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Shoshana, I wish you could talk to me and describe
to me where you are. I could tell people what
you say, even if they answer, "You heard voices.
They're not real. You imagined them." Is there
any way you can talk to me?
I want to tell you everything that's happened
in the world since you left, the things I wanted
you to see, the things I wanted you to have.
I want to tell you what you could have done,
but I also want you to tell me what you're doing.
Because I believe, with all my heart, you're in
that other world. And I want you to tell me what
it looks like, if you have friends, if you've
seen your grandparents. And I want you to tell me
if you see any of the heroes or heroines we studied about in the Bible—Abraham,
Sarah, Moses, King David.
I want you to tell me: is it really a good place where you are?
But if you tell me that it's a good place, I
won't believe that it's better than here, this
world where your mother and I made a home for
you, and where your sister and brothers are.
I have a photo album in my mind with a million
memories of you. They never died. I can't forget
the day when you were in the first grade and
you didn't know I was standing outside
the school playground. It was springtime and new leaves covered
the trees. You were running and jumping. It was
beautiful. It was all that life should be. I
wanted to shout out my joy.
But now, what satisfaction is there in anything
called joy if I can't share it with you? I suppose there
are people who don't need to share with others, but I was
never one of them. I've known the love of a father for his first child, especially his first daughter. It's something different that transcends
anything I could have wanted. I never knew it
until you were born. And I don't believe that
a love so strong could be put in a wooden box
in the ground, that it's no more.
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Two
When you died, for a while I stopped believing in
God. I said, "If there is a God, how could He do
this? How could He allow innocence to die? My Shoshana
never did anything wrong." I used to think death
was a punishment for bad things. But what bad things
did you ever do? Even when you were little, I never saw you do anything mean toward your sister and brothers. You were never jealous of them; you seemed happy with what
you had.
Everything you were stands vividly before
me now. So you've got to be alive somewhere. If you're
not alive, then death really is ugly and bleak. Something
like you, if there is a God, has to continue living.
But if there is a God, you shouldn't have died.
I wanted to talk to you about that. Have you
found out why young people die? It's one of the questions
I want you to answer. If you can tell me, then maybe
I can tell the thousands of others who ask the same
question. If there is supposed to be death, it should
only be for old people who had a chance to live and
know joy. You knew some joy, but it wasn't your own.
It was what you shared with your family, your classmates.
You didn't have a chance to make your own joy—your
own marriage, children, career. So I want you
to tell me what you've found out about life and
death, and what your purpose was in the seventeen
years that you lived on this earth.
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About Rabbi
Rafael Grossman
Rafael Grossman is the Rabbi of the
West Side Institutional Synagogue in Manhattan and
the former Senior Rabbi of Baron Hirsch Congregation
in Memphis, the largest Orthodox congregation in
America. A past president of the Beth Din of America
and the Rabbinical Council of America, he is chairman
of the Rabbinical Council International, president
of the Center for Life, a support program for grieving
parents and siblings, Chairman of the Board of the
Religious Zionists of America, co-chairman of the
Rabbinic Cabinet of Israel Bonds and former chairman
of the Cabinet's Rabbinic Mission to Israel, and
a member of the Executive Board of the Union of Orthodox
Jewish Congregations of America.
Rabbi Grossman is the author of Binah,
the Modern Quest for Torah Understanding, published
by Ktav. His "Thinking Aloud" column appears each
week in The Jewish Press newspaper.
My Shoshana: A Father's
Journey Through Loss copyright © 2000-2004 Rabbi Rafael
Grossman and Anna Olswanger. Images of Van Gogh's Irises and
Claude Monet's Water Lilies are reproduced
courtesy of T/Maker Company/Broderbund Software,
Inc. The full text of My Shoshana: A Father's Journey Through Loss will soon be available as a limited edition
miniature book for collectors. For more information,
contact Anna
Olswanger.
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