Of the thousand or so words in this week’s Torah portion, Titzvah, two stand out. They are names of Aaron’s eldest sons: Nadab and Avihu. Only mentioned a few times in all of Torah, their names have particular resonance to me this week, a week we mourn the loss of Cantor Susan Wehle, and the forty-nine others killed in the crash of flight 3407. For we tend to remember Nadab and Avihu, not for their lives, but their deaths, a horrific accident that occurred during the dedication of the Tabernacle in Leviticus, where the two boys were consumed in flame. Like with the plane crash, it happened almost instantaneously, without preparation, a moment stamped in our minds for eternity.
Part of what we do in such tragedies, is try to go back in time to reconcile the present moment with all the moments that came before it. Time seems to slow down. Things that seemed unimportant beforehand now are ripe with meaning. Having just arrived in Buffalo in September of 2008, my interactions with Susan were somewhat limited – services we conducted together, weekly classes over at Hebrew High, board meetings in the community. I remember the way she talking to her prior to our joint Sukkot service, explaining the nuances of the community that would now become my home. I remember her joy in singing during that service. I remember fleeting moments at local nursing homes or while shopping at Wegmans. And, I remember our last interaction, in the hallway of the Broder Center as we left Hebrew High one Wednesday night, wishing one another well, and pledging to get together for coffee in the very near future. I wish I could have every one of those moments back, say more than I did at the time, spend a little more time in Susan’s presence.
When someone has died, I always council the family that they should share stories, begin to remember the person prior to the event that took their live. And that, it takes time: months, years, and sometimes decades. I cannot help but walk around CSS without feeling Susan’s presence. She, like the eternal flame described at the beginning of Tetzaveh, continues to glow. We go back in time not to relive a tragedy, but to remember the lives stolen from us too soon. May all of those lives be for a blessing.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Alex
Last Updated on 03/08/2019 by wpadm