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The Widows Club

When my beloved husband of 32 years died after battling cancer for three-and-a-half  years, family and friends did their best to comfort me. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to realize that, with the exception of a first kiss, there may not be a more awkward social interaction than trying to comfort the bereaved.

Everyone meant well as they searched to find the right words, posture, and tone of voice to help me through an impossible time.  Caring advice, personal stories, grief books and casseroles were offered up like sacrifices, with devotion and sincerity.

During the first few months, time morphed into a jumble of experiences that defied sequential process.  I felt a kind of numbness as I alternatively walked through my days  being comforted by others and  comforting those who cried in my arms. Like it or not, I had become a member of a club to which I had never wanted to belong: The Widows Club.

Perhaps one of the most interesting comments I received came from my mother in one of  our daily phone calls. About three weeks after Ray died, she said, “You know, I think it might be easier for you because, well, you’re a spiritual person.”

Afterwards, I thought about whether there was any truth to her statement. It is true that, despite growing up in a secular family, I always believed in, and felt, the presence of G-d in my life.

Since I was a little girl, G-d was my constant companion, offering me comfort, hope and a sense of security and well-being. I felt G-d’s presence most vividly in nature, where I was often rewarded with clarity of vision and a sense of purpose.

Yes, I was lucky because even when I didn’t understand why certain things happened in my life, my faith in G-d assured me that no matter what, things would work out in the end.

But much to my surprise, something happened to my relationship with G-d. It occurred slowly, like thunder rumbling in the distance, closing in before a storm.  During Ray’s illness, at a time when I needed G-d most, the G-d that had been my constant companion became inaccessible to me.

I am hardly the first person to encounter this problem. As Jews, we come from a long line of ancestors who have struggled in their relationship with G-d.

One of the things I love most about Judaism is that we aren’t punished for feelings of uncertainty or doubt. To ask “why” of G-d, to question the meaning of texts, and yes, even to doubt the very existence of G-d, is to be engaged in an authentic Jewish struggle.

Jews are called the Children of Israel, descendants of a man whose name was changed from Jacob to Israel after he wrestled with an angel and refused to release him. The word “Israel” in Hebrew means “to struggle with G-d.” It is our namesake and our legacy to struggle in our relationship with G-d.

But that didn’t make me feel any better. I needed to understand what had happened to cause this G-d void in my life.

Was I holding G-d accountable for Ray’s cancer?

Was I afraid to put too much hope into my prayers, only to find them unanswered?

Two things happened to help me dispel the darkness that enveloped me. The first was that I began to understand that G-d can be experienced as spiritual yearning, not just spiritual certainty.

For me, it is the yearning of my heart to understand the mysteries, meaning and complexities of life and the need to feel connected to something greater than myself.

This “something greater” may be referred to differently by each of us. But I believe that we are seeking the same thing.

The second awareness that helped me was something that Ray and I talked about a lot while he was alive. And it was Ray who articulated it best: That if we want to find G-d, we need look no further than the space between two people who love each other deeply. It is there, in the security of being accepted and loved and in the ability to love another human being, that G-d resides.

I am not sure that my mother was right when she said it might be easier for me. What I am sure of is that love doesn’t die, even when people do. And that in loving another, we can experience the presence of something sacred and holy for as long as we live.

Copyright © 2015 by the Intermountain Jewish News



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IJN Columnist | Reflections


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