hospital called, confirming that she passed.

“The biggest adjustment I had was not going to see her every day and holding her. I missed the softness of her skin and the innocence of her being. I knew I had to concentrate on staying healthy for the baby with whom I was four months pregnant. I found myself thinking a lot about what heaven was like and I pictured my daughter there as she physically would look had she not had Tay-sachs.

“This helped me as I helped our son with his own healing process. I remember one day a few weeks after Brooke had passed I was eating Hershey’s kisses with our son Alec, who was six years old. He held up a kiss and said, ‘Brooke, this one is for you!’

“As the anniversary of her death approached I found myself reliving the last few days I had with her. I especially think of when I held her in my arms and told her how much I loved her.

“I think of Brooke every day and find peace in knowing that she is no longer suffering. Holidays are still hard but I know they will always come and go. It helps knowing how many lives Brooke touched in her short thirty-four months with us. I know now there was a reason for me being Brooke’s mother. Maybe it was to teach me how precious life truly is, or to help others as a mentor with National Tay-sachs and Allied Diseases. It has certainly made me a much more compassionate and understanding mother to my son and daughter. I always carry with me a tremendous loss for my child, but I know that someday I will be united again with my precious daughter Brooke.”