My Friend Chava
My Friend Chava
Was this really a life lesson from my friend Chava?
Goodbye?! I was not ready, but whoever is? As much as one wants life to be a box of chocolates or a beautiful bowl of the crispiest, sweetest cherries, it’s not. At times, life can be unpredictable; life can be tough or slide with ease, but it’s what one makes of the circumstances that leaves their imprint, as in the parable of The Footsteps in the Sand, and at the hardest time, it is G-d himself who cradles and carries us.
Life. It’s a word so powerful, representing the body and the soul, scrunched up tight into a word so full of meaning. Life. It’s just when you think you have been there, done that, or done the done of that, and what the unfamiliarity of that is.
I remember hearing the news, my husband so gently had to tell me, “She passed, Esty.” He repeated himself to see if I understood. I breathed, letting the air out slowly and refilling it again. This time, I accepted his words and nodded. A feeling of raw pain washed over me as I absorbed his words. No one is ever truly ready.
Scrolling through the community chat, I was shocked to find that bittersweet smile that hugs the corners of my lips. “The Tehilim group is still going strong,” I thought. Each imprint of one’s dedication leaves its mark with hope, peace, love, and memory. I pondered with confidence that it reminded me of a shooting star that erupts when it’s most unexpected in the darkest part of the cloudy night sky, or the surprise butterfly that might pop onto one’s shoulder to add beauty, life, and joy to one’s day—every person in the community matters.
Feelings and colors can be almost interchangeable to express oneself in times of intense emotion. Sometimes the color murky green comes with the bitterness of the emerald inside to the surrounding brown hues that complement the purity, the innocence of pureness of heart and soul.
One wonders when it will happen, but one is never prepared for the actual moment. The pain tackles any essence of comfort. It stays in the raw until we choose to let the light of others and comfort inside our circle of togetherness. My friend had passed, but had remarkably left her imprint, her smile, her aura, which felt like an apple orchard in full bloom. It’s easy to plant oneself in the dark and get comfortable there when things feel hard, but to turn the mind, the approach, the vision into a smile instead of a frown is the real reward.
What’s that sound? It’s the sound that makes one’s head turn in their own whiplash. It’s the sound that catches one off guard and brings a moment of chaos, a pocket that wants to spill out all over the floor—an emptying of messy contained pockets that seeps out all over the place.
One can wonder to oneself, bowling with lemons can be the feeling on a tough day; the mess, the sour smell, that feeling of where to even begin, but even down that hallway, we remind ourselves of the choice to choose right, choose life, choose the chocolates, and place the messy chaos back into a sewn pocket, contain it with the assured thread of positivity, and with that it brings its own kind of good finality.
The commitment, even after my friend’s passing, a community rebbitzin and leader, she still stands strong like Lady Liberty; no one backed down in their dedication to mitzvos or in adding verses of Tehillim in unity and togetherness. The little beep on one’s phone, another mitzvah, or another commitment was placed, a time taken out of one’s day. It becomes that closeness felt between a rebbitzin and her congregant: they broke through the different nuances of what one may consider barriers and became a true family. This is how many felt in her community. As her friend and colleague, I, too, embraced this feeling, for there was always something new to learn.
She didn’t succumb to the situation laid out before her; instead, she chose to be positive, build friendships, and maintain an angelic aura throughout the storm. The storm, like a true chaotic hurricane, tried as it might, never caught up, because my friend Chava never let it define her; instead, she showed what a community worth living in is all about.
It’s humbling. It’s real. It’s sometimes for the moment when a winding road, narrow with shadows, keeps one company. One learns when it’s one’s conscience that the right thing to do is easy when the sun’s out, the birds are chirping, and the morning coffee has an extra sweet kick that brightens the mood. It’s a lot harder when tragedy occurs, bad news, and the choice to share with whom, and if and when.
Decision, decisions, just keeps the mind tumbling, trembling, forgetting autopilot, and exerting an engine that forgot to be in serious use for a while. The true difference between focused and relaxed. But what is the final decision? What not to renege on? Is it principles, integrity, or values? When the heart and mind are whispering with a tired voice, “Why should we push and do the extra effort in the attempt to make a difference? Will it be the chance to fill the world with purpose and love?
Perhaps one just wants to coddle oneself from the extra effort, but when one puts in the hard effort, then it’s success; it’s powerful, magical, and often even life-changing in mind, approach, and journey. However, to the Shlucha, an emissary on Shlichus, it matters most and is taken with the added point that we are there for others; we are the parents of our community, and always, throughout the hailstorms, we gently lull the cradle.
I wondered at the domino effect my friend Chava created, even after her passing. “Do special people really exist? Is it just in the fairytale books, or can we actually meet them? Is there such a thing as a real Tzadeikes in our times? When we look at a cute thing a child does, we always say, “Such a Tzadik, such a Tzadeikes,” but do we actually meet such people in real life?”
A candle places its light to push out the ugly head of darkness. A Sisterhood of togetherness really wove the seams of what felt like a larger, tattered garment, and with the utmost gentleness of touch, they had sewn the fabric whole again. The early morning hours after, when the true loneliness and tragedy struck, and only the diamond of her soul remained, it reminded me of the times at the regional kinus, coffee, shmoozing, and, of course, her smile.
The Shiva was hard! I knew it would be, but I wasn’t expecting the gift that Hashem gave me by meeting Chava’s mother. I have never met her mother; try as I might, I couldn’t picture her. In my grief, it’s easier to grieve alone. As I sat with some familiar faces and some not, I saw a lively woman, tears pouring down her face, but with the ability to share and grieve with surrounding herself with others, a giver, a leader, a natural comforter, even seeing her grief, and then it dawned on me this is Chava’s mother, and everything that meant and embodied; a shlucha, emissary in her own right, had the ability to transcend empathy, love, emotional hug through the grief and pain.
It was finally my turn to say goodbye. Each person who sat with the family got a hug from Chava’s mom; it was a huge embrace. To embrace someone who was a stranger to her marveled my mind, especially in her time of Shiva, for this wasn’t her community, which was a powerful commitment.
Knowing that Chava was my friend, but the hugs didn’t seem stronger with those who knew Chava more. Still, instead they seemed equal; she had a lot of love and powerful, overflowing positive energy to give during such a time, a time one tries to forget, but the mind won’t, and a time one in some ways needs from that day to finalize what happened to move on in shalom, in peace.
The worry, nerves, and what one didn’t want but almost felt the feeling of anticipation, was not a reasonable expectation. Still, the finality of the journey, the journey of life, friendship, cherishing each moment, it was going to be gone soon, and only with the coming of Moshiach can it be brought again, or one could argue even that much greater. It’s a choice I came to realize, the positivity in the ugly face of tragedy. Being positive was a choice, thinking of others first, even in one’s own moment of great pain, was a choice, an active choice. Her mom said to the women present, “Her last words to me were, I’m fine, don’t worry.” These were words of comfort, hope, and eternal peace.
It brought me back to when it was during COVID times. Both of us were presenting at the Mega Challah Bake, and she urgently wanted to speak to me about my presentation for the overall Mega Challah Bake community. She was worried we would present the same way and wanted to make sure we would both shine. I admired her, and her presentation was beautiful, even though I knew then that she was sick, but you wouldn’t even know it. Her enthusiasm and flair to bring smiles to people’s faces won the battle, for negativity never stood a chance. It was time to dance, sing, and spread great joy, and there wasn’t time to be feeling blue.
It was on our WhatsApp groups that we all got to see her humor. When most would have been worried, withdrawn inwards, she was a breath of fresh air, like the orchard of apples in the midst of the storm. One should smile during a rainstorm, and it was special that she did. It was life, such a personal moment, being laid to rest, and yet her legacy, even more than before as an emissary, a life dedicated to giving and G-dly is just soaring higher than ever.
A glimmer of hope, an anchor of bright light from above, seeps through the murky green and lets the emerald shine with the lantern of hope, spreading its beacon to the rest of us to catch its rays and cherish the moment by staying positive. It’s the cherishing of the big and little moments when one can feel that life is like a box of chocolates, paired with a bowl of fresh, crisp, sweet cherries on the breakfast table. They say a picture is like 1000 words; images of positivity and hopefulness allow one to choose joy and let the sewn pockets of chaos remain neatly sewn shut, with those perfectly ironed-over folds that hide their presence.
Choices, choices, choices: choose right, choose life, learn from my friend called Chava.