Thirty years ago, my husband and I dated and then got engaged while we were both studying in Israel. Afterwards we flew back to the US to meet each other’s parents.

It was erev Pesach when he picked me up to take me to meet his parents. I was going to be spending the seder and the subsequent meals of the first two days of the holiday with them. It was a rainy day, and he admits he was a little distracted and didn’t notice the exit we were meant to take until it was almost too late; he exited the highway too quickly, the car spun out of control on the slick road and we crashed into the side of the road. It was at the service station we had been towed to that I first met my father-in-law, when he came to pick us up.

He was kind and gracious, notable since it was his car my husband had been driving, and it was a few hours before Pesach began, a time that is generally very busy. This gentle, kind quality is something that has been consistent throughout the years.

At the beginning of this week my husband got a call that his father was suddenly given a very short time to live, and to get there as soon as possible. He was able to get a flight that night, and was there for three days, waiting for what we all knew was inevitable. He passed this morning.

My husband was the only one of my immediate family to be present at the funeral in person, but the rest of us were present via webcast for the funeral services. It was a gift to be able to participate in that way, to hear what was shared about my father-in-law. All of what was said was consistent with my own experience.

Afterward I spoke with my oldest son, and we talked about how a person’s life is summed up in just a few minutes. What are you remembered for when you’re no longer here? It really comes down to character and relationships. I would hazard a guess that even someone who was professionally very successful would not have this directly referenced as his greatest legacy unless he had no relationships that were of significance.

It’s not comfortable to think about what people will say about you at your funeral (at least for me it’s not), but I think it’s worth asking one’s self what you want them to say.

I’ve been thinking lately about acts of kindness. A couple of weeks ago, the weekly Torah portion included the concept of loving another person as yourself. We shared several stories at our Shabbos table of how people extended themselves for others, and I felt very aware that I have plenty of room to grow in this area.

Also in the last couple of weeks, the indoor mask mandates in Israel have been dropped, and I feel differently when I’m out and about. Warmer, more open, more friendly, more kind. More like the person I used to be. That means that my normative behavior has become more closed and self-focused in the last couple of years when I’m in public.

My newest daughter-in-law has an aunt and uncle in Baltimore (where my in-laws live) who during this week have been a beautiful model of how to reach out to others. They have visited the hospital daily, brought loads of food, sung and prayed with my father-in-law, picked up my husband from the airport, driven for hours to the burial in New Jersey – hardly knowing my in-laws or us. That kind of response comes from people who are so used to doing acts of service for others that they do it as naturally as breathing.

I think that when one is more open-hearted, one naturally notices others and wants to be of assistance. It’s first and foremost a way of thinking, that leads to a way of acting. I feel like a person who has been sleeping and has to shake off the lethargy, and consciously remind myself to do the kind of things I used to do on a regular basis.

While I don’t yet have an answer about what I want people to say about me after I’m gone, I’m clear that I don’t like the self-oriented focus that has slipped in. While in large part this has happened because I’ve perceived others as closing themselves in and not desiring contact with others, with this new awareness, I’m starting to make some very small shifts in the direction I’d prefer to go.

Avivah