Our potion today includes this sentence:
“Bear in mind that you were slaves in Egypt, and take care to obey these laws.” (Deut 16:12) 

But the word for “bear in mind” is really remember, zachor.

“Three times a year—on the Feast of Unleavened Bread, on the Feast of Weeks, (which is today), and on the Feast of Booths—all your males shall appear before your God יהוה in the place that [God] will choose. They shall not appear before יהוה empty-handed,” (Deut 16:16) 

Zachor. Remember. Three times a year we should remember, and we should go up. These are pilgrimage festivals: Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot and during them we remember. We remember those that came before. We remember our history. We remember. 

This weekend Is also Memorial Day. A day set aside to remember those who gave “the ultimate sacrifice.” One of the most touching things I saw on TV this week was a bi-partisan group of congressmen (and women), cleaning the Vietnam Memorial lovingly by hand. Bluff City Cemetery makes sure that each grave of a service member is decorated with an American flag. It is touching and beautiful. Happen over on Monday. I’;ll be wearing my Memorial Day shirt on Monday that says, “Keep American Beautiful. Plant a Tree, Be Kind to Nature. Conserve Energy. Volunteer.” We need to remember all of our service men (and women) who gave their lives so that all of us may be free. While this may be the unofficial start of summer and I urge all of you to have fun, but also be safe, we also need to remember the huge cost that we pay, some families more than others. I am always reminded by the song Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables: 

There’s a grief that can’t be spoken
There’s a pain goes on and on
Empty chairs at empty tables
Now my friends are dead and gone 

Here they talked of revolution
Here it was they lit the flame
Here they sang about tomorrow
And tomorrow never came 

From the table in the corner
They could see a world reborn
And they rose with voices ringing
And I can hear them now! 

The very words that they had sung
Became their last communion
On this lonely barricade
At dawn 

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me
That I live and you are gone
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken
There’s a pain goes on and on 

Phantom faces at the window
Phantom shadows on the floor
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more 

Oh my friends, my friends
Don’t ask me what your sacrifice was for
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will sing no more 

Les Miserables 

Judaism has lots to do with memory. The 10 Commandments, which we just read again last night commands us: “Remember the Sabbath Day and keep it holy.” As part of Kiddush, we remember the Exodus from Egypt and Creation when we sanctify Shabbat. We remember the commandments when we look upon the tztizit. We remember our patriarchs, and the matriarchs when we say the Amidah. We remember not to forget Amalek. We remember that we were slaves in Egypt so we need to take care of the widow, the orphan, the sojourner. 36 times. Several times in today’s portion alone.  

But why, why all this focus on memory? 

Memory plays an important role in grief. According to Psychology Today: 

• Memorializing loved ones who have passed is a way of exploring meaning and authenticates our part in the mourning process. 
• Memorializing allows us to galvanize relationships, sustain connections, and to recognize and honor those who have had a part in our lives. 
• How we grieve death depends on various factors, such as the nature of the relationship, circumstances, personality traits and more. 
• Grief is a testament of human resilience and we can emerge and grow from it. 

I think that is part of why the rabbis mandated that at each of our pilgrimage festivals we say yizkor, prayers of remembrance, which we will do shortly. At each of our happiest times, we pause to remember those who cannot be here to celebrate with us. There are many interpretations of why we smash a glass at a wedding. We may still be mourning, remembering the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem. Or we may be mourning, missing those people who cannot be here. Our world seems shattered. Acknowledging those losses and griefs helps us be resilient. It is a powerful reminder of the elephant in the room, so to speak.  

There are often positive memories that we think about at times like this. Yesterday, while out for my dawn Shavuot walk, the fragrance of lilacs was palpable. I always associate lilacs with my aunt, whose yahrzeit is today. There are smells, tastes, sounds, textures that we remember. Perhaps you remember a certain cologne, or a special recipe—the taste and the fragrance of the sticky buns or the deviled eggs or the chicken soup.  Maybe it is a piece of music that your person loved that is evocative. A certain piece of clothing, a scratchy wool scarf or sweater. Something knitted just for you. Maybe it is a place, a beach, a mountain, a monument. Maybe you feel close to them at the grave. Maybe you hear a snippet of a conversation with your loved one in your head. Or you remember exactly what they would have said at a time like this.  All of these examples are examples of nostalgia and can be healthy. And maybe you wonder how you can possibly survive without them. Peter Paul and Mary wondered too as they sang, Sweet Survivor:  

You have asked me why the days fly by so quickly
And why each one feels no different from the last
And you say that you are fearful for the future
And you have grown suspicious of the past
And you wonder if the dreams we shared together
Have abandoned us or we abandoned them
And you cast about and try to find new meaning
So that you can feel that closeness once again. 

Carry on my sweet survivor, carry on my lonely friend
Don’t give up on the dream, and don’t you let it end.
Carry on my sweet survivor,
Though you know that something’s gone
For everything that matters carry on. 

You remember when you felt each person mattered
When we all had to care or all was lost
But now you see believers turn to cynics
And you wonder was the struggle worth the cost
Then you see someone too young to know the difference
And a veil of isolation in their eyes
And inside you know you’ve got to leave them something
Or the hope for something better slowly dies.
Peter Paul and Mary 

The rabbis understood grief and memory. They knew that remembering someone helps heal. That seven days of shiva, of not being responsible for your regular day-to-day tasks helps ease someone back into the normal routine. That during the shloshim period, the 30 days, the grief is a little less sharp and that by the first yahrzeit even less so. We remember our loved ones every year. They understood the role of the community, in coming together to support someone going through grief. The stories, the meals, the quiet sitting with someone. That’s part of why we need a minyan to say kaddish. 

But sometimes there is complex grief. Grief that just will not abate, for whatever reason. Perhaps the death was sudden and totally unexpected. Perhaps the person was young—a child, a young parent. Perhaps there was violence involved. Perhaps it happened in the middle of a pandemic, where all our mourning and grieving customs seemed to change. For complex grief we may need professional help. There are people who specialize in grief counseling. I particularly like Fox Valley Hands of Hope, and refer people to them often. Based in Geneva and run by Jonathan Shively, it offers free counseling and support. JCFS has grief support groups. Compassionate Friends have groups designed to help families with the loss of a child.  

We keep memory alive. We keep people alive by remembering. Peter Paul and Mary in the Chanukah song written by Peter Yarrow captures it so well: 

What is the memory that’s valued so highly
That we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died
That we cry out they’ve not died in vain?
We have come this far always believing
That justice would somehow prevail
This is the burden, this is the promise
This is why we will not fail! 

Don’t let the light go out!
Don’t let the light go out!
Don’t let the light go out! 

We won’t let the light go out as we remember.  

Reading Before Kaddish: 

THE YOUNG DEAD SOLDIERS DO NOT SPEAK
Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts.
They say, We were young. We have died. Remember us.
They say, We have done what we could but until it is finished it is not done.
They say, We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can know what our lives gave.
They say, Our deaths are not ours: they are yours: they will mean what you make them.
They say, Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say: it is you who must say this.
They say, We leave you our deaths: give them their meaning: give them an end to the war and a true peace: give them a victory that ends the war and a peace afterwards: give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died. Remember us.
Arcihibald MacLeish