As grandparents mourn the fall of a beloved grandchild in battle, this war has accented an all-too-common issue: There is no specific role or status that defines them.
Neither the Halacha nor common practice provides guidance on how to act or relate to their grief. For instance, do they join those sitting shiva or accept condolence calls by friends and contacts?
There are no outward signs of mourning for grandparents to adopt, such as the terrible tear in one’s shirt at the burial, the unshaven beards, the sitting on low chairs, and the prohibition against doing any work – whether it’s housework, like cooking meals, or engaging in any sort of employment. Others will do those things for the traditional mourners throughout the week. But for the mourning grandparents, there are no rituals that display their grief.
Prof. Yitzhak Brick, chairman of the Israel Gerontological Society, explains why in previous generations this was not such a common phenomenon, at least during wartime. The average life span did not usually include grandparents with adult offspring who could fight. He admitted that within the first six weeks of Operation Swords of Iron, he had already visited five close friends or colleagues who were mourning a fallen grandchild.
“Just as the Defense Ministry only discovered the need to provide support and assistance to the siblings of fallen soldiers about 20 years ago, maybe they’ll also start supplying psychological support for grandma and grandpa in a decade or two,” said a recent visitor.
Of course, each case is different and the reactions, as well as how to act, will vary by personality and timing.
In some instances, grandchildren will have had a closer relationship with their grandparents than with their own parents. Other grandparents may be satisfied with sending a birthday greeting or showing some interest in a grandchild’s school activities. Some new retirees may be busy with recreational or volunteer activities; other seniors may be bed-ridden or immersed in health issues of their own, with little strength to deal with just one more problem.
Some have endured many losses in their lifetime, and the death of a soldier-grandchild is especially hard to bear – not only because a grandchild died so early in life but also because their grief is compounded by all those who have died previously.
From the minute the Israel-Hamas war broke out and family members were drafted, the stress has prevented some grandparents from sleeping. Other symptoms of anxiety caused by the war have been reported among the elderly.
But all feel the emotional price, the terrible loss, the unfulfilled dreams, and the pain and agony that their beloved fallen grandchild may have endured. These feelings are compounded by the inconsolable anguish of the parents (their son or daughter) and the soldier’s siblings (their suffering grandchildren). Every parent, whether 30 years old or 80, wants to protect their children from distress, and it’s especially painful to see their offspring’s heartbreak.
Losing a grandchild in the war on Hamas in Gaza
ON THE eve of Hanukkah this year, my talented and beloved grandson, Eyal Meir Berkowitz, 28, was killed in Gaza, along with his close friend Gal Meir Eizenkot, the son of former IDF chief of staff Gadi Eisenkot. Eyal was eulogized by many in glowing terms, and hardly anyone – in the family or the army – knew all of his accomplishments and interests.
Eyal was a first-year medical student and gifted artist. He read voraciously, yet was noted for being so modest and unassuming that few knew how well-rounded he was in so many fields.
He was married to Michal Broyer, a nurse at the Hadassah-University Medical Center, for only a year and four days before he fell in battle. They met through a volunteering activity, working with young adults with cognitive disabilities, on alternative Sabbaths.
He had a wicked sense of humor, supreme intellect, was creative, kind, and patient – an adam mushlam (a perfect person). When he was appointed leader of his unit, he confided in his father that he didn’t feel comfortable commanding his friends, but if he had to be assertive he was able to do so and fulfilled that position as well, fully and with tact.
Now that I must deal with this subject personally, I find much empathy among other mourners, professional people in the field of gerontology, neighbors, and friends – and most of all, fellow grieving grandparents.
We gain comfort from relating to each other the qualities of our lost ones – the wonderful doctor he would have made, the stories and heroism that are being related about him, and the details of his demise.
The outpouring of empathy and support from everyone is overwhelming. Everyone feels a need to express that “we’re all in this together.” Indeed, one of the ways people can express the need to do something for the war effort is by comforting those sitting shiva. “We want to feel like partners and maybe take away a few degrees of your sorrow,” one sympathetic visitor said.
And here is another dilemma that I’ve shared with my fellow grandparents who are in the same situation. We are not covered by the laws of mourning. We are not really sitting shiva, we do not recite Kaddish.
“Yes,” answered a newly grieving grandmother, “we’re a kind of standing shiva.”
What do you make of that?