As I am writing this, one of my daughter’s cats is dying. By the time you read this, Benji will most likely have died. Benji’s death is not a tragic one, although the death of all creatures diminish the world. He is almost 20 years old, has had a mostly healthy life, and has been a credit to catdom…loving, quick to come over and get on your lap if you are upset, generally low maintenance. So why is his passing so special?
I am perhaps more touched than usual by this event because we inherited Benji when my mother-in-law died. Ruth had buried 3 husbands, all of her children (the last being Shoshana, my wife), her parents, all twelve of her siblings, and most of their children. When she died about fifteen years ago, there were only seven living beings who knew her…granddaughter Sasha, nephew James from Washington State who has since died, two old friends of hers (and I do mean old, ages 93 and 96 when she died), her two cats, Benji and Dolly, and me. Her two friends died not long after she did. Now Benji is dying. Of the seven, only Sasha, the cats, and I remain.
We read in the Psalms: The days of man are as grass. It flourishes like the flower of the field. The wind passes over it and it is gone. And no one can recognize where it grew.
With the flight of time, our mortality stares us in the face. And there is a deep-seated need for some aspect of immortality, or at least a faint hope of permanence. And as Passover approaches, I would like to suggest a connection.
As we are commanded, we retell the story of our deliverance from Egypt. We are reminded of the actions of Moses and Aaron and Miriam. The deeds of Pharaoh are remembered, how he hardened his heart at the request to “Let My People Go”. But we sometimes forget that there were 600,000 Israelites who had the courage to grasp freedom and leave all that was known and safe and secure. We are not told their names, their deeds, or their descendants. We don’t have the foggiest idea who these people were. But they helped to make us what we are. Their bravery in facing the unknown, achieving, failing, and rising again are the foundation on which the Jewish People of today are built. We are their immortality.
The lives we touch, the goodness and kindness we show to each other, the love we freely give and receive, all leave a lasting impression on the fabric of time. The friends may pass on. The loving feline companions no longer grace us. But the good we do, the courage we show, the compassion we express all grant us a share of the immortal.
Rest in Peace, Benji.
B’Shalom
Rabbi Stanley Halpern