The one and only question I got wrong on my pre-rabbinical exam was regarding the word Shloshim. I knew the word Shalosh is three and that Shloshim referred to something connected to the number thirty but had absolutely no idea what that was. Having never lost any one close to me at that time and having little familiarity with the laws of mourning, I had never come across the custom marking the first month of mourning with a prayer ritual. The first time I saw it was in that first year of rabbinical school when a classmate held a study session after the death of her father. I was moved by this way of honoring her deceased father, who happened to also be a rabbi, and wondered why so few Jews embrace the custom. Nearly a quarter century later, I have only personally officiated over a Shloshim service a few times.
This past week as the thirtieth day memorial approached of the 10/7 massacre in Southern Israel, I felt a strong pull to mark it. This was an unspeakable tragedy and needed a strong ritual response. Over the course of the week, my need for a ritual only grew. On Monday, we brought people together on Zoom with Yahrzeit candle, reflections, and prayer. We are a long way from being healed, especially with an ongoing war in Gaza, still we needed – I needed – the process to at least start.
Fittingly, this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, begins with the death and burial of our beloved matriarch. When Sarah dies, Abraham is Ill prepared, not even owning a burial spot. We watch as he struggles to purchase the Cave of Machpelah from Ephron the Hittite. This burial plot is our people’s first official marker in the Holy Land. Over generations, rich mourning traditions have been developed that we are the beneficiaries of. These have helped ease the pain of loss for thousands in f years and will continue to do so for thousands more. Rituals like Shloshim support us in our time of loss, creating a safe container in which to mourn.
May the memories of the fallen always be for a blessing,
Rabbi Alex
“10/7/23”
The date has become a memorial. No longer a birthday, or anniversary, or the day I took my kids to school or attended services.
The date is now etched in fire in God’s eternal clock. Hung like a jersey of a retired player in God’s heavenly palace.
We will never think of it otherwise. Now it will be forever associated with hostility, bloodshed, and death.
Another Babi Yar. Another Masada. We will mourn as we always do with sackcloth and ashes.
No more balloons or celebrations, just this awful sadness that consumed me when I first heard the news.
-Alex Lazarus-Klein