Book of Life

This past weekend I had the honor of officiating at a wedding of two friends. They got engaged earlier this year, standing toe-to-toe in the Ganges River in Rishikesh and married in their home state of Minnesota, where they’ve known each other since kindergarten.

Over the months since they asked me to perform their ceremony, I’ve thought about how much courage it takes to step into relationship with someone. To allow oneself to be seen, ALL the parts of us.

And how, after all the heartbreak of various endings, we risk, yet again, to love.

Both in their 60’s, it’s not the first marriage for either of them. Anne Lamott says at our age, we don’t just bring our cute, tiny overnight bag of emotional baggage, but steamer trunks full!

The night before the wedding, I sat on an unfamiliar bench, in a Jewish temple in a strange city for Kol Nidre. The night that begins the highest holy day of Yom Kippur. A time where we pray, sing and fast. Honor our ancestors and mourn our losses. Take a deep inventory of our actions and impact and ask forgiveness. If we are diligent in our efforts, we will be inscribed in the Book of Life.

As I sat with friends and strangers, I thought of my children and their father, I thought of my friends from my temple in Colorado, and remembered hours of sitting, of singing and praying for each other’s families, times of fasting and the celebration of breaking the fast together. Memories flashing on the big screen of my mind.

21 years ago, at High Holiday services in Boulder, during a break on Yom Kippur, I took a walk with my husband and told him I didn’t want to be married anymore.  We were on “Independence” Trail – it was a beautiful fall day, with the blue Colorado sky and the golden Poplar leaves as a backdrop. My divorce was a whirlwind and caused great impact on our family, fueled largely by my loneliness, impetuous behavior and alcoholism.

A few years later, divorced and remarried to someone else, I asked our former Rabbi, Tirzah Firestone, if she would be willing to facilitate a divorce healing with my first husband Jeff.  She told me she no longer did them anymore, but she would make an exception.  Jeff declined. 

In 2016, I am divorced (again) and sitting in temple. It’s Yom Kippur and both our daughter and son are sitting between us.

Sober for 10 years now, I am experiencing layers of divorce grief from both this most recent ending as well as the first divorce. 

I always think of Jeff’s father at Yom Kippur as Kol Nidre was his favorite service and since his Yahrzeit is always around this time of year. Our son wears his grandfather’s tallit (prayer shawl) that was given to him on his Bar Mitzvah.

At the time in the service where we recite Kaddish, Reb Zalman’s wife, Eve Ilsen, asked people who haven’t lost a parent to please leave the sanctuary. Jeff and I stayed behind as both of our father’s have passed – my father died on October 4, 2006 and Jeff’s died on October 8, 2012. October can feel tender and the Mourner’s Kaddish is a comfort.

Once people had left the sanctuary, the room emptied to a third of the crowd. There was an expectant hush in the space. Eve asked us to turn to the person next to us and say the words we wish we could have said to a person in our lives who was no longer alive.

I had been thinking so much of my ex-father in law, Irwin, and mourning his loss in my life.   

When I turned to Jeff, I spoke to him as if he were Irwin.  Jeff’s eyes widened with surprise as the words left my mouth: “Irwin” I said, “I’m sorry I brought divorce into your life.  I’m sorry that hurt you.  Please forgive me.  Thank you for loving me.  You were the best father and a good and kind man.  Thank you for blessing me before you died.” 

I shed tears.  I was speaking to Irwin, but I was also speaking to Jeff. 

When it was his turn, Jeff turned to me and spoke to me as Irwin as well and said “I miss you every day.  You were the most positive person in my life.  I could really use your counsel.” and I shed tears for him as well because I knew what a void this great man had left in his children’s lives.

The High Holidays; A time of awe.  A time for healing.  A time of prayer and trembling.

As Yom Kippur ended this year, a community of friends and family came together to witness the love of two people, choosing to commit to a life together. I sat next to the man I love and we raised our glasses of sparkling water to toast their union.

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