Mourning the Loss of a Minyan

When people would ask my teacher, Rabbi Alan Lew, “how do you become a part of a spiritual community?” He would say, “you just show up, keep showing up -- be present.”

I have no personal connection to those who died last Shabbat in Pittsburgh and yet, I know those people – each and every one of them….I am one of them. Like them, for the past 18 years I have been at services both weekly and daily with my cadre of “regulars” just like those at Etz Chayim/Or L’Simcha/Dor Chadash -- each one of us, from Pittsburgh to San Francisco, showing up, and being present with our roles………

Like David and Cecil Rosenthal, greeting people with contagious joy or Irving Younger, who, when he handed out the prayerbooks, made sure to point out the current page so no one would feel uncomfortable.

Leading the davening, the prayers for their community, like Daniel Stein, Jerry Rabinowitz or Mel Wax, who was always ready to step in if someone didn’t show up - “He knew how to do everything at the synagogue.” a friend said.

Making sure the food and coffee are ready and available—like Rose Mallinger and Bernice Simon, two old timers who were well aware that one cannot live on prayer alone, while Bernice’s husband, Sylvan, would take part in the L’Chayim club each Shabbat with a shot of Jim Beam.

Those people are my people—who showed up and let their consistent presence in their Jewish practice create a spiritual and sacred space so that someone like Richard Gottfried, a dentist who volunteered at a free dental clinic, could have a place to deepen his connection to his faith.

Last Shabbat, we lost a minyan – a minyan like my minyan, like so many minyanim across the world – people who are the lifeblood of their community. Minyan - literally a number, a count, a quorum – is at the core of traditional Jewish synagogue life. It’s that group of 10 or more Jews who gather daily and weekly to pray and to make sure all who come to pray are supported, especially those in mourning, those who come—some every day for 11 months— to say Kaddish, the prayer we say to honor the dead. Jewish ritual law for saying Kaddish demands that we must be in community so we can support and comfort the living.

Joyce Fienberg, a retired University of Pittsburgh researcher, became a regular “minyanaire” after the death of her husband. Perhaps, like some in my minyan, she wanted to support others as she was supported in her time of grief. Or maybe she just found that space and place a good way to start her day. Rabbi Jeffrey Myers, the rabbi at Etz Chayim, said Ms. Fienberg not only participated, she gave its oldest member, at 99, a ride each day. "She frequently opened the building, prepared food and just volunteered to help," Rabbi Myers said. "No one asked her to do it. She just did it. She was a pure soul."

No, I do not personally know any in that minyan of 11 souls I’ve mentioned, but I am one of them – linked to them not just as Jews, but as people who understand the value and connection to spirit and community that comes with showing up and being present with that spirit and with that community. And now, as we say Kaddish, grieving for those souls who died for no other reason than they were Jewish, in that tradition they held so dear, let’s hold the stories and the light of those souls within us, and let that light reflect out, reminding us to keep showing up and be present for ourselves and for each other in this tradition that has held us for thousands of years.

זכר צדיקים לברכה
Zacher Tzadikim L’vracha

May the memory these righteous ones be a blessing for us all

Memorial Day - in honor of my uncle Eddie

This morning at minyan I commemorated the yarhzeit of my uncle Eddie. Eddie was a bombardier during World War Two--one of those who did not make it home. As I speak of his life and death and recite the El Malei prayer,  deep emotions are stirred within me; tears pour out and my voice catches. I feel so connected to this man who I never knew. I mourn for the love and laughter he would have added to our family. I mourn for my father's loss of his brother and mentor; for my grandparent's loss of their oldest son. On this day I channel their grief.

This particular yarhzeit has taken on a significance that goes beyond the personal. Unsure of the exact date of his death, I decided it was appropriate to observe Eddie's yarhzeit on Memorial Day. And although I now know the exact date and circumstances of his death due to records that are available on the internet, I continue this commemoration at the insistence and support of my minyan community, sharing these words so we all can channel a bit of that grief and remember the reason we mark this day.


"Pa - so you thought I forgot your anniversary. Well, at least Ma stood by me. I'm glad you liked the card. . . I received a letter from Seymour {my dad} on Tuesday and he tells me that he made PFC {Private First Class}. You can't imagine what a kick I got out of hearing this. I went around and passed cigarettes to the boys just like a father passes out cigars when he gets a baby"

"You ask what's new with me. There is still nothing definite to tell you. We may as well not kid each other - when I finish my training here I will be due to go over. . . Please don't start worrying about me - there is still plenty of time for that. . . I'm not worried about anything except that you are worrying about me. This is a great experience for me and I'm sure I will benefit by it. Why, there must be a million fellows who would do anything to trade places with me and get on a B-29 crew"

Those words were written by my uncle, Lieutenant Edward Heiss, US Army Air Force, in letters to his parents, my immigrant grandparents, Sam and Pepi Heiss, in January and February, 1944. He signed off, as he did all his letters, with "I am feeling fine. So long. Lots of love, Eddie." One year later, on January 11, 1945, his B-29 fell to the ground in pieces somewhere over Malaysia. Of the eleven crew members, only three made it out alive---he was not one of those three.




When I was growing up, a colored version of this photo of my uncle was on my grandmother's dresser. I was curious who it was, but somehow, never asked, and no one ever talked about him. I don't remember when or how I found out who he was. Once I did, I wondered how my family's life would have been different if he had come home.

What was he like - this man so often photographed with a smile; the one who, as my father tells it, convinced my dad to go to Yankee Stadium one Rosh Hashanah afternoon.








The commanding officer of his squadron wrote my grandparents, "No matter how fatigued he may have been, or how he felt personally, Edward always had a laugh and a word of encouragement, to cheer the other members of his crew and squadron. . . He undoubtedly was one of the best liked officers in this organization."





For years after my uncle's plane went down my grandfather held out hope that some miracle would find him alive. After all, no body was ever found. A musician--string bass and tuba--who worked many high society events attended by high military brass, my grandfather would go up to those generals and ask, "please, find out what happened to my son."

My Uncle Eddie received a Purple Heart, posthumously.

I would have rather had him in my life.

On Memorial Day we need to remember that war, justified or not, will always take its toll.

Zichrono L'vracha
His remembrance is a blessing to my dad, to me, and to all with whom I share his story.

Continuing softly

היום ארבעה ימים בעמר
Today is four days of the omer
נצח שבחסד
A day of perseverance in a week of loving kindness

The first week of the omer, this week of loving kindness, brings a softness to each attribute, even the ones I think of as hard. There's the open palm of strength, and now we have perseverance in the chesed container. What does that look like?

Balancing Compassion and Judgement

היום שלשה ימים בעמר
Today is three days of the omer
תפארת שבחסד
A day of compassion in a week of loving kindness


Finding compassion is a theme in my life. It's been a focus for me since the realization that it is the antidote to being judgmental. But I must remember to have some chesed, some kindness for myself when the compassion/judgement balance lists too far into judgement. It's a family trait that has been so ingrained in me that it takes a lot of effort to combat. As long as I keep fighting, and keep the awareness even in times when things get out of control, I can keep moving forward.

Open to Strength

היום שני ימים בעמר
Today is two days of the omer
גבורה שבחסד
A day of strength in a week of loving kindness

This omer day of strength in loving-kindness always brings up a lesson learned years ago from one of my first omer counts - that an outstretched arm with an open hand can be stronger that a clenched fist. Last year's words hold true today, with the need to reach out for support even greater.

The Account of the Count

 היום יום אחד בעמר
Today is one day of the omer
חסד שבחסד
A day of loving kindness in a week of loving kindness

It's time to start the yearly accounting of the counting. I don't have any idea where this year's omer journey will take me. I do know that I am not alone for the ride, as the years of sharing this ritual count have influenced many of my friends to come along with me.

I have made one change in my minhag, my custom. The seventh sefirah of the count is Malchut, which I have been translating these past years as leadership. Last year I still used that, using it as a  reminder of the leadership we are lacking, of the longing for the leadership we once had. This year, I'm going to a more traditional translation - majesty. We`ll see where that leads me :)

We start the count with a double dose of loving kindness. With the state of the our country and the state of my family, I need that today.