Regret As Redirection
American Rabbi David Ingber shares a story likely to resonate with people who have navigated the rupture of loss. A family member dies without a wisdom letter. People share stories about the person but we do not hear the voice of the deceased. Ingber positions this regret as a spiritual practice, and something from which we can learn if and when we conduct a life review.
He shares the story of absence from personal experience. He was conducting an interview for a series called “Sage Voices” in 2017 for a program organized under the auspices of the Jewish Theological Seminary. He had recently lost a beloved uncle, his father’s brother Joey (or Yossele as he called him).
David Ingber’s uncle was a lawyer, a cantor, a photographer, a singer, and a beach bum. Throat cancer left his uncle no longer able to share the instrument of his voice. The voice had defined him. He was 80 years old when he died, after having lived a rich and robust life. His uncle had not written a wisdom letter. Ingber wonders what remained unsaid. He deploys this absence to explain that none of us know how much time we have on the planet, and because of that uncertainty, today is the day to write a letter and conduct a life review.
In this understanding, regret functions as a departure point. Regret does not have to be a dead end of loathing or recrimination. For many people who lose a loved one, there is no wisdom letter. I imagine the experience of no letter is the norm because wisdom letters are often the project of outliers. (In Israel, where soldiers have given their lives to defend the state, the tradition is more well known and will be a subject for future posts.)
At a shiva there are stories from friends, neighbours, family and work colleagues. Sometimes people bring a photo, or a newspaper article about the person who died along with the cookies and kugels. Sometimes there are people whom the family does not know. They show up. My uncle once told me he learned a lot about his parents from their shivas. He knew his parents as parents. However, his parents had relationships with many people unknown to him as a child. He learned that his father delivered cash in envelopes, and slipped them under the apartment doors of Jews struggling financially. His father was not wealthy. My uncle heard about this story at his father’s shiva. Someone had uncovered who was behind the anonymous packages slipped under the door.
When a letter is not written stories are missing. The wisdom letter is the opportunity to hear the voice. Most people will not write such a letter for a variety of reasons. They mistakenly assume the tradition is for professional writers. They do not feel ready. They do not know where to begin. They think they are never going to die. And finally—at the core of this experience of life—you have to believe you have something noteworthy to share in the first place. If you have something to share and you have regret, the regret is not a stop sign but a redirection. Like a different traffic signal we can pay attention to. Why didn’t anyone teach me this stuff when I went to Hebrew school?
I thank the Jewish Theological Seminary and Rabbi David Ingber for sharing this material.
