My Friend, Adira

My friend, Adira, had a baby and went into a coma. The doctors had given up hope, but I had not. Everything would be OK. People come out of comas all the time. Of course, she was going to get better. She was only twenty- three. And she had to help me with my student teaching. And she was supposed to live next door to me in Kiryat Sefer. And now she had a little baby girl to raise! She had to get better. But she didn’t.

This morning I checked my e-mail. I did not even have to open the message. The Boruch Dayan Haemes glared at me from the subject line. I started to cry. She can’t be dead! She is Adira! We were going to laugh at the tactless Yeshiva World comments together. I had already asked Hashem to bring her home in time for Shabbos. Too bad I had forgotten to specify which home. By mistake He took her to His house.

So I cried. And cried. I started sobbing. Adira, Adira, Adira! Abba! Where is Adira? I need her. Her baby needs her. Her husband needs her. Abba’leh!

Then, I heard her voice in my head. “Malka, what are you doing sitting at home? You have to run to student teaching! Don’t you want to get married and move to Israel? Finish those hours now!”

I was planning on walking around depressed all day. Telling everyone about my friend who suddenly passed away, so it’s OK that I am late, that I did not finish my homework, that I ran out of patience and snapped at my students. My friend died, and I am sad. That’s a valid excuse for… everything.

That’s not what Adira would have done. Adira would not have stayed at home crying all day. She may have taken out a Tehillim. She probably would have learned a little bit. Then she would have gone about her day, as usual. Checking off everything on her list. Adira was a real person. She was not into exaggeration. It is what it is. Do what you have to do. And don’t make a big deal out of it.

I did not let myself imagine that Adira would die. And she didn’t. She lives on in my heart every time I stop and consider what she would have done… Every time I want to be lazy. Every time I give myself a pat on the back for doing something I was supposed to do. Every time I choose to do something I was not supposed to do. Would she be proud of me, or would she be forced to “say something somewhat mussarish but hopefully not too tough”(quote from an E-mail from Adira when she, unfortunately, was not too proud of me)?

The Gemara teaches us about mourning. “Al tifku lemeis yoter me’dei, v’al tanutu lo yoter mekeshir.” Don’t over-exxagerate your right to mourn the dead. This exaggeration makes us lose sight of the real message. Is it sad? Unimaginable? A terrible tragedy? Yes, yes, and of course! But what would Adira have done?