My Brother’s Yahrzeit 5782

Neve Shalom in Metuchen has a nice custom.  When you go up for an Aliyah to commemorate a Yahrzeit, you can say a few words about the loved one being remembered.  Last December, I told the congregation a little about my brother Michael.  This was before I started my blog.  What follows is my recollection; not verbatim, but hopefully close enough.

I’ve always struggled with my feelings for my younger brother, who had a very sad life.  If you met him, you would perhaps have thought that he was just a nerdier version of me, if such a thing were possible. You might not have even noticed anything wrong with him. He was certainly more intelligent than me, but he was scarred in his youth in ways that he would never recover from.

His problems started when he was very young.  My sister, who must have been seven years old at the time, was invited to a birthday party.  One of the other girls at the party had just recovered from chicken pox but was still contagious.  Through no fault of her own, my sister brought this home, and we all got sick.  And especially Michael.

He was only eighteen months old, and he developed a severe case of encephalitis.  This is a serious condition with a raging fever that causes the brain to become inflamed and swollen. It left Michael permanently damaged.

As an aside, I can’t get over the callousness of the mother who sent her sick girl to the party.  I might be preaching to the converted right now – we’re in the middle of a pandemic and I’m talking to a shul full of masks. But that woman’s thoughtlessness resulted in Michael’s life of suffering. She’s probably not even aware of it.

And as his physical and mental problems were not bad enough, Michael was subjected to vicious bullying throughout his childhood.  I’m ashamed to say that I added to it.

My wife tells me that I made up for this later in life by helping my elderly parents and Michael.  I hope that’s true.

Michael was diagnosed with “Treatment Resistant Depression”, which means that the doctors tried just about everything to help him out, but nothing worked. Ultimately, he never really left his room, and never experienced any of the great joys of life.

Michael was indeed a good person.  He was quite meticulous with his medications and did not fall into the pitfalls of alcohol or drug abuse. And despite all the cruelty he experienced, he never hurt anyone, which is certainly more than I can say for myself.

So, what to make of Michael’s life? Our tradition teaches that the Almighty inflicts pain on those He loves most in order to increase their reward in the World to Come.  I am sure that my atheistic brother would have scoffed at that.

And consider how this tore my parents to shreds. Sure, they soldiered on, providing a comfortable space for Michael, and never blaming him for his problems.  But as my mother used to say: “You can only be as happy as your least happy child.”

And what about me?  I think that Michael’s miserable life gave me a chance to become a better person, but I guarantee you that Michael would not have thought that it made it all worth it.

On the other hand, it did leave me with a lot of guilt, and I imagine Michael would have liked that.

Shabbat Shalom.

And that’s where I left off.  Usually when I give my little talks, I try to throw in a laugh line or two.  The bit about Michael being happy about my guilt was meant to inspire some chuckles.  Instead, the room was dead silent.  Only one person in the shul got the joke and smiled.  Go figure.