blogs/rabbi-huberman

My Dad’s Lost Poems

It was in my teenage years, while rustling through some boxes, that I discovered a gold covered loose-leaf binder that apparently had been buried in the basement for decades.

As I slowly opened the cover, and began reading the pages, it occurred to me that these were verses put to pen perhaps 20 years earlier by my father. Yes, my father.

I was dumbstruck. This was my dad, who — as a child — I identified as the focused guy who drove off to work every morning, who travelled six months a year, and who ushered my brother and me — often against our will — to synagogue every Saturday morning. But my father as a poet?

And there for hours, I thumbed through the pages, reading father's reflections as he mused about life, family and the state of the world.

When he came home that evening, I asked him about the binder. He noted, “Often when I'm traveling there are thoughts and feelings which I have, so I wrote them down and mom typed them up. Maybe someday some people may be interested.”

A few hours later, I began putting some of his poems to song. And so began a melding of poetry and music which enabled me to inhale his thoughts and reflections.

The collaboration of songs — Where Are You Rushing Little Boy and Travelin' Man — were by no means in the same realm as Lennon and McCartney, but they were mainstays of my teenage years, and at minimum made me very popular at B'nai B'rith parties.

I have no idea where that binder is today. I assume it is stashed somewhere at the rear of some closet. But it gives me some solace to know that the words and thoughts of my father, penned during his most sensitive years, will live on.

I thought about that binder this week as I reread the Torah portion — Vayechi (“Sometime afterward”) — the last in the book of Genesis — where Jacob in the sunset of his life, gathers his children and leaves them with parting words.

Jacob praises some of his sons. Others he chastises. But in the end, Jacob leaves no stone unturned. He departs the world with no regrets or words unsaid.

It has led many rabbis, at this time of the year, to gather congregants and develop with them what is known as a Zava'ah — an ethical will.

It encourages us to consider: If you had the opportunity leave behind a document of the values, lessons and wisdom you have acquired in your lifetime, what would it include?

“This was the most difficult moment of my life, and this is what I learned from it?”

“My most fundamental belief is....”

“These are the causes, charities and traditions which have been the most important to me.”

“When you encounter hardship, this what I hope you will remember.”

“This is my greatest fear for the future — and this is how, perhaps, you can make things better.”

“This is how I would like to be remembered.”

Too often, we and our loved ones become so wrapped in our daily routines that we fail to take the time to record the lifetime lessons we have learned. For, as our Sages taught, each of us has a spark of God within us. It's what makes us unique.

If someone we love can maintain and raise that spark — then, in some form, we continue to make this world a better place after we are gone. So, what are the values that you hold dear?

Are there ones you wish to share with those who follow?  How can you help them avoid the mistakes and setbacks you endured?

It is interesting that at the beginning of this week's Parashah, Jacob — his eyes failing — blesses his grandsons, Ephraim and Menashe.

It is the same blessing that parents have bestowed for centuries upon their sons at the Shabbat table.

If you have daughters — they are blessed in the name of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. If you have sons, we ask God to make them as Ephraim and Menashe. Why not Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? Our Sages note that Ephraim and Menashe were among the first grandchildren to be born in the Diaspora.

I can picture them approaching Zaidie in their Nike runners, Armani jeans and headphones.

So Jacob, through the blessing of his grandsons, embraces a new generation, who will, as Jews have for centuries, be born and raised within a largely non-Jewish majority.

While virtually all of us wish our children and grandchildren to be friends with peers throughout all backgrounds and faiths, we also hope that they will maintain their Jewish identity.

That blessing began with Ephraim and Menashe, and carries on today.

So this week, as we turn the final page on the Torah's first book, Genesis, we end with a fond farewell to Jacob and later to Joseph, for they made it possible for our people to survive.

Jacob expressed his national hope for his grandsons in ancient times, and his words remain with us today.

The actions of Jacob in this week's Torah portion also may inspire us to record or express to others the ethics and values which have shaped us.

There are many models on the Internet for developing an ethical will. Whether for now or for the future, it's a worthwhile exercise.

It was on page five of my father's binder that I came across a reflective poem titled “The Road of Life.” I ended up turning it into a song.

As best as I can remember, it talks about all the joys and the challenges of life, and muses about the purpose of it all, if our end is oblivion.

But our last breath need not mark our end. Like Jacob in the Torah, we maintain the capacity to continue impacting the present and future.

Indeed, while we cannot nor should not rule others after our passing, we can teach, inspire and guide those who looked up to us.

No one from our family, I suppose, has thought about that binder for years, but it gives me a sense of peace to know it exists.

For we possess the capacity to make a difference in this lifetime, and perhaps in the thoughts, values and deeds of those who follow.

Indeed, as my father wrote years ago, “The road of life is full of strife. So long to live in headlong flight. To keep the place of life's rat race. This is life's mystery. Too soon you're but history.”

I don't intend on searching for that binder, God willing, for many years to come, but as I reflected this week upon Jacob and this week's Parashah, it gives me great comfort to know, it is there.”

Shabbat Shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman