May G-d remember the soul of... (Yizkor Prayer)
Volvi had served as the gabbai in the Claremont Shul in Cape Town, South Africa for years. Even in his eighties, when he was frail, every year before the Yamim Noraim, he insisted on doing the same job: changing the coverings of the Sifrei Torah (Torah scrolls) to white.
The shul had many old Torah scrolls, some of them quite heavy and large, and people repeatedly offered to help. But Volvi always insisted that he do it himself. Even when the Rav approached, offering assistance, still, the answer was no.
Finally, the Rav asked, “Volvi, why won’t you let anyone help? Why is this so personal?”
Volvi paused. Then he looked at the Rav and said:
“I grew up in Baranovich, and I had ten siblings and we were very poor. Once a year, before the Yamim Noraim, we each got something white. A white shirt, a white skirt, a white tichel. That was our present. It was a moment of joy in a hard life.
Then the Nazis came. They took my whole family. I am the only one who survived.
You see those twelve Sifrei Torah? That one is Rivka. That one is Yankel. That one is Yisrael. That one is Yitzchak. That’s Sarah. That’s my mother and father. I’m not changing Torah covers. I’m dressing my family for Yom Tov. Please, don’t take that away from me.”
On Yom Kippur, we recite Yizkor. The word isn’t zachor, to remember in the past. It’s yizkor, to remember for the future. It’s a promise that we’ll keep our loved one’s legacy alive. And that’s because we don’t simply mourn our ancestors; we perpetuate them. We don’t just cry for those we lost; we become like them. We say, “You lived for something and you sacrificed for something. Now I will carry that forward.”
A cemetery is known by three names: Beis Ha’kvaros, a place of burial; Beis Olamim, a place of eternity; Beis HaChaim, a place of life. Why three?
Because there are three types of people:
Some lived only for material things. When they pass, they are simply buried in a Beis Ha’kvaros. All they have is the space in which their buried body occupies. Some, however, lived spiritual lives, yet disconnected from the larger community. They grew spiritually, but they did so alone. Now and forever, their Torah remains with them in their eternal abode, their Beis Olamim. But some lived their lives for Klal Yisrael. They lived for their families, for their communities, and for the growth of others. They gave warmth, light, and strength. Those are in the Beis HaChaim. Those people live on in the lives of those who are still on earth.
Years ago, an elderly man told me something I never forgot. “Do you know your mission as a rabbi?” he asked. I thought I did. He then said something that resonated profoundly. “Your mission is to be a beacon of light for every person, at every moment, in every place, no matter how you’re doing.”
The Chofetz Chaim writes that every Jew must be like the sun. The sun gives light and warmth, and it helps things grow. That is our job: to shine, to comfort, and to cultivate growth.
As Yom Kippur approaches, ask yourself: who can I bring light to this year? Whose legacy can I carry forward? Who needs warmth in a cold world?
One time, a woman came to Rabbi Lawrence Kelemen and told him, “I’m never having children.” “Why not?” he asked. “Because the world is too dark. How can I bring a child into such a dark world?” He paused, and told her this story:
“I had a friend who dreamed of becoming an emergency room doctor at Yale. At 14, he began studying intensely. At 16, he got a perfect SAT score. He went to Harvard, then to Stanford Medical School, and then endured grueling years of internships and residency.
“Finally, at 36, he was accepted to Yale Medical Center as an ER doctor. His life’s dream.
“As he stood at the doors of the emergency room, someone tried to stop him. ‘Don’t go in there! There’s death, there’s pain. Gunshot wounds. Trauma. Don’t do it; it’s too dark!’ And he looked at them and said, ‘I’ve been preparing my whole life for this exact place.’
“And then he walked in, and began healing people.
“Yes, the world is dark,” concluded Rabbi Kelemen. “But if you bring a child into the world to be its light, there’s no better accomplishment. If you live your life not to avoid darkness, but to bring light into it, there has never been a greater mission.”
So bring that light.
When you’re anxious, pray for someone else’s peace of mind. When you’re overwhelmed, smile at someone else. When you feel pain, turn it into tefillah for others.
This is what our people did after the Holocaust. They rebuilt. They didn’t just remember; they perpetuated. And that’s our mission now.
If we live with that light, Hashem will surely look at us and say: “You are someone I need in My world.”
