My mother sent me the snap accompanying this post of a page from a booklet she received when she went to hear the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah. I was curious to look up these various symbolic interpretations of the significance of the shofar. This list was devised by a rabbi from the late ninth-to-early tenth century. I had heard Rabbi Jonathan Sacks recall how Maimonides considered the shofar as “God’s Alarm Clock“, but I had never before heard about the connection between the sounding of the shofar as a reminder of the resurrection of the dead. Eliyahu Kitov’s article says, “The sounding of the shofar serves to remind us of the resurrection of the dead, as the verse [Isaiah 18:3] states: All those inhabitants of the world and those who dwell in the earth, when a sign is lifted upon the mountains you shall see and when the shofar is sounded you shall hear.”I went and tried to read that chapter of Isaiah in context and I could not really figure out what it had to do with the resurrection of the dead. I also tried to find other Jewish sources speaking to the importance of being reminded about resurrection on Rosh Hashanah and I didn’t really find anything.
The shofar can only be the spiritual wake-up call it’s meant to be if it’s understood what exactly we are being awoken to and for.
What difference would it make if we were reminded, even annually, to think about resurrection?
My grandmother died on September 22, 2009 between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. A few days after her death, when I was 18, I wrote this poem in memory of her, which I just found again today:
A Tribute to My GrandmotherI first met my grandmother When I was very youngShe held me in her armsBefore I had turned oneMy family ventured to TorontoAnd she and grandpa came to CalgaryThose times were special thenAlways remembered they will beWhen I was only fourMy grandma called me nearI didn’t like her nickname for meShe used to call me ‘dear’So we agreed upon ‘Mandy’This name for only her to call meHer precocious little granddaughter And I would call her ‘Bubbie’I remember the trips to Toys ‘R’ UsWith my brother to choose toysWe could pick almost anythingAs long as it would bring us joyMy grandma loved educationAnd she always called me cleverShe knew my commitment to my educationWould surely last foreverIn her final yearsBubbie grew old and frailBut my grandpa visited herEvery day without failI learned unconditional loveThrough the witness that they gaveTo a love that knows no boundsAnd to a love that is very braveSometimes it was hard to see my grandmaLost and confused in her mindThen I’d remember thoughHow much her heart was refinedMy grandma’s life was a giftFrom the God who I do praiseThe Lord is compassionate and lovingIn all His mighty ways
A Tribute to My Grandmother
I first met my grandmother When I was very youngShe held me in her armsBefore I had turned one
My family ventured to TorontoAnd she and grandpa came to CalgaryThose times were special thenAlways remembered they will beWhen I was only fourMy grandma called me nearI didn’t like her nickname for meShe used to call me ‘dear’
So we agreed upon ‘Mandy’This name for only her to call meHer precocious little granddaughter And I would call her ‘Bubbie’
I remember the trips to Toys ‘R’ UsWith my brother to choose toysWe could pick almost anythingAs long as it would bring us joy
My grandma loved educationAnd she always called me cleverShe knew my commitment to my educationWould surely last forever
In her final yearsBubbie grew old and frailBut my grandpa visited herEvery day without fail
I learned unconditional loveThrough the witness that they gaveTo a love that knows no boundsAnd to a love that is very brave
Sometimes it was hard to see my grandmaLost and confused in her mindThen I’d remember thoughHow much her heart was refined
My grandma’s life was a giftFrom the God who I do praiseThe Lord is compassionate and lovingIn all His mighty ways
Ever since I was a child, writing has been my favourite creative outlet. Whenever someone would die or whenever I would grapple with the mystery of suffering and death, I would scribble words of poetry and reflection to contend and find meaning.
In addition to being a helpful outlet at the time, I find it interesting to look back on what I wrote in the past and to discover how sealing those memories through creative acts magnifies the memories I hold.