Bertha Leff, z”l

My grandmother passed away in June, 1998, just as I was starting rabbinical school. In many ways she was my first Jewish role model.

 

We are here to celebrate the life of my Grandmother, Bertha Leff, Basha Bat Chaya. 

Whenever a loved one goes on to Olam Haba, the world to come, we’re not ready for it.  We all had more things we wanted to share with Grandma; I wanted her to see my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah in two years, I wanted her to see me graduate from rabbinical school in four years, I wanted my youngest children to get to know her.  However, since she did have almost 92 very good years, I feel almost selfish to say “but I wanted more.”  It was time for her to rejoin her beloved Louis and Natie, and wait for the rest of us who will inevitably follow.  She died peacefully, at a ripe old age, surrounded by people who love her.  What more could one ask for?

I’m a baal teshuvah, a returnee to Judaism, after many years of being a typical secular Jew dabbling with Eastern religions.  As soon as I learned about the importance of gemilut chesed, acts of lovingkindness in Judaism I realized my Grandma was overflowing with it; it was the trait that defined her.  She had a heart that was bigger than she was.

Acts of chesed are among the greatest of mitzvot a person can perform.  In Proverbs it is written that doing deeds of charity (tzedaka) and justice is greater than offering all of the sacrifices, and in the Talmud it says that gemilut chesed, deeds of lovingkindness, are greater than tzedaka.  (Ask me later if you want to know why).

The Shaloh HaKodosh writes: “Therefore, one should be extremely careful to observe the mitzvah of gemilut chasadim, and should see to it that not a single of the days of his life goes by without performing some deed of gemillus chesed with his body, his money, or his soul.”  If anyone I know came even close to fulfilling this, it was Grandma.

In my application to rabbinical school, I had to write a lengthy essay describing my background and why I thought I’d make a good rabbi.  In it I wrote: “Even though none of my grandparents or aunts and uncles, let alone my immediate family, were regular shul goers or observant, there was a very strong sense of Jewish identity.  It was taken for granted as a part of who we were.  All the children made B’nei Mitzvah.  The holidays were special times for us.  My grandmother is the archetype of the Jewish grandmother: warm, loving, a fantastic cook, her life totally dedicated to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  Thankfully she is still alive and well at the age of 91, and she serves as a real inspiration to me with the gemilut chesed she displays not just for family, but for friends and people in need.”

Muriel, Karen, and I stopped by Grandma’s place on Sunday.  Her neighbors at the assisted care facility she lived in all came by to tell us how much they were going to miss her.  One woman said she was the best friend she ever had; another said she was the sister she never had; another talked about how Grandma was there for her in difficult times when no one else was there for her.  Another one said that she always always talked about her grandchildren.  She said “I have grandchildren too,” letting us know she rarely got a chance to talk about them as Grandma was so enthusiastic about all of us.

Last Friday night, we made Shabbos dinner in Grandma’s hospital room.  I think the hospital staff were taken slightly off guard as we borrowed a table from their break room and brought it into Grandma’s room, and set the table with kosher takeout, challah, wine, all the trimmings, and started singing songs and niggunim and saying the blessings.  The only thing we didn’t do was light candles: since Grandma was on oxygen, candles would not have been a good idea.  Grandma joined in the singing of a niggun from her bed.  She knew what was going on.

Saturday night, in the hospice, we all sat around Grandma’s bed, taking turns holding her hand and telling our favorite Grandma stories, and wonderful stories they were.  When Robin was a baby, Grandma reading by a flashlight, waiting for Robin to wake up so she could feed her; throwing a dirty, emaciated,19-year-old Mitchell, straight off a plane from Panama, into a bathtub and scrubbing him clean and feeding him and taking care of him.  Sitting in bed with 15-year-old Karen, telling her stories of her younger days.  How she used to drag my father, Mickey, by the arm on vacations.  Muriel sharing how she used to only cook the vegetables that Grandpa liked.  Judy told us how Ivan would run into bed with them during summer storms.  I tend to think of sitting at the kitchen table with Grandma, her always encouraging me to eat a little more, no matter how much she had just fed me, while we just sat and were together, not talking about anything important, but just being together.

Grandma wasn’t responding while we told the stories, but I feel she heard us, and was comforted, and it made it easier for her to go.  It is said in the Talmud that being with someone when she or he dies is a great deed of lovingkindness, for a soul in transition is comforted by a soul in a peaceful state.  I feel honored that I was able to join my family in doing this mitzvah for Grandma. 

We have been taught that if a person acts kindly here on this earth, this arouses kindness above.  The angels sing on that day, and the day is crowned because of him.  The angels had nearly 92 years of singing thanks to Grandma.

I close with a thought from Reb Aryeh Levin:  “When a child is born and comes into the world, all are rapturous with joy—and the child itself cries and wails.  When someone dies and his life-spirit leaves the world, all mourn and grieve—but that living spirit itself exults and rejoices.  It has gone from a world of darkness to a world of light.”  Grandma has gone to a world of light.  And we will all miss her terribly.