The acclaimed writer, Joan Didion, has just written a moving memoir of confronting the loss of her husband, George Dunne. The book is entitled, "The Year of Magical Thinking." Joan Didion was sitting, talking to her seventy-year-old husband one evening and her husband slumped over. He was dead. Ironically, at the same time, the husband and wife were concerned about their adopted daughter who was struggling with a serious blood infection. Ultimately, Ms Didion lost her daughter as well. Her theme in her memoir is that we do very strange things and think in strange ways when trying to cope with death. Joan Didion thought that her husband would just suddenly come in through the door again - so she made sure that his shoes were ready for him to put back on. She created list of things for her to do - as if these tasks would in some way help her cope with loss. This was her year of magical thinking - as she phrases it.

Of course, all of us have an impossible time dealing with loss - even though it is part of life. Like Joan Didion, probably all of us engage in magical thinking at one time or another. I don't know why - but when Ilene became ill, we started reading the obituaries of every deceased individual in the Star. Perhaps this was a way of preparing us for the inevitable reality of death - to show us that we were not alone in our struggle. I would search for the obituaries of women who died of ovarian cancer - perhaps because I identified so much with what they had been through. I still read the obituaries in detail every day - I don't know why. Initially, I read the autobiographies of Gilda Radner and Liz Tiberlis, the fashion editor, both of whom died of ovarian cancer. I hid them at the bottom of my trunk and would not bring the books into my house - as though it would make things go away. Yet, I somehow managed to read these two difficult narratives.

On the other hand, someone gave Ilene a jade plant when she was first hospitalized. The plant thrived throughout the years and Ilene interpreted it as a positive sign for her prognosis. The plant still sits in my office five years later. Right now, it isn't particularly thriving because of the poor care it gets from me - but it is still alive. I attended a support group for bereaved individuals in the first few months after Ilene's death. Most of the people in the group were at least ten years younger than I am with pre-school aged or elementary school children. Many of them were divorced from the deceased individual and attempting to cope with divorce and bereavement. They would share tales of abusive behavior, alcoholism, and drug addiction. One woman kept staring at me as she related how her former husband came and murdered her wonderful Jewish fiancé on Valentine's Day. Whenever I left those meetings, I would think, "Thank G-d Ilene and I were happily married and we enjoyed twenty-two years of marriage together. I am so lucky she died of cancer at 51!" We go through a lot of strange thoughts and weird ideas when we cope with the trauma of loss. Grief therapists teach us that this response to loss is perfectly normal considering what we have gone through. Some of us hold on to things from the past and won't give them away. Others of us want to get rid of things immediately. (Is anyone interested in two rabbits, by the way?) Some of us have the need to talk. Others of us have need for silence. Some of us want to be surrounded by others. Some of us just want to be left alone.

However, there are ways that we can cope with the trauma of loss. Let us examine the meditation on Yizkor from our daily prayer book, Sim Shalom. "Give us O Lord, the gift of tears." The ability to express one's loss is a gift. Ben Sira, the author of a collection of wisdom that is part of the Apocrypha instructs us, "Bewail the dead, hide not your grief, do not restrain your mourning." In ancient Israel, the m'konenot, were professional women mourners who were able to elicit tears with ease. One of the earliest forms of Hebrew poetry is the lament - the kinah. Many of us know these poems of sorrow from Tisha B'Av when the Book of Lamentations is recited.

I am sure many of us know such people who are able to cry at a drop of a hat. I know that I am one of them. My daughter laughs when she looks at me during a movie and sees tears streaming down my cheek. I cry during most movies. I cried for the poor minister in "Because of Wynn Dixie." It was probably because he had to hold services in a run-down grocery store. I cried for the "Corpse Bride" because she was such a loving wife - even though she was a dead body. Tears, however, can help us heal. They are a release for our troubled souls. A woman once asked Anne Landers how she could be helped with her excessive crying. Anne responded that to cry at a time of loss is a sign of strength, not weakness of character.

When we confront the reality of the death of our loved ones, no time is too long enough. It doesn't matter if the loss is that of a hundred year old great-grandmother, a fifty year old spouse, or a ten year old child, or a new-born infant. Loss is tough.

I remember when my father died in New York, over eleven years ago. When I was in the cab headed to La Guardia Airport, like all New York cab drivers, this one was a talker. "Did you have a good time in the city?" "No, my father just died." "Oh, I'm sorry. How old was he?" "Seventy-four." "You're lucky he lived so long," said the driver. "I was nine years old when my father died." What is a long life? My next door neighbor in Toledo was a German Jewish Holocaust survivor. Her mother died at the age of 101. Her daughter was terribly distraught when she died. "People say to me - why are you so upset - you had your mother for so long. That is exactly why I am so upset. My mother has always been here for me. We survived the Holocaust together. We lived in Cuba together. We made it to the United States. I can't imagine life without her." I know that many of our members remember the early pillars of Shaarey Tefilla who joined us from United Orthodox Hebrew Congregation. Although most of these individuals lived long, full lives, they are still missed by many of us. Loss is always painful.

The meditation continues, "Give us O Lord, the gift of memory." The grieving process transforms our pain into fond and sustaining memories. The most important Hebrew root is z-ch-r. It is found in the recitation of Kiddush on Shabbat and the holidays - a remembrance of the Exodus. It is present at the Jewish Wedding. The glass is broken in remembrance of the Temple. It is incorporated into the liturgy of Rosh Hashanah. We remember G-d's favor to Israel in the past. Shortly, we shall begin the service of Yizkor. May G-d remember the souls of our beloved departed. Judaism is the gift of memory. We are here today because the generations of the past remembered the beauty of their faith. In honor of that commitment, today, we remember them.

The Greek myths share a beautiful story of the power of remembrance. "Charon the ferryman of the underworld reminded a woman that it was her privilege to drink the waters of Lethe, the waters of forgetfulness, and forget the world she was leaving behind. This seemed to be a wonderful idea and she said, "I will forget how I have suffered." Charon added, "Yes, but you will forget how you have rejoiced." She said, "I will forget my failures." The old ferryman added, "And also your victories." She continued, "I will forget how I have been hated." Charon hasted to add, "And also how you have been loved." When she considered the matter, the woman decided not to drink the potion of Lethe, the waters of forgetfulness, but to retain her memory, even of the bad, that she might not forget the good. The woman knew to forget the heartache of sorrow is to forget the heartthrobs of joy and love.

Memory is G-d's precious gift that allows us to be fully human. We must now create memories for the generations of the future. Start to create those beautiful memories of Jewish tradition with your children and grandchildren. Bring them to synagogue for services with you. Take them to the bimah when you have an honor. Light Shabbat candles in your home. Hang up the wonderful art projects we make in religious school. Judaism is the gift of memory.

"Give us, O L-rd, the gift of hope." Without hope, there is no purpose to existence. The famous Dr. Menninger reversed the often quoted proverb and proclaimed, "When there is hope, there is life." The national anthem of Israel is "Hatikvah", "The Hope". The words of Hatikvah proclaim, "Our hope is not lost". It was this hope that gave birth to Israel today. The gift of hope allows us to look beyond the despair of the present. Things will get better. We must learn to let go of the anger and disappointment of the past. A television journalist once asked a woman who had been brutally raped. "Do you think about what happened to you often?" She replied, "Absolutely not. Why would I allow that horrible man to have power over me now." Sadly, there are some of us who will not let go of the anger we hold against those who are no longer living. We may have a grudge against a deceased parent, spouse, or brother or sister. Anger only chokes us and prevents us from living fully in the present. We must always remember our past, but we cannot allow it from preventing our embracing the present.

Rabbi Harold Kushner shares the story of how he counseled two Jewish men. "If I had only moved my mother down to Florida," said the first, "she wouldn't have had to suffer through the cold and the snow. She would be living now." The second man said, "If I had only kept my mother up north with us. She wouldn't have been isolated from family and friends. She wouldn't have had to adjust to a new environment. She would still be with us now." We must learn to let go of the guilt of the past. Otherwise, it will imprison us. Most of us have totally given of ourselves in the care of our beloved family members. I remember that Ilene would always feel badly that she didn't do enough for her father, zichrono livracha. My father-in-law died one half hour before Kol Nidrei two years ago. I told Ilene, "You moved your father here from Syracuse. You bought him furniture and settled him in a new apartment. You looked after all his medical appointments. You got him into Hooverwood. You visit him several times a week. You, yourself, are battling cancer. You have done more than enough." Ilene responded, "When you really love someone, even doing everything is not enough." And she was right - because I felt the same way during her last few months of life.

From our tears, our hopes, and our memories, we can learn the gift of empathy. Through our own experience, we can learn to hear the pain of others and share with them the strength and the hope of a better day. The experience of loss is something that we all share. It makes us fully human. The knowledge that we are mortal can allow us to make the most of each and every day.

The beautiful Chinese story of the mustard seed shares the art of empathy. "A sorrowing woman went to a wise man with a plea that he return to her an only son whom she had just lost. He told her that he would try to comply with her request on one condition. She would have to bring him a mustard seed taken from a home that had never known sorrow. The woman set out on her quest. Years elapsed and she did not return. One day, the wise man noticed her. He hardly recognized for she now looked radiant. He greted her and asked her why she had never kept their appointment. "Oh," she said in a tone indicating that she had completing forgotten. "In search of the mustard seed, I came into homes so burdened with sorrow and trouble that I could not walk out. Who better than I could understand how heavy the burden they bore? Who better than I could offer them the sympathy they needed? So, I stayed on in each home as long as I could be of service." Let us all hope for that gift of empathy, which may arise from the depths of our own pain and sorrow.

At first, grief and loss are overwhelming. We do strange things like leaving the shoes out for our loved one. We hope that a miracle will happen even if our loved one is only hours away from their death. We hold on to possessions of the past as sacred keepsakes. We pray that G-d will give us the gift of tears, the gift of memory, and the gift of hope. These are the true gifts of life that will allow us to find meaning in life. Let us pray that we all find healing and comfort.