Loved Ones Don't Die, They Pass On

Copyright Rabbi Eli Hecht
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A few months ago I flew from Long Beach, California to Brooklyn, New York.  It was a long, sad, and lonely trip.  My mother was turning 82 years and was looking forward to a special birthday when tragedy struck.    A fire broke out in her home.  Quickly, her life was taken by fire and smoke.  No good byes or time to prepare for closure, just a cruel death I thought.

Our immediate family of five sons and four daughters gathered at her graveside.  As her body was lowered into the burial plot we realized the finality of death.  Seeing our mother, loved by all of us, being covered with earth was almost too much to bear.  No more Mother’s Day or birthdays.

As each month goes by the pain grows and emptiness is felt.  Our custom of calling mom is now over. We realize that we cannot share the joys of life with her.

In large families the happiest time are the holidays.  That’s the time for family reunions.  Married children visit with their children and grandchildren, and the mood is festive and merry.  It’s a time for cousins to meet for the first time.  Children find out that they are special and are connected to a big family.  It’s like a large tree with so many branches and leaves, each growing in their own direction, forgetting that they all come from the same root.  They say, “You have the same name as me and I thought I was the only one with that special name.”

My American grandfather, Shea, had six sons.  When he died each son gave their newborn baby boys the name of their father, Shea.  So at the gathering there were five or six children called Shea Hecht.  When their holy Rebbe, Yosef Yitzchok, died they named their next newborn son Yosef Yitzchok.  Now there were six Yosef Yitzchok Hechts.  You can imagine how the third generation of boys felt when asked who they were.  They had to explain that they were the sons of the sons, causing lots of confusion.

One way the Jewish people deal with the grieving process is to name children after their dead parents, grandparents, and teachers.  Somehow, having a child carrying the name of a departed loved one brings a closure and a tranquil feeling.

I thank G‑d that my father is well.  He survived the fire but lives daily with his memories.  He now spends his time living a day or a week at a time with different children and grandchildren.  Last month he came to California to join our family for the holiday of Passover and spent an entire month.  Here he has three married sons who, like their father, are Rabbis and are busy teaching and spreading their faith.  Even though the children and grandchildren were there something big was missing.  Yes, our dear mother, the grandmother and great grandmother was missed.

My father was sad but would not speak of the tragic loss.  Suddenly the phone rang, a grandchild gave birth to a baby girl.  Now mom had a name.  On the following Sunday my son called and said “Mazel Tov – congratulations, my wife gave birth to a baby boy.”  My father jumped and said, “Today is mother’s 82^nd birthday, what a gift.” I can’t think of a nicer “Mother’s Day” present for my mom. 

Now, a week later, I flew once again on the same flight but this time to celebrate the circumcision of my grandson who was being named Mordechai after his grandfather.  My son, Boruch, is named after my grandfather, Boruch and now his son is named after his grandfather.

It may be that our parents and grandparents don’t die; they just pass on, adopting new bodies continuing the blessings of having wonderful families, that continue their family heritage and lifestyle.

It is interesting to note that this baby marks the beginning of a 7^th generation of American Hechts, Orthodox Jews, carrying the stamp of home grown in America, the land of the free.