I’ve had a rough week. To begin with, January is my least favorite month, and I seem to feel the cold even deeper this week. Some of you may have heard that singer, song-writer Debbie Friedman just passed away. She was an important part of my life, and on so many levels connected me to people and times that I remember with great love. I had hoped to find the words to make meaning out of this loss or to inspire even when I don’t feel inspirational. But the truth is that it is Thursday night, and I sit at my blank screen without words. It is hard to make meaning out of these senseless parts of life. It is hard to make sense of why a gifted, spirited teacher, a person who changed the face of Jewish music and Jewish prayer in our time would die at the young age of 59.
For those of you who may not recognize the name Debbie Friedman, I would say that if you went to a Jewish camp, you know Debbie’s music. If you have been in a Reform synagogue, you know Debbie’s music. If you were a part of a Jewish youth group, you have heard Debbie’s music. If you have gone to the havdalah service at our school you have heard Debbie’s music. If you have been to a healing service or heard the song Mi Sheberach, you know Debbie’s music. If you ever heard the Alef Bet song, you have heard Debbie’s music. I first sang her songs as a little girl in my NYC orthodox day school in first or second grade. But since that time I have had the privilege not only of being introduced to the wide array of Debbie’s musical compositions, but of having had a personal relationship with Debbie.
Debbie taught me to pray. I had participated in prayer experiences throughout my life, in Jewish day school, in camp, in Israel, in communities large and small. But Debbie opened up the world of prayer and presented it to me in a much more intimate, personal way. Fourteen years ago, when my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Debbie and her close friend Tamara Cohen proposed that we begin to have “healing services” on her behalf. We met every few weeks in Debbie’s living room: Debbie, Tamara, my family and my mother’s close friends. At first I was not quite sure what she meant when she called it a “healing service” for we knew that most likely, my mother’s body was not going to heal. I wondered about the purpose of these meetings. But Debbie explained on that first meeting that we were going to sing even if we didn’t have the words, we were going to push through our fear, through our sadness and just sing. If we didn’t know the words we were going to simply sing la la la but we were going to sing together. And sing we did. Because even though we didn’t feel like singing, Debbie asked us to trust her belief that singing and praying together, in and of itself is healing. Debbie wrote many songs through this period, responding to my mother’s questions, her dreams, her connections to prayer and the Jewish calendar cycle.
Each time we met for a healing service I would enter feeling depleted, tired, distressed about my mother, and worried about all of the people who were suffering due to her illness. But I found that as we came together, as we shared our song, our collective hopes and prayers, I would feel my energy return. I would, in fact, begin to feel better. Debbie really saw that there is not only healing of the body but also healing of the soul. We would feel more energized, more hopeful, more connected to one another and to our own spiritual, inner strength. Debbie had originally proposed the idea as a way of bringing strength to my mother, but I think that she knew that it was bigger than that. My mother might soon die, but the rest of us would go on living, and in order to do so with purpose and hope, we too had to connect to one another, to a larger spiritual power, and to healing. It was indeed a healing service. And while we were not successful at making my mother cancer-free, and while she did indeed die nine months later, as the doctors had projected, her illness was a time of great miracles. In fact, after one of the healing services my mother came home, looked to the heavens and proclaimed: “Who dies like this!!” She felt blessed even in those dark times. Yes, this says a lot about my mother’s ability to experience blessings within the darkness, but it also spoke to the amazing power of these healing services and all that Debbie brought to these evenings.
It was within this context that I began to understand that prayer could bring healing – it is a tautological statement. Through prayer I felt better. And prayer did not need to mean sitting in a synagogue with a siddur (prayer book) opened in my lap. Prayer could happen anywhere, prayer could be in English, it could be without words. I also learned that when we are together, when we share our hopes and prayers, the whole is larger than the sum of its parts.
So this week I walk with a heavy heart, having to now say goodbye to a person who really brought blessings and miracles to a dark time in my life. And as I watched the funeral streamed through the computer from California, as I have been reading countless articles and sharings, I have come to really see that Debbie changed the lives of so many other people. There is nothing rational about Debbie’s death, I don’t have any pretty bow to tie up this loss. But I do know that the best and only thing we can do after someone dies is share our memories. This is how we honor their legacies and keep them alive. And amidst the sadness I feel deep gratitude – gratitude for having had Debbie in my life and the legacy that she leaves and for the bountiful blessings that I do have in my life – blessings of love, work, friendship and family. May this Shabbat and long weekend be filled with memories and blessings for all of you.
Shabbat Shalom and Happy MLK Day.
Ilana received her B.A. from Harvard College and a Master's Degree in Education from Bank Street College. She was born and raised on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and now lives there with her husband and three children.
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