[Note: This is part of a series, told in first-person by local faith leaders, illuminating the rituals and traditions around dying.]
My cell phone lit up late on a rainy, winter, New York city night. I was only two years out of the seminary—-still a rookie rabbi—-when I heard my congregant say: “Rabbi, it’s time. We told the doctor that we want to take my father off the machines. They tell us he will die soon after. I know it’s late, but do you think you could come down and be here when it happens?”
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Twenty minutes later, I gathered the family around my congregant’s father in the ICU. We started to sing a wordless, Jewish melody while the nurses removed the breathing tube. We were told that he would breathe lightly for a minute or two and then, eventually, his chest would stop rising.
I invited each family member to take time to offer personal words based on a few traditional yet universal themes: I love you, Thank you, and I’m sorry.
One daughter gently held her father’s head in her hands and moved near to his ear. “I love you so much, Papa. How can you leave us so soon?," she wailed. All of us began to weep.
According to Jewish tradition, when a person is near death, his/her soul must be spiritually cleansed in order to journey to the world-to-come, a purification process that can only happen through forgiveness. The one nearing death, if able, reads aloud a confession of sins, and the loved ones offer forgiveness. Then, the roles are reversed. The family apologizes from their hearts for their misdeeds, whether they were committed on purpose or inadvertently. Because the father was unconscious, I performed this ritual on his behalf.
We took a moment for private, silent prayer. Each of us whispering to God the words that were too difficult to share in full voice.
Then, I led us in chanting the final Jewish declaration of faith, traditionally recited when a Jew approaches death: “Shma Yisrael—-Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”
One of the family members joined in with me; the others were too choked up.
The body of this once-vibrant father was still. We held one another knowing that we had just witnessed a sacred transition from this world to whatever comes next.
A half-hour earlier, my congregant wondered if I would be able to guide his family through this heart-breaking time.
It was a privilege. I would not have missed it for the world.
* * *
Rabbi Eric Solomon shares spiritual leadership of Beth Meyer Synagogue in North Raleigh with his wife, Rabbi Jennifer Solomon.
Read these other first-person accounts of different faith traditions:
"Becoming the Angel of Death" (Christian Account)
"Souls in Transition--No Before, No After" (Buddhist Account)
"Tulsi, Holy Water and Prayers" (Hindu Account)
"There to do what I can" (Muslim Account)