Thoughts on Rosh Hashanah

I wrote this four years ago but didn't feel able to publish it at the time. 

This year I don't think I can find a way to engage spiritually at all. 

It's all just too raw, too intense, too full of rage and despair. 

But maybe I can take some small strength from the thoughts and memories of past-me, from the love of our wonderful family and friends and, in particular, from my inspirational wife and her amazing band of friends that undertook a marathon walk this week to Shine for Shani and help other heart children have a better future. 

Shana Tova.

Tuesday 3 September 2013

There’s a prayer in the Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) service called Unatenah Tokef.

It talks about this being the time of year when God figures out what is going to happen to everyone over the next 12 months: who is going to do well, who is going to suffer; who is going to be healthy, who is going to get ill; who is going to live, who is going to die.

It fits in with the idea that Rosh Hashanah is supposed to be when we as Jews take stock of ourselves and decide what sort of person we’re going to be over the next 12 months and what we’re going to do to improve ourselves and the world around us.

The two are strongly coupled in that an ‘evil decree’ can be averted if we take it upon ourselves to genuinely commit to tefillah, tzedakah, teshuvah – to prayer: self-reflection and connecting with Godness; to charity: giving time and money to improve the world around us; to making ourselves a better person.

And that sort of works in the abstract – there’s the possibility of something bad happening in the future unless we take steps now to prevent it happening, so we’d better get praying and making things better. Then, at least if bad things happen we’ve made ourselves or the world a bit better.

But does it work if you’re already worried because there's a reasonable chance that something really bad could happen to someone that you love so dearly – who is going to live and who is going to die. Because now we’re not talking about incremental changes – this could be fundamental. Irreversible. There’s no way back.

So what to have in mind during Rosh Hashanah? How to pray? Can I ever pray enough? 

What if there IS an evil decree and I am unable to avert it?

And why??? Why me? Why Little S? She can't have done anything to deserve any of this?!

J and I have always tried to think positively, to make the most of what we've got and not to dwell on why this is happening.

Because to do anything else is futile and can only lead to madness.

So I guess we have to fall back on hope, faith and love.

To dare to hope that next year will be better, sweeter, happier.

To have faith that tefillah, tzedakah, teshuvah, that prayer, charity and self-improvement might just make Little S's chances better - after all there's nothing to lose and everything to gain.

And to love every minute with her and with all of her wonderful family and friends as, in the end, that is what's really important.

Shana Tova U'Mtukah - a very happy and sweet new year to all 

The Quality of Tears

Thu 14 Sept 2017

When I went to the opticians recently, a lady looked into my eyes and told me that she thought i didn't have high enough quality tears.

I guess sometimes quantity trumps quality.

Over the summer, grief to some extent took a back seat as I was somewhat preoccupied by my left foot.

In particular, due to a combination of my naive attempt to make myself feel better by going on a morning run and our council's failure to keep our roads free of pot holes, I had to cope with a very swollen ankle and an undisplaced fracture of the fibula.

So navigating the world whilst hobbling about in a large black plastic boot took up much of my mental and emotional energy.

As did being on holiday. 

Taking the kids round the jaw dropping sights of the Colliseum and the Vatican City in Rome in 38 degree heat was not something we would have done with Shani. 

Staying out late in the cafes and shopping streets of Sorrento would also have been difficult. 

We probably would not have gone swimming in the surprisingly warm sea in Hove for hours if Shani was sitting and playing on the beach. 

We'd have done other things. 

We'd have done sandcastles, paddling, story reading, toys, princesses, Barbies, cuddles, tantrums.

In fact, not having Shani around has meant that we've been suddenly and unceremoniously wrenched out of the whole world of small children. 

We no longer have play dates with little people, no more glorious school plays with cute children singing songs and trying to dance, and very few kids parties to go to anymore.

Within a few short months Tammy had completely finished primary school, and so now we only have secondary schools to attend - big, important institutions with hundreds and hundreds of children and a dozen or more teachers for each child to get to know. 

Of course, we already had Joel in big school and Tammy was always going to get there this year, but we loved being involved in Shani's, littler, school - 

watching her learning to read English and Hebrew, 

talking about the sedra each week and looking at the picture she drew, 

exhilaration at being 'star of the week', 

going to school plays, 
hearing her sing mo'atzur at Hanukkah and mah nishtana at Pesach,

and the magnificent achievement that was her sports day. 

But instead of five more years of primary school childhood we have none. 

Last week Shani would have started Year 2.

It was tough.

We had lovely messages from parents in her class that they'd been thinking of us. 

Shani's class have kept her teddies on display. 
They talk about their friend Shani to each other and to new members of their class. 

They don't want to let her go any more than we do. 

Shani's school have been incredible.

Her teachers appeared on the first night of shiva mourning and covered us in love and support and wise words, reassuring us that Shani's classmates were being cared for and that they wanted us to remain part of the wider school family.

They presented an award at the end of last term to a girl in the school that has been trying to get on with her life despite suffering from multiple broken limbs as a result of brittle bones disease.

She was presented with the Shani Berman Award for Determination - a tribute both to her and to Shani's constant desire to just get on with life despite everything that it threw at her.

Her Headmistress wrote a piece for the school magazine that I've included in this blog and which sums up the wonderful love that the school had and still has for Shani.

Shani loved her school.

They looked after and nurtured her but let her get on with life, have fun, laugh, be joyous, make some lovely friends that we miss very much, and blossom into a magnificent little girl with a magic heart.

And for that we will always be grateful.

As Shani's headmistress wisely said in a recent letter to us, 'may your memories ease your pain and help you to smile through your tears.'