Elul Day 17
Dear Elul Writers,
Only hours after arriving in Krakow this summer, without exactly meaning to, we found our way to the grave of R’ Moshe Isserles, the Rema. We had put our things down and wandered out to get our bearings in the Jewish quarter of Kazimierz where we were staying. Enjoying the complete disorientation, we wandered the cobblestone streets of the neighborhood past the cute cafes and funky bars that have come to define the area. Then, halfway down a block, through a wrought iron gate, we caught a glimpse of the old cemetery, stones jutting this way and that, dappled with the sunlight that filtered through the ancient oak trees.
At the grave of the Rema, there were hundreds and hundreds of little notes that had been folded up and slipped into every crack and crevice around the headstone. How sweet that a sage, most famous for his own little notes within the legal codes, was surrounded by tiny missives left by pilgrims who had come to pay their respects. Five hundred years after he lived, the Rema continues to offer little glosses on the law, pointing out the differences of Ashkenazi practice from what was codified by R’ Yosef Karo. His unique voice and his italicized font are familiar, even to legal lightweights like me. Visiting his grave and his shul, and Krakow, itself, we felt an overwhelming sense of both presence and absence. We wanted to stay, to stretch out in the cool shade of the plum trees, to absorb the wisdom and the histories of this decimated community.
Visiting the gravesites of our departed, a longstanding custom of chodesh Elul, offers a similar emotional experience. The immediacy of the grave and the physicality of the stone allow us to feel a sense of closeness and presence. Yet, these inanimate objects draw into relief what is missing–namely, the living, breathing, caring, laughing, crying people who we miss so dearly. The act of visiting a cemetery feels, at once, like not close to enough, and like the best we can do.
Prompt
On this 17th day of Elul, I want to pause and invite you to consider those who are no longer living, but continue to exert an influence on your life. Some of us live far from our families, it may not be possible to make it to the gravesites in Queens or North London, in suburban Chicago or Houston. So, in the spirit of the folded notes that were written to R’ Moshe Isserles, I invite you to write a few lines to one of the people you are thinking of during this season of return. What do you want them to know about you and the life you’ve been building? Are there any words that you feel were left unsaid? What prayers for yourself, for your family or friends do you hope might be answered because of the merits of your ancestors?
Take care,
Jordan