Cyberthought by Rabbi Zelizer -- June 16`, 2008

I thought you would like to read this thought, by a colleague of mine, Rabbi Arnold Resnikoff, on America sitting shivah for Tim Russert.

For the past few days, I've been making shiva calls, but I've been the only one in the room. All the other visitors -- friends, colleagues, and a few relatives -- have been on TV, and, although almost none of them are Jewish, they seem to understand the rules and traditions of shiva much, much better than the Jewish families whose homes I've visited for shiva calls over the course of many years....

America, in many ways, is sitting shiva for Tim Russert. Gathered around the table on TV news shows, family and friends are telling stories about him: funny stories, sad stories, poignant stories -- stories that remind us that, although he is no longer alive physically, his memories will survive. And, those memories will bless us, as we learn the lessons of his life. He may not have left us an ethical will in writing, but the stories are making clear what lessons are part of his legacy: the lesson to us to work hard, and do our homework (ideas that are repeated again and again); the idea that we can be competitive without being cut-throat, that it is all right to want to be the best, but you do that by standing tall, not by throwing others into a ditch; the idea of family, from a man who wrote about his father and his son; the idea that enthusiasm and love are contagious, and that it is possible to be professional without becoming distant, and that, when all is said and done, we will be remembered for who we are even more than for what we have achieved.

If I had a congregation, I would devote my next sermon - and perhaps more than a sermon: perhaps a new initiative on the laws (and the spirit) of mourning - to shiva, and I would use this shared American experience of sitting shiva for Tim Russert, as the example. I would consider creating a short brochure for guests who come to make a shiva call (especially now, when many guests are not Jewish), with some brief explanations of the laws and customs of this tradition.

I think many of our congregants would be surprised to learn even the most basic laws and traditions: that guests should not speak with each other in private conversations, as if they are at a cocktail party, if a mourner is not part of that conversation; that the guests do not come to eat and drink, and the mourners should not worry about whether there is food on the table for visitors; that, even though the closest of friends should make sure they bring food for that first meal of consolation for the mourners, guests should not bring food "for the table" -- for other guests; that, ultimately there should be no "table" and refreshments: the food at a shiva call is food for thought, and we leave nourished, not by the wonderful "spread" from the local deli, but by the memories of a life - and its lessons - that we continue to spread, and help keep alive, by the stories we tell, and the actions and lives that those stories will touch.... On the news programs over the last few days, no one set a table, and none of the commentators commented on how good the food or drink was during the conversation. They sat together, and reminisced about the person who died, but whose memories remained. They shared stories about a man they worked with, admired, and loved. They laughed together, and they shared a tear together. And, as I wrote above, they talked about what it was about this man that could serve as lessons for others, including themselves.

I remember once, shortly after arriving in a city for a new assignment in the Navy, a friend invited me to make a shiva call on a couple that had just lost their 18-year-old son, in a car accident. Because I was so new, I knew almost no one -- and I soon realized that I could not even identity the mourners, the parents. They were not the center of conversation, because there were multiple conversations going on. They were not sitting on lower stools, the center of attention, because, as it turned out, they were going back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, making sure there was enough food on the table.

When I finally asked someone to point out the parents, I went over to introduce myself. I said I was new, and was sorry to meet them at a time when they were mourning. But I said I hadn't had the opportunity to meet their son, and yet my friend had said such good things, that I would appreciate it - if they wouldn't mind - if they could sit down for a moment, and just tell me a little more about him. Slowly, others gathered around as the parents started to tell stories, perhaps for the first time that evening. They - and the others who now started to speak about the young man - shared some stories that were well-known to others, and some that were new. They spoke about ways this young man had touched their lives. And, through the stories, he continued to touch their lives, that evening.... We as individuals could learn a lot from a man like Tim Russert. I know I have, over the past few days. We as a Jewish community could learn a lot from the way his friends, his colleagues, and his relatives, are remembering him. Some of us could even begin to relearn -- and perhaps, re-teach -- the power of the Jewish laws and traditions of mourning, beginning with how to sit shiva, and how to make a shiva call....

Arnie Resnicoff