Sometimes joy seems to be elusive. Sometimes joy seems to be impossible. This can be particularly true after a death of a loved one. In our congregation, we had a number of members lose close relatives this year. A mother, a father, a spouse, a grandchild. All the deaths were painful. There is no timeline on grief. It affects people in different ways on different days. It is an ongoing process. And despite Kubler-Ross’s excellent work, it is not linear. You can go into grief and come back out and go back in again. Maybe further down the path, maybe not. Two steps forward, one back.

But sometimes, slowly, step by step we return. Eventually to joy. This poem expresses that:

To Alyssa, Whose Mother’s Funeral Was Yesterday

“When will I be myself again?”
Some Tuesday, perhaps,
In the late afternoon,
Sitting quietly with a cup of tea
And a cookie;
Or Wednesday, same time or later,
You will stir from a nap and see her;
You will pick up the phone to call her;
You will hear her voice – unexpected advice –
And maybe argue.
And you will not be frightened,
And you will not be sad,
And you will not be alone,
Not alone at all,
And your tears will warm you.
But not today,
And not tomorrow,
And not tomorrow’s tomorrow,
But some day,
Some Tuesday, late in the afternoon,
Sitting quietly with a cup of tea
And a cookie
And you will be yourself again
Lewis Eron

Sometimes joy comes in doing things again and again. That is part of the function of ritual. It provides structure and tradition. A sense of the possible. A way of doing things that is familiar. They comfort us. Ground us. Provided roots. Connect us to our past and our future.

As we approach Rosh Hashanah there are many traditions in our family. Picking apples so we can make applesauce for Chanukah tying the seasons together. Inviting guests for dinner. Blowing shofar on the second morning of Rosh Hashanah at sunrise, preferably on a beach. Spending the second afternoon outdoors contemplating Thoreau’s statement, “I went to the woods to live deliberately.”

These simple things add a richness and meaning to the observance and I look forward to them. Yesterday we had the opportunity to return to a place here in Illinois that brings us joy. We went back to Anderson Gardens, where we had been earlier in the month. We got to share this very special place with our friends Dave and Betty.

And we were treated to some new things. A heron. Two turtles. A bald eagle soaring high overhead. A closer look at the guest house. Such attention to detail. Good conversation. A sense of peace and contentment. A return to joy.

Maybe that is what teshuvah, return, is about. Not repentance per se, but return to joy, return to wholeness.