Every death takes a toll on me, but over the last few weeks, the funerals I attended and led were soul wrenching. The illnesses that took each person were illnesses that slowly took away their autonomy and sometimes their personalities. Far from a quick journey, these illnesses take their time, without hope for full recovery. While I’m sure each family found moments of joy and love, and a treasury of life’s lessons during their journey, I’m not sure there are words to describe the anger and the grief that everyone felt. One has to wonder about a world where disease can take so much away from us…

I’ve been thinking about this on my walks when my mind starts to ponder the bigger questions of life. Last week, I was interrupted by smell. It was the smell of Spring. You know, when the earth starts to smell warmer and richer and full of the possibility of life. I remembered that I planted 200 bulbs last fall (which was no easy task) hoping to brighten up another Covid Spring. I also put in some flowering plants where I had taken down my yew tree. I began to think of Jerry Slivka, who along with his wife, survived the horrors of the Shoah. On the 70th anniversary of his Bar Mitzvah, he spoke about his love of gardening, especially flowers, because they reminded him of life and rebirth and beauty - the complete opposite of his experience during those horrible years. The flowers he planted and tended affirmed his faith in humanity and the world. They were the antidote to the horrors he experienced. 

When I got home, I began to hunt for my crocuses and daffodils, to see if any were coming up.  Sure enough, there they were!!! I only had to remember and look. I go out every day to see what is new in my garden. Not to paint too pretty a picture of it, though. Since that day when I smelled spring, the temperature has plummeted. It might have even snowed. The ground is frozen once again…

But this is spring in Maine. I have faith that more of my bulbs will come up. I have faith that the dog and the squirrels didn’t get them all. I believe it will get warmer and my backyard, which now looks like a bunch of sticks, will be green and lush. Soon, I will complain that it is too hot!

It doesn’t make these past weeks easier. I am still angry and sad about these deaths - and the others that I have experienced - but some of the pain is lifted by the knowledge that life continues, that there is beauty yet to be discovered, and that we have one another for support. 

Shabbat Shalom.