A Most Eloquent Eulogy, A Most Powerful Reminder

Image by Molly Rice

When I read the entire text of a eulogy given at a slain child's funeral this morning, I naturally wanted to share it, knowing that others would find it touching as well. However, the media source or website from which we share can often taint how the words and messages are received. Knowing this, I've chosen to share the text from the eulogy here, from a more neutral space, hoping that readers will take the message being imparted -- at the request of the family -- to heart. It is a message of our interconnectedness and Interbeing. I have no doubt there are families on the other side of this ongoing tragedy and struggle who echo the same sentiments regarding their children and their culture.  (Note the edit at the end of this post.)

Not being a religious person myself (though I am a person of faith), I admit that I tend to cringe when specific identifying religious terms are used in a message. I fear they create a sense of "othering"...creating a divide between those of that specific path and all "others." I'm working through that by trying to shift my perspective: Rather than reflexively viewing any chosen path as a means of division, I choose to appreciate the innate goodness and wisdom I believe are contained at the core of each path. I have always believed that the common fundamental teaching of all paths is that we are all connected, what we do to one we do to all.

If you follow a specific religious path and are unfamiliar with others and thus resist them, or if you are like me and cringe when religion is involved in a story, I ask you to please join me in trying to have an open mind as you read and release any resistance. Please allow yourself to hear to the powerful message contained within this solemn offering.  Note that emphasis placed on the text below is mine.  ~ Dena


We Need One Another

Today we are burying a child. To bury a child is unnatural; parents are not supposed to march in a funeral procession for their children; grandparents are not supposed to shed tears over their grandchild’s grave. It’s supposed to be the opposite. When we bury our deceased elderly, we cry over the lives they had lived – over the many memories they’ve left behind. When we bury a child, we cry over the lives they haven’t lived. Today we are burying a wedding; we’re burying the first breath of a new born child. Today we are burying an entire Shabbat table that will never come into being. And so let’s remember every second that we are burying today a child.

Today we are burying a child who could have been any one of ours and therefore he is one of ours – all of us. We aren’t burying a “settler”; we aren’t burying a soldier who fell in the never ending struggle for this land of ours. This is not the funeral of a particular population sub-group or “sector”; it isn’t one particular group that is grieving this loss. We need one another on this day. We need one another. We don’t need anger; we don’t need yet another division among us; we don’t need a competition over whose rage is holier or whose hate is purer. Rage is not holy. Hate can never be pure. I can certainly understand all those demanding revenge; how could I not understand when I share those same sentiments – when each and every one of us feels this way.

But today, at this funeral, in the presence of this family, we need love. We need to speak in one language. We need to rediscover the paths that connect all of us. If in fact we seek to punish our enemies, there is no greater punishment than for them to behold this sight and to see that nothing can divide us. If we want to take revenge on these murderers, and we find them and punish them, the true revenge will be the ability to transcend the differences among us and to embrace one another, despite all of our shortcomings and the disagreements among us. If indeed we want to sanctify Gil-ad’s memory, we need to choose what to sanctify: the hostility towards the other or the love for each other – that which divides us, or that which binds us; the suspicion or the trust among ourselves.

Children don’t write wills, so we must therefore write Gil-ad’s will. If the family and those assembled here permit me, I would submit that we begin the writing of this will with the words of the Holy Ari:

I hereby take upon myself the commandment of loving thy neighbor as thyself and I hereby love each and every child of Israel as my own soul and my own being.

May Gil-ad’s memory be a blessing.



LINK TO ORIGINAL ARTICLE w/EULOGY

LINK TO BACKGROUND STORY

EDIT TO ADD:  

Israelis Pay Condolences To Family Of Mohammed Abu Khdeir, Murdered Palestinian Teen

Excerpt:  "The visit was organized by Tag Meir, a coalition of forty organizations including the Interreligious Coordinating Council of Israel (ICCI). Buses were available to transport people who wanted to express their condolences.

Rabbi Ron Kronish, the director of the ICCI and steering committee member of Tag Meir, told The Huffington Post, "We went to pay a condolence visit to this Palestinian family whose son was brutally murdered as an act of religious obligation and humanistic solidarity. Our visit was warmly received by our Palestinian neighbors who were visibly moved by our empathetic act of good will."




PRACTICAL COMPASSION | Sharing thoughts, ideas, and visions of a more compassionate, collaborative, joy-filled world.

Pain: Our Common Denominator

“I am struck by how sharing our weakness and difficulties is more nourishing to others than sharing our qualities and successes.” 

~  Jean Vanier, Community And Growth

Image courtesy of Molly Rice | Your Journey Forward

Over the last few weeks I've come to realize something quite basic, yet valuable.

I'm someone who is always trying to find common ground on which to build conversation about matters of import. What I've come to realize is this:  Pain is our common denominator.

It is the space that holds the potential to create genuine connection and embrace authentic compassion, for ourselves and others.

Pain is a fundamental part of this human experience.  I'm learning that there is something about giving voice to our pain and sharing it with others -- and listening to another soul do the same -- that creates a powerful connection.  Sharing, acknowledging, then releasing the pain can be extraordinarily healing.

One of my most painful experiences was the stillbirth of my son, Joshua, 22 years ago.  Normally when a child is born, the physician, nurse or midwife says, "Time of birth....".  When Joshua was born, I heard "Time of death, 2:12."

Devastating.

I believe stillbirth, even more so than miscarriage, has been a taboo subject in our society for a long, long time.  It's a discussion that is usually avoided like the plague, as are the parents themselves.

There is so much loss tied in with the loss of a child, beyond missing the relationship itself.  You lose your hopes and dreams for that child, and yourself; you grieve the loss of that future.  So often you lose friendships as well, due to others' discomfort with your own primal grief.

Just a few days ago I received an email, announcing a new film.  I had no idea what it was about but started watching it, then found myself in tears.

RETURN TO ZERO is the first film to focus on this tender topic (release date to be determined). They have an amazing cast:  Minnie Driver, Paul Edelstein, Kathy Baker, Connie Neilsen, Alfred Molina and others.  Please see the video trailer below.

As for my personal experience, I was definitely treated as a leper after I gave birth to Joshua. People were simply so uncomfortable and didn't know what to say or do. I was new to the area and most of my friends were from childbirth classes, pregnancy yoga classes, etc. I realize they turned away because they couldn't bear to imagine that the same could happen to them; still, it was painful to be ignored, to feel invisible. (In case you're wondering, I had a perfect pregnancy; no problems whatsoever. We'll never know what happened.)

Even though it is a tragedy, I want to add that most of us who have experienced the loss of a child would go through the experience again and again if it meant we could hold our child just one more time.

Another mom wrote this on the Return to Zero Facebook Page, but it echoes my feelings:

"After everything I went through when my child died and after everything that I am still going through, I would do it all over again. Why? Because he is my son, my beloved child and I would do anything just to hold him again. I would endure all of that pain and heartache because it would mean that I would get to experience all of that LOVE in its rawest most beautiful form again. I would STILL choose him because I STILL love him."

While I obviously can't speak for everyone, I think that's a very important message many of us want to convey.  Please don't pity us or think we wish we never would have been pregnant to begin with. On the contrary, we treasure what little time we had.  So many memories are now rushing back...

After his birth, once I was ready to interact with others, I longed to talk about Joshua, just as new moms and dads do about their children.  I wanted to tell my friends how cute his nose was, tell them about his hair and about how very perfect he was in every way.  I wanted to talk about my labor and delivery, and relive the pregnancy.  I wanted to share all the joy I experienced over those 10 months.  I wanted to keep his memory alive.

But that was too difficult for others...they pulled away.  The pulling away from those who are grieving, because of our own human discomfort with others' pain and grief, creates more pain.  (Please know that both my family and that of my ex-husband were absolutely wonderful in every way.  I don't have the words to express how much I appreciate their support then, and their continued acknowledgement of and love for Joshua all these years later.)

I have always had tremendous compassion for those who cannot be with anyone in the throes of grief or in pain in any way.  I truly understand how difficult it is to be immersed in someone else's pain.  While it was upsetting to have people turn away from me, I do understand; I even understood that at the time, so I never became angry.

Hopefully this film will raise awareness and nurture more open dialogue, which can lead to more compassion, more healing and, I dare say, more joy.

As fate would have it, I stumbled upon this Kahlil Gibran poem the same day I learned about Return to Zero.

ON PAIN

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. 

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. 

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem  less wondrous than your joy; 

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that  pass over your fields. 

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. 

Much of your pain is self-chosen. 

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. 

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility: 

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, 

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has  moistened with His own sacred tears. 

Khalil Gibran

PLEASE VISIT THE WEBSITE: RETURN TO ZERO: THE MOVIE

~ Dena | About Me

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