HOW  TO  BE  A  COMFORTER
by Rabbi Tucker - Temple Ramat Zion

     Being a “comforter” is a role that a person can never completely get used to. And it’s one that we can all stand and think about and improve on.
     We are all good, well-meaning people. But sometimes, without realizing it, we can do more harm than good with our well-intentioned remarks to people who have suffered a loss. I overhear these comments all the time. Dr. Ron Wolfson, in his important book A Time to Mourn, has a whole chapter on this subject. He talks about not taking the grief away from the mourner. And we do this by saying all the things that have become clichés: “You have to get on with your life,” “I know exactly what you’re going through,” “It’s probably for the best,” “You need to be strong for the rest of your family,” “It was God’s will,” and so on. All these things we say, for as well-meaning as they sound, almost always have an opposite effect on the person we’re trying to comfort. Why? Because phrases like these all bring the (sometimes not-so-subtle) message that the mourner is not entitled to his or her grief, and that they should just get over it. And mourners are usually too polite to tell people that these words have hurt more than they have helped.
     Jewish tradition understands the awkward nature of the situation and gives us guidelines and structures to help would-be mourners. And it’s so simple. What do you say in a house of mourning? Traditionally, nothing need to be said at all!  Just being there is a mitzvah (blessing). We are guided by the tradition of allowing the mourner to begin the conversation. Take the mourner’s lead, that is, if he or she wants to talk. If you must say something, a sincere, “I’m sorry for your loss, please let me know if there is anything I could do,” will go much further than the well intentioned things that we tend to say. Our role is simply to be a shoulder to cry on and to remind the mourned they are not alone.

A NEW YEAR
Shirley Cognard Ottman,
from The Slender Thread

 - a time for looking ahead and not behind;
 - a time for faith and not despair;
 - a time for long great gulps of hopeful expectation.
Drink deeply, friend, so that fortified with the promises it brings, this new year will keep you near fresh springs of healing love, where you may come to weave old and loving memories with new understandings and acceptance - and find peace.

YOU THINK
Angelia Kelemen

You think it won’t happen to you, but it does.
You think your life could never be this way, but it is.
You think you should have recognized that he was dying, but you didn’t.
You think your grief is so huge that you’ll forget to breathe, but you don’t.
You think the sun will forget to come up, but it doesn’t.
You think the tears will stop coming, but they don’t.
You think you can’t handle the pain, but you do.
You think you’ll lose hope, but you don’t.
You think you’ll never be happy again, but you will.
You think you’ll be alone forever, but you won’t.
You think that you’ll never laugh again, but you do.
You think you can’t live without them, but you learn how.