I can’t think of a time when I didn’t know what is arguably the finest Jewish song about courage. But throughout the years, the famous words of Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav have reshaped themselves for me as I have grown.
I remember my mother singing it in Hebrew in the kitchen – “Kol ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar me’od v’ha’ikar lo l’fached clal” — “The whole world is a very narrow bridge and the main thing is not to be afraid.” It was part of the soundtrack of my childhood.
Later, when I learned modern Hebrew, the song’s meaning took hold. Not only did it bring me home but it offered a lesson I could understand about courage in a dangerous world.
When my husband and I hiked the north rim of the Grand Canyon — an intense three-day backpacking challenge in extreme heat — we crossed many narrow bridges, literally. And, every time, we sang that song.
Lately, that song has taken on deeper meaning. On Tuesday, Feb. 17, 14-year old Laura Miller went to school. I e-mailed her that day.
As part of a small group of teens in the Teen Journalist Project, she had written an article and volunteered to design part of our supplement. I was nervous about the project and followed up with the teens.
But Laura never got back to me.
On Wednesday morning, she woke up ill and was later rushed to the hospital, where a tumor was discovered on her cerebellum. On Saturday night, she died.
The community has rallied. Fellow students at Nicolet High School established three support groups on Facebook. More than 1,000 people showed up for her funeral on Monday, Feb. 23, and many, many more visited her family during the shiva period.
The death of a seemingly healthy child feeds all parents’ deepest fear. How can you know when your child’s headache is simply a headache and when is it the symptom of a fatal disease? Who hasn’t wished for magic words that might protect a child from danger?
But I think Laura’s shocking death points to our deeper fear of unpredictability, that life is indeed a very narrow bridge off of which people indeed fall. As children, the lucky among us believe with perfect faith that nothing bad will happen to us.
But terrible things do happen. Understanding this — and enduring loss — is an important step in maturing. The question is not if we will experience loss but when and, more importantly, how will we deal with it. Knowing and facing such loss is what helps make us adults.
Indeed, Rabbi Nachman was also paraphrased as saying, “There is nothing more whole than a broken heart.”
So what does fear have to do with loss? In his 1999 book, “Making Loss Matter: Creating Meaning in Difficult Times,” Rabbi David Wolpe writes:
“The blessing we seek in life is not to live without pain. It is to live so that our pain has meaning. The spiritually mindful person seeks to live fully despite fear, because to allow fear to direct our lives adds the suffering of anticipation to the pain of the loss.
“No quality is more essential for a well-lived life than courage. Loss is arbitrary; our valor in living, and our determination to make sense of life, is wisdom.”
Notice that Wolpe does not say that we should ignore fear but to live fully in spite of it, to know fear and to face it with courage.
In his book, Wolpe writes about the many kinds of loss we experience — from failed experiments to the loss of childhood dreams, to the people we did not become by choosing one particular path, to failure, divorce and death.
Our task is to allow loss to be transformative, to feel deeply and honestly and to grow from it. Asking “Why me?” is irrelevant, he says.
“Life is not an intellectual puzzle. Life is a precious, one-time chance to grow. We grow not by solving riddles but by creating meaning.”
So what is the meaning in the death of a young woman? Is it in the quest for superlatives — kindest, sweetest, most talented?
As all the obituaries have made clear, Laura was a gifted writer and a passionate, optimistic young woman. When she came into the first session of our journalist project, in early November, Laura announced that she wanted to be the editor of a fashion magazine. Just like that.
As we brainstormed and planned, it became clear that Laura had none of the hubris usually accompanying such dreams. Laura clearly expected hard work and didn’t think herself above it.
Editors often respond to such dreams by doling out tedious assignments, hoping to grind the dreamer into a realist. But I began believing with Laura.
She was a girl of substance who seemed to believe that the world was good and that she might make a difference in it. She participated actively in our sessions, unafraid to ask questions or be wrong or take a risk. And she did it all with an “I’m here” smile that I’ll never forget.
Therein, perhaps, lies the meaning. Getting to know Laura has changed me and enduring her death will also change me — slowly, subtly, but deeply and certainly. And it will challenge me not to contract in the fear of “what if?” but to trust, to engage, to embrace and to accept.
I am inspired by Wolpe’s prayer not for safety but for strength:
“My deepest prayer to God used to be to spare me from the pains of life that I so dreaded. Now I see that this is the prayer of a child. As a man I do not pray for a life without pain.
“Instead I pray: ‘Dear God, I know that there will be pain in my life, and sadness, and loss. Please give me the strength to create a life, together with those whom I love, where loss will not be empty, where pain will not be purposeless. Help me find the faith to make loss matter. Amen.’”
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