Meeting Reb Shlomo

Around 6:45 last night I received a call that someone had passed away. There is a couple in the neighborhood that I am friendly with, and his mother had passed away unexpectedly. A few of us went to the Leviya last night around 8:30. It was a very sad thing to see, especially how much pain the family was experiencing. They are very special people and I have never been so moved by a funeral for someone I'd never even met. It was, however, my first funeral (and G-d willing the last) that I've been to in Yerushalaim. And that alone was an interesting experience.

For those that aren't aware of it, Jerusalem funerals can take place at night. They also do not bury the person in a coffin. They are carried on a stretcher, covered up - so the outline of the body is very visible. It was very powerful and moving to see. Very real. As one person said last night, "it doesn't get any more real than this." And it didn't. The power of the night. The realness of the body on the stretcher. And the cries of Kaddish. It couldn't have been any more real. There are so many things I want to write about (and probably will at another time), but for now I want to share what happened after the funeral.

When the funeral was over, the buses headed out: One to Netanya and one back to the Yeshiva. There were four of us that decided to stay and call a taxi later. We weren't ready to leave, at least not without stopping by Reb Shlomo's kever first.

I'd never been before. And since we were all quite emotionally overwhelmed from the funeral, it seemed like the best way to release those feelings. We walked over to the kever. One of our group had to stay on the road, because he's a Kohen. The three of us, however, approached the kever. Each of us individually said our prayers to Hashem. I was last in line. By the time I was standing in front of the kever, I'd heard my three friends begin to sing Shlomo songs. I stood there. Moved by the music, the mood, and the moment. Then went to sit closer to the road where they were sitting.

We sat there for what felt like 5 minutes, but truly was more like an hour. The men sang. I listened, prayed, and sang along in my heart. While they were singing, I could hear the strong rustle of leaves in the wind and then felt the most beautiful breeze. It was the strangest breeze I'd ever felt, as it was still. A still, cool, breeze - like nothing I'd ever experienced. The rustle of the leaves was the same sound I'd heard many times before sitting at my Zadie's grave - a sound that had always brought me comfort. But the breeze was different. It was powerful and even more comforting - and strangely still.

The sound of the leaves and the breeze brought along with it many memories. Last night, was also the Yahrtzeit of one of my lifelong friends. He'd died three years ago on his 30th Birthday. We'd been friends since we were eleven. It still didn't seem real sometimes.

So many thoughts, feelings, and emotions blew in and out on that still breeze. My friend, my zadie, the funeral, Reb Shlomo, the music - and the process of life. But what I kept coming back to was the Kaddish.

The Kaddish is such an interesting thing to say in the midst of such pain. When a mourner is burying his dearest loved one, he still cries out to Hashem: "May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified - in the world that He created as He willed. -- May His great Name be blessed forever and ever" -- "Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded..."

In the midst of the deepest loss, we cry out to Hashem and bless His name. We thank him for creating a world, that while we might not understand it - is no less perfect in its design. We say thank you to Hashem in our deepest moments of despair. At a time, when one might want to cry out in despair, rage, hurt, or anger - instead we cry out in praise of our creator.

And I understood something I'd never truly understood before.

After a time - it was time to go. We all walked out silently towards the parking lot. After we'd washed our hands and called the taxi, we each shared our experience. Every one had something beautiful to share. Different thoughts, feelings, and experiences on such a powerful night - Rosh Chodesh Adar.

But when I asked what they thought of the rustling leaves and the still cool breeze - they had no idea what I was talking about. Even though they were standing no more than a few feet away from me - they hadn't felt or heard a thing.