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petite essays
The following five essays are companions to Stephen
Goldman’s eloquent piece on facing the new year with
a terminal diagnosis. All five writers have a connection
to the Jewish Hospice and Chaplaincy Network.
Their topic: Mortality.
Al Chet. Listed alphabetically in
Hebrew, it contains a litany of
major and minor transgressions
between people and between
people and God. They cover every
topic imaginable, from lewdness to
disrespect for parents and teach-
ers to doing various forms of evil.
In Orthodox Yom Kippur services,
it is recited 10 times. All of it is
about the stupidities and vanities
and arrogance of human beings, to
make us realize what we need to
correct to become a holier person.
All the Al Chet prayers are about
behaviors and intentions. Those
are important, but what is not
included is how we take so many
things for granted. Life. Longevity.
Family. Friends. Health. Every year,
we pray the same prayers, never
really stopping to think: “What
if this is the last time I say these
words?” We don’t take the time to
really think about the importance
of the words we recite and to pon-
der their importance or lack of
importance to us.
And the Days of Atonement
become a blur, a way to mark
another year that has passed;
another set of family meals. The
words and intention and fasting are
designed to open our hearts and
minds to God and others, to pull
us from our everyday petty needs,
wants and egos to try to become
better people. To achieve teshuvah.
Yet, when faced with death,
one’s focus tends to be on fewer,
more important things. Family.
Friends. Making amends with oth-
ers. Reaching out to God for help,
understanding and, yes, forgive-
ness for yourself and from others.
Psalm 90:2 asks God to “teach
us to number our days so that we
may achieve a heart of wisdom.”
All of us should know that our
days are numbered. When you
are dying, the numbers come into
greater focus and the focus shifts.
Life becomes about connections
between you and people impor-
tant to you and between you and
God. You become acutely aware
that time is finite, that your time
is limited to do things you want to
do. That your time is limited to be
fully alive, to appreciate the world
and universe around you. That you
must open up your heart in ways
you have not, to work toward that
elusive heart of wisdom.
But what do I, like others in this
situation, now hope to atone for?
To paraphrase one of the four ques-
tions of Pesach: Why are these days
of atonement different from others?
My head spins with questions …
and ultimately turns.
Teshuvah … to turn.
A diffi cult metaphor.
And I think that I begin to under-
stand. The word “turn” can be
used as a verb, an action word or as
a descriptor such as the word turn-
ing, an adverb. Taking that one step
further, either use of the word im-
plies a change of direction. Turning
takes time. It can happen in a split
second when you hear something
loud coming from behind you, or it
can take hours or days, like a large
ship turning at sea.
Or it can take a lifetime.
I finally understand that turning
is a process, not an end point.
First, you must recognize the
need to turn. Something stirs,
wakes up inside you and asks you
to be still and listen. It does not
matter what prompts you to listen.
What matters is that whatever
prompted you, you take the time
to listen. Perhaps it is a simple
change that needs to be done or it
can be a life-altering event. It may
be a gentle nudge or a shout from
the rooftop. Just listen.
Second, there is the intent to
turn. You have listened, and now
are deciding how and when to act.
The intent is to build a process
and gather the energy to start
to change direction. Maybe you
decide to reach out to someone to
correct an old wrong. Perhaps you
begin to meditate or seek counsel-
ing to decide your course of action.
Third is the actual process of start-
ing to turn. Like intent, this can hap-
pen quickly or it can take months
or even years. The important part is
that the process has begun.
In our demanding, goal-driven
society, we are tempted to think
that everything has an ending, that
we have to achieve specific goals or
else we fail. God, however, does not
demand we achieve perfection and
does not require that we even com-
plete the process. But God begs,
pleads and demands that we try.
That we try to open our hearts, to
understand that we should learn to
number our days, to come to love
and respect our fellow humans, and
come to learn and respect God, the
source of all life.
If teshuvah is indeed a process,
and part of it is asking forgiveness
at the end of our lives, what should
we ask forgiveness from? On this
Yom Kippur, as I realize my days are
numbered, as I pursue the never-
ending process of teshuvah, the
ritual of the Al Chet makes me stop
and think and listen in a different
way. To things that are truly, deeply
important. To goals that allow us
to achieve a heart of wisdom, to
open our hearts to God and others
around us.
continued on page 14
“
What if you had been diagnosed with an illness that
may indeed take your life in less than a year? Would the
words of your prayers then have a different meaning,
or any meaning at all?
— STEPHEN GOLDMAN
”
KAREN
WINSHALL
Follow Your Journey,
With Love
Oct. 6, 2016, was the worst day of
our lives. That’s the day my hus-
band, Bill, was diagnosed with
pancreatic cancer. Twenty-two
months later was the worst day of
my life. I was forever changed on
the day Bill died. However, during
that time I learned to appreciate
the true value of all we cherished
— us, family and friends.
When diagnosed, Bill said, “We
have no room for any negativity in
our lives.” We looked for the posi-
tive in each day, even the hard,
difficult ones. We embraced living
in the moment. He faced his mor-
tality with grace, and I tried hard
to follow his example. After all,
this was his journey.
There was a sense that time
slowed to a snail’s pace the last
few days of his life. Hospice
helped greatly with their gentle
kindness and guidance. And,
eventually, his journey ended
peacefully during the night.
And now begins my journey. I
take one day at a time, one hour
at a time, one minute at a time,
if necessary. I have learned to
cherish each moment with those
I love.
Bill’s death did not take away
from the joy and memories of our
lives together, of the shared hap-
piness. My sorrow will diminish in
time, but my love will remain.
Hold those you love close for we
are all on our own journey.
Karen Winshall lives in Farmington
Hills.
jn
September 6 • 2018
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