Generation Bubelah: My grandmother was Judaism

The last couple of weeks have been difficult. Difficult because my grandmother, the woman who not only loved me unconditionally since the day I was born but also instilled in me, and everyone she knew, her love for Judaism, passed away.

She was the matriarch of our family, and we all maintained specific religious traditions for her. The synagogue that my grandmother and grandfather belonged to in Columbus, Ohio became the synagogue of my family. We stayed at the synagogue not because we felt like it reflected who we were as Jews but because it was where my mother went when she was younger, and a community that my grandparents were so involved in. But now, what would happen? Without my grandmother, what would happen to the traditions of our religion?

I was in Ireland when I found out from my father that she has passed away. The weather was cold and rainy, it was Good Friday, and there weren't many people on the streets. All shops and bars, closed. The quiet was comforting to me as my insides where filled with emotion and chaos. It may sound naïve because we all know that everyone will die; however, I never thought my grandmother would. As I was flying home, all I could focus on was that I would never be able to hug her or here her answer the phone saying, "Good morning Mary sunshine."

Her physical presence was gone. Looking out the window at the clouds below, I reminded myself that she would live on, since she is such a part of me, my family and all those that knew her. Although this should have been enough to comfort me, it wasn't. I was saddened by the fact that people I would meet in the future, my kids, etc wouldn't get a chance to know her, experience her zest for life and love of all things Jewish.

At home over one of the many dinners that had been provided for us by friends during Shiva (mourning period), traditions were beginning to change. My parents talked openly about leaving the synagogue that my mother had been a part of since she was a little girl. Over the years their traditions and views on Judaism were put aside to keep my grandmother's view of Judaism alive, and now, it seemed appropriate to start thinking about their own views and the best place for them to practice.

On Friday night, for the first time in my life, we didn't go to our synagogue; we went to a reform temple for services. It was such an uplifting experience. I sat there for an hour, and knew that my grandmother would have been happy knowing that we were all together, somewhere, being part of a Jewish community.

My mother turned to me with tears in her eyes and said, "Maybe before we didn’t need to go to services every weekend to be reminded of our religion, and our traditions, because we had mommo." My mother was right. For me, my grandmother was Judaism; she was my spiritual guide, my synagogue. She was the one who made me question my views towards my religion; she was the one who reminded me of my heritage and my responsibility as a member of the Jewish community, and without her it became apparent that maybe my family and I needed to find another way to connect to our roots.

On my flight back to Spain I couldn't stop thinking about how my life was going to be changed by my grandmother's passing. Not only on an emotional level but also in regards to Judaism. I heavily relied on my grandmother for a sense of Judaism, and now for the first time I am aware that it is truly my responsibility to keep the traditions I have grown up with alive, and to learn more on my own.
 
This was the first Passover that my grandmother was not a part of. Normally we would all be together. My mother, my sister and I would cook and my father would lead the Seder. My cousins would be around the table, friends and extended family. But this year was very different. My parents visited my sister, and for the first time ordered a Passover meal. I called my family the first night, and my father asked me what I had done for Passover. Being in Spain, I retold the story to my friends, and I talked about the traditions and the order of events. I couldn't help but think of my grandmother as I talked.

I pictured her sitting next to my father at the Passover table, a smile on her face, knowing that we were all together celebrating what she loved so much, Judaism. Knowing that we all weren't together on this night, I knew that traditions were changing, and that Jewish holidays would never be the same. Before bed, I looked over to the picture of my grandmother, I heard her say, "goodnight my shana maidle, I love you more," and I began to cry. It was then that I knew that to keep my grandmother alive, the traditions that she instilled in me must also remain. I kissed my hand and brought it to her face. I said goodnight, and fell asleep.