From Sam N.

I have many good memories of your sister, starting from high school, when she used to visit and hang out with my sister. They would talk for hours and were usually laughing, having a good time; she was really good at brightening people's mood up. Reva was willing to say what she believed and that always made conversations more interesting - it helped other people open up and express what they thought as well. I remember one time at lunch/dinner at my house she started a discussion on whether Russians or Americans say what they think more. It was funny, because most people would be too scared to bring up that topic, and it was also interesting, because it ended up that both she and my parents thought the complete opposite, and that was surprising. During my yeshiva days, she once gave me a ride and we ended up talking about different issues in life, philosophy, etc.; we both thought it was surprising we hadn't talked much in high school (mostly since I was a little quiet). From then on, I remember that she had a lot of good advice and insights into people and different ideas. Even though we didn't stay in touch lately, I remember her as someone with a lot of intelligence, strength to stand up for what she thought, and was always very fun and interesting to be around, so her passing is very sad and I know she will be missed by a lot of people.

From Tehilla Rosenthal

I'm making aliya in october and I remember talking with Reva in Israel about her experience during a shabbos we had spent together at my parents. She had compared making aliya to getting married...during the beginning of the aliya process (making the decision, first moving, etc.) everyones excited, there's parties like sheva brachot, but then the reality of living in Israel sets in....it was a colorful and memorable way of describing a real issue and concern. Something I've been thinking about, planning and accounting for. I remember that shabbos, especially that discussion and the honesty and accompanying laughs. She was a really smart, deep thinking and funny person. 

From Max Levine

I don't know what to say.  

I obviously haven't seen her in years, but I will always remember her as a great partner in our chevra's discovery of the Torah, the most important journey of my life.  I can remember all the discussions we had about hashkafa and the good sense and skepticism she always brought.  She was never afraid to disagree (or make fun of me, albeit gently) when her intuition didn't buy something, and that made everyone involved better for it.

From Kohava (Mrs. Sacks)

What to Do When Lighting Strikes

Have you ever been caught in a thunder storm? 

I don’t mean snug in your little cocoon of a car, with rain sluicing off the windshield.  I don’t mean safe on your front porch watching the windblown sky.  I don’t mean dashing down the street for the protection of the nearest doorway.  I mean out.  Really out.  In the wind, in the rain, and the thunder, with lightning striking all around. 

Have you ever been there?

Once I was. 

Out walking, my dog Jenny and I, along forested trails.  The sky grew dimmer and the wind came up.  At first it was thrilling to be out in it.  Day turned to dusk.  Tall trees tossed their branches and the wind cooled my sweat. 

The storm came on quickly.  Rain came pouring down.  Too far to turn back, too far to go on, I was soon soaked through.  Lightning began flashing overhead.  Jenny ran on ahead as far as she could, pulling at her leash, urging me along.  I saw that if she were free she would be gone.  Surrounded by tall trees, but with nowhere to hide, I pushed on as fast as I was able, feeling the stress in my legs and lungs, racing for the picnic shelter half a mile on.

I felt fear in my gut as the lightening moved in closer around us, flashing on every side.  I saw the panic in Jenny’s eyes, felt her agony at my slowness.  I began to pray.  The real kind.  Where you are just asking for help this one time.   Powerless in the face of the storm, I felt rooted down to the ground in awareness of my smallness.  

My knee did not give out and we did make it to shelter.  Jenny hid under the table, and under my legs, shivering, as we waited out the storm until the skies cleared and the lightening passed.  I felt thankful, and chastened.

When we got home I googled ‘what to do in a lightning storm’ and this is what I learned.  You’ve got to seek a proper shelter.  It must be grounded, just any old tree won’t do.  If the tree happens to be struck while you’re standing under it, you’re likely to be struck to.  Electricity can travel through the tree, and on into the ground, and then up into you if you’re standing close by. 

If you can’t find shelter, the best thing to do is move away from cover, away from those tempting trees.  Put yourself out into the wide open, and then get small, as small as you can.  Squat down low and curl your arms up over head and knees to form a ball, so if you do chance to get struck by lightning, the current can travel completely through you, and on back into the ground, leaving you shocked, frightened, but still in one piece…

Have you ever been caught in a life storm?

I don’t mean the upheavals each day brings, or the unceasing struggles to make ends meet.  I don’t mean the hectic pace of an overly demanding job, or the pressure and strain of impending events.  I mean caught.  Really caught.  Caught up in forces completely out of your control.  Caught up in chaos, inside and out. 

Have you ever been there?

Once I was.

Awhile back, there was year when our family experienced one disaster after another.  The universe seemed almost to be intent on breaking us. 

Both my husband and I lost our long term jobs over one summer, along with the school we had helped build and a life surrounded by students we loved.  Our own girls became commuters, off to distant schools, far from friends.

Out walking my dog one afternoon that fall, I slipped and fell in the street, breaking my kneecap and adding injury to my already seriously injured leg.  Surgery followed, then physical therapy and long days on my own.  Everyone out of the house.  Everyone on their own.

In the winter of that year our house caught fire.  My sweet, sweet dog Amy was killed.  Our family was out celebrating the holidays but she was home alone.  We were thankful to be safe but we were devastated. 

I began to pray then.  The real kind.  Where you are just asking the Master of the Universe to help you get through one more time.  I felt broken down to the ground in my smallness and powerless in the face of my uncertainty, my fear and my grief.

Later that spring we moved out of a hotel and into temporary housing.  Just off the freeway, noise and fumes.  Stained carpet and cavernous empty rooms.  We lost touch with each other a little more, as I slipped further into my own heartache.  After awhile we moved away altogether, packing into a big old van all we had salvaged from our old home, our old life.  We started over. 

We did make it through after a time.  The strength of our family bonds held together.  When I look back on it all now I feel chastened and small, and I feel thankful.  

I’ve thought a lot about what to do when catastrophe strikes.  You’ve got to seek proper guidance.  It must be grounded in wisdom, just any old advice won’t do.  Know that if someone you are close to is struck, you’re likely to be struck too.  It’s as if shock, grief and fear can travel through the ones you love, and on into the ground, then up into you if you’re standing close by.

When you can’t find shelter in life, the best thing to do is move away from cover, away from tempting distractions and justifications.  Put yourself out into the wide open, and then get small, as small as you can.  Bend down low to the ground, cover your head, so if you do chance to get struck by lightning, the current can travel completely through you, and on back into the ground, leaving you shocked, frightened, but still in one piece…

Let the awesome forces of life rain down on you, wash over you, and humble you.  After awhile you will find your new place in the scheme of things, and then you can move on.  Put your trust in the smallness of a humbled heart and a searching soul.  Put yourself out into hands of the great wide open.  

From Channie

I was outside playing with my two youngest: a hot, sweaty July Wednesday. I had had a large cup of coffee early that afternoon, hoping to get me (cheerfully) through the day. It worked so well that I had pulled out the hose, washed off the old sand table, filled it with cool water and buckets, sieves, and spoons. Feeling pretty proud of myself, I sat down and pulled my phone from my pocket.

Message from my oldest friend on this planet: Call me asap. Nervously, I dialed her back, and she asked me to please sit down. She had some terrible news. Could I handle hearing it now, was I somewhere that I could talk? Cold terror gripped my heart. Is it my family? I whispered.

No, its Reva. She died, the funeral was on Sunday. What? What? What?

My brain could form nothing but that single word. I felt like I had been punched and could not breathe. Her name paired with this strangely textured word made no sense. The word died simply didn't fit in my brain. It felt like a massive pill, something harsh and garish and orange and just wrong, that I could not swallow.

I met Reva twenty-three years before. We met shortly before beginning high school together;  it was a small private start up school, and there were to be only five girls in our grade. We became nothing short of family, fast and firm. Reva had long thick blonde hair, freckles, speckled hazel eyes, and a laugh that you could hear across the school. She was tall, loud, confident in her opinions. Curious about everyone and everything. I was much more reserved, quiet, unsure.

The thing that I first really loved about talking to her is that she was just a crazy listener. The most intense I've ever met in my life, to this day. When you spoke to her, she would squint and furrow her brow, focusing, concentrating, listening, listening, listening to every nuance of every word, spoken and unspoken. It was one of my first friendships in my life where I felt heard, in this incredible way. She was just genuinely seeking, constantly looking for wisdom and answers and truth, from anyone and everyone she met.

I don't know if she found the certainty she was looking for in her life. 24 hours after that phone call, I am still reeling, disbelieving. How can someone so vibrant, so completely alive, be gone? Where is she? She has to be somewhere.

I hear her laugh in my mind - she would throw her head back and belt it out. Our years together in high school had many sleepovers, long nights filled with giggles and laughter. I'm remembering a couple, not particularly remarkable, they just float up to my memory, silly and juvenile as they are (as we were).

She was always ready to laugh at herself. She was an atrocious speller. I remember one night we went through her address book, where she had phonetically spelled everyone's names that we knew. I, being an intuitively perfect speller, found it enormously amusing and started to laugh. She joined in, only half aware of the actual multitude and breadth of the errors, but we were soon hysterical on the floor, crying from laughter, imagining what the people would say if they saw their names written so "creatively".

Another night: I had had an x-ray earlier that week while experiencing some (extremely painful) trapped intestinal gas. I was telling her how I had done my utmost to control myself from releasing it, trying to be polite. And then they placed the xray up on the viewing board, and there they were: huge, clearly visible, gas bubbles in my intestine, right on display. I was whispering the story to her, (my father was pretty strict about us staying quiet late at night), and we both lost it, hysterically laughing, biting our pillows to try to stay quiet.

There are hundreds more moments like those.

We were a family, the five girls in that class. We stuck together after high school, sharing apartments, navigating college and boyfriends and household chores.

We drifted apart, some of us getting married, some traveling, experiencing the full extent of beautiful, brutal life. But there were always these invisible threads of connection. I have spent the better part of the last 24 hours on the phone with the other three girls. Girls? Women I guess. Somehow, I feel fourteen again, raw and terrified. I want nothing more than to have been told earlier, to have been able to attend the funeral, to process, to try to comprehend what this hole in my heart means.

I have seen her once or twice a year when we were able to, and every time its been instant, the comfort, the familiarity, the deep and still knowing of one another. I saw her last a few months ago, when I was visiting family for Passover. She was in pain, had had an injury, needed so much help with her beautiful daughter (her first, born just three days after my fifth child, also a girl, was born.) We sat at a park in the sun, the babies gloriously beautiful, exploring, examining each other. I just keep going back to that day, the peacefulness despite her pain, her absolute loving gaze at that perfect one and a half year old, and I am trying to understand that I will never see her again, never speak to her, never hear her voice, her laugh, her thoughts. I cannot comprehend it.

In Memory of My Beloved Sister Reva

Say to Wisdom “You are My Sister”

Proverbs 7:4

We grew up in an average house, on an average block, in an average suburban neighborhood on Long Island. We both had our own rooms, right next to each other. In our earliest childhood, we had a love/hate relationship. I loved her and she hated me. She was the cool older sister and I was the annoying little brother. At around age 14, my sister decided she had enough of the public school curriculum and social scene. She thought everybody there was very fake and was looking for something more “real”, whatever that meant. She had gotten a flavor for orthodox Judaism from her local Hebrew school experience, as well as her experience with NCSY, a Jewish youth organization.  But mostly based on her quest to be involved in something more genuine, she decided to enroll in a local orthodox Jewish startup high school, the Torah Academy of Suffolk County (TASC). Thank God my parents let her go. This one decision would set the course for the rest of her amazing, short life.

TASC was a very philosophically oriented school. The Rabbis encouraged the students to openly discuss and question God, Torah, and the meaning of life. In other words, my sister was in heaven. Could there be a more “real” place than TASC? She had found exactly what she was looking for.

During this time, three years younger than my sister, I was on an alternate track. Sports, grades, being cool – these are the things that mattered to me. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. And she did it in a major way. My sister convinced me, with sincere confidence, that I must leave public school and go to TASC, where I would study lofty topics such as Torah and philosophy, which she promised, would ultimately lead me to have a meaningful life – I was eleven! She was able to make me actually excited about learning about our Creator, Torah, Mitzvos and all types of other wonderful things – did I mention she was able to do this when I was eleven!

Despite my young age, my choice was not spontaneous. It was deliberate. We would always talk about what she had learned at TASC, things I had never thought about before. But more important than the topics we spoke about, she made me think in a way that I had never thought before, and I would proceed down the rabbit hole with eager curiosity. One specific instance comes to mind. I was in the 6^th grade and I was stressing over a grade or a test or something like that - Reva seized the opportunity. I can’t remember the exact wording she used, but we had a conversation that went something like this.

Reva: “You know, grades don’t really matter in life.”

Me: “What? What do you mean grades don’t matter. Of course they do.”

Reva: “Only to help get you into a good college. But they don’t really matter in life.”

Me: (silence……processing…….whoa!!!)

Classic Reva.

That was obviously an extreme simplification of one of our conversations, but the point is, she taught me to re-evaluate (or I should say, evaluate for the first time) my most basic values. When I started to get the hang of her way of thinking, we became a real team. Our favorite Rabbi used to refer to us as “double Levine action.”

When I was reflecting at the shiva about our younger years, I was absolutely shocked that we were having such deep conversations together at such a young age and further that I left my life-to-be in the secular world for these lofty ideals so early in my life. After the first few days of shiva went by, and I kept repeating how amazed I was, it finally dawned on me that the whole thing wasn’t really so shocking at all. On the contrary, it made perfect sense. When you present the emes (the Truth) to someone in a meaningful, interesting way - even to an eleven year old - it makes sense. And not only does it make sense, it is exciting. And that’s exactly what my sister did for me so many years ago – she made searching for Truth exciting.

As I mentioned, throughout her four years at TASC, my sister would continuously have conversations with me about all of the brilliant things she was learning. Each year, while I was still in junior high school, the anticipation would build, when I, the younger brother, would follow in her footsteps and be able to partake of these amazing Torah classes. Finally the time had come. I began the 9^th grade. But I was met with horrific shock. I was the only student excited to be there. The only student eager to become a Jewish philosopher extraordinaire. I didn’t understand it. Why were none of the other students ready to embark on a philosophical journey that would impact the rest of their lives?! Looking back, I now realize what the problem was….nobody else had my sister. Nobody else was given mind-blowing private lessons in Torah leading up to high school. Everybody else was just there to go to school. Miserable, boring, brain numbing school. Thank God I had my sister. I still have the same ideals today that she taught me so many years ago. Think. Search for Truth. Don’t take anything for granted. Question EVERYTHING. These are the ideals of my sister that she began to teach me when I was but eleven years old. These are the ideals that I still live by and will God willing teach my children, in her honor.

During the shiva, there were several themes that kept reappearing (with scary exactitude) in discussing Reva with those who came to comfort us. I’d like to share some of these themes, as I think they not only help show what an exceptional person Reva was, but they could also enrich our own lives – and that’s what she loved to do, enrich people’s lives in a meaningful way.

Old People

My sister had a powerful affinity for old people. All of our cousins, myself included, loved and respected our grandparents, but Reva was on a whole other level. She actually developed serious relationships with all of her grandparents. She would stay with them for days. When I first learned of this, I was a bit startled. How could she spend so much time with people who were sixty years older than her? I barely had what to say to my grandparents. She would also spend loads of time in my grandmother’s assisted living facility, hanging out with all the old folks, talking with them, questioning their lives, their decisions, their experiences. Was it weird that she did this? Yes. Did she care? No. “What the heck is she doing there?!” I would think. Now I understand it. She liked talking to people who have experienced the totality of life. She loved wisdom and knew exactly where to find it – the old people had it! Younger people were in the midst of their lives and didn’t have time to deal with Reva’s silly questions. Old people had nothing but time to give her all the knowledge they possessed and she soaked it up like a sponge. This was my sister.

She Went Deep, Fast

If you like small talk or shooting the breeze, you would not like talking to Reva. I don’t believe Reva even knew how to make small talk. If you tried to chat casually with her, she undoubtedly would change the topic to something heavier, something deeper….and she would not be subtle about it. She would simply wait until you finished speaking, say “uh hu” and then bring up a (sometimes completely unrelated) topic that was more meaningful – I loved that about her. I have sometimes been known to be a blunt person – she put me to shame. More so than any of the other themes that were brought up at the Shiva was this one. Anyone who knew her well, would relate an extremely similar variation of the one of the following: “we had the deepest conversations” or “she would always ask questions that made me really think.” Every time someone said this, my mother and I would look at each other and throw our hands up in the air as if to say “I can’t believe she had this amazing effect on so many people!” The way one of my cousins put it “she went deep, fast.” This was my sister.

Materialism

My sister just didn’t care about material things like the rest of us do. She would always try and talk to me about how much money it really took to live on – I mean to just “get by.” And she would always come up with this ridiculously low number. I thought she was crazy. “Who cares how much money you need to just get by?!” I would think to myself. “I need to do more than just get by!” But Reva had a very clear sense of the ultimate worthlessness of wealth. I do not share this clarity with her. But nonetheless, I will not forget those conversations. They left an imprint on my mind and gave me an attitude towards wealth to strive for. My Aunt said one day she walked into a thrift shop with Reva where all the clothes in the store were $1. Reva said “I could buy a whole wardrobe here for $30!” We were not poor growing up. She could have developed more expensive tastes. Where did she learn these wonderful truths from? Partly from her Rabbis, of course. But more so from her own internal insight and growth. Some type of freakish inner strength. This was my sister.

Party = Torah

My sister would not let a party go by without giving a D'var Torah (words of wisdom from the Torah) – this was often done unannounced. My mother recounts the story of my sister’s own wedding shower, where completely out of the blue, she gathered every one’s attention and delivered a beautiful D'var Torah! I’m sorry, I apologize, but who does that?! And this was not a one-time event. She did this at every single simcha (party) where she had even the slightest opportunity.  I do not believe she thought it was appropriate to celebrate or have a party for selfish reasons without recognizing the Creator. I didn’t realize this while she was delivering these Divrei Torah. At the time, I just thought “here she goes again,” almost embarrassed how she would just get up and start speaking. How immature I was. What I wouldn’t give to have her give a Dvar Torah at my next simcha. How I would love to smack the old me for not realizing what a Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of God's Name) she was doing. I was too scared to speak at parties, afraid I would say something stupid. “Does anyone want to say a few words?” Someone would ask. “Yes, I would like to” Reva would say. And she did. This was my sister.

Summation

For Reva it is the end.  For the rest of us it is the beginning. Dealing with life without her. It wasn’t her time, but….. Baruch Dayan Emes (blessed is the True Judge). I guess it was her time. How do I understand this?! I’m going to do exactly what my sister taught me to do….keep searching for an answer.

Over the past few months we started saying “I love you” to each other at the end of our phone calls. I thought to myself “is this something you say to your sister?” Why did I feel uncomfortable? What was holding me back? If only I figured it out before I lost her. Now, all I have is time to figure it out. There is no more fitting way to end this. Reva, I love you.