B’shem Omro: Bridging Worlds Through Memory (Yom Kippur Yizkor 5786)

B’shem Omro: Bridging Worlds Through Memory
Rabbinic Intern Brooklyn Michalowicz, Yom Kippur Yizkor 5786

This year, as I prepared for the Yizkor service, I spent time reflecting  on stories of my loved ones who have died — memories that are tucked away in the corners of my mind waiting to be revisited.

As I thought of my aunt, my grandparents, and dear friends whom I’ve lost, I started to wonder what memories stood out for other people about the lives of those they’ve lost. In my search, I found something wonderful online: a Reddit forum from three years ago, titled Tell us a story of your loved one.

Story after story moved me to tears. One person wrote: When my wife was seven, her uncle took her to the dog pound to show her where the strays go after they get caught…she was so distraught when she found out they put them to sleep if no one claimed them…that when the guy in charge was distracted, she unlocked all the cages and let the dogs loose… When I hear the song “Who Let the Dogs Out”…it was my wife, she let the dogs out…

Another wrote:

After my dad passed away last April (he was only 45…) My mom told me that when we were little, whenever we would play outside in the summer, Dad would take his shirt off and hold his arms out to the side and he’d tell mom, “Hopefully, the mosquitoes will bite me instead of them.” And my dad always hung out outside with his shirt off during the summer. He was so selfless.

And some shared more difficult memories:

One wrote: My parents had a difficult relationship… My dad was forced to divorce my mom, even though it broke his heart. After, he tried hard not to drink. He went from pints of vodka to beer, but turned to amphetamines to cope. The night he died, I could sense it. I fell to my knees and cried. We had a spiritual connection. He had tried so hard.

One comment summed up my experience of encountering these shared memories: Reading this thread is warming my cold, exhausted heart…it’s therapeutic to share stories about those we mourn.

What struck me about this online forum was not only the stories themselves, but the tenderness of strangers sharing them, creating a space where memories build bridges.

As mourners, we might not want to hear well-meaning platitudes: “I’m so sorry for your loss,” or, “I couldn’t even imagine.” But there can be some comfort in answering questions about our loved ones: “What’s your favorite memory of them?” or “What’s something they taught you?”

There is an ancient Jewish tradition that teaches us how to share wisdom of those who came before us. It’s called: b’shem omro, literally, in the name of the one who said it.

In the Talmud in tractate Yevamot, the rabbis are concerned with how we learn from our dead.

Rabbi Yehudah ben Yechezkel, a prominent 3rd-century rabbi, recalls a question from his late teacher, Rav: “What is the meaning of the verse from Psalms:
אָג֣וּרָה בְ֭אׇהׇלְךָ עוֹלָמִ֑ים
‘I will dwell in Your tent, God, in worlds?’"

The difficulty, Rav teaches, lies in the word “worlds.” He asks, with a hint of sarcasm, “Is it possible for a person to live in two worlds simultaneously?”

In response, Rav invokes a prayer of King David:

“Master of the Universe, let it be Your will that when I am gone and have passed on to another world, others will speak matters of Torah in my name in this world.”

Essentially, teaching b’shem omro bridges the world of the living with the world of the dead.

Expanding on this idea, another rabbi, Yohanan bar Nafcha, takes solace in a lesson from his teacher Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who offers a comforting image: “When the words of a teacher are shared in their name, it is as if their lips, even from the grave, mouth the words and speak again.”

When we share the teachings of our mentors, when we share the stories of those we loved and lost, it is as if they are still here.

Time after time, I am touched by how the rabbis invoke the wisdom of their teachers and of rabbis who lived generations before.

By speaking b’shem omro, in the name of the one who said it, the rabbis offer us a way to engage with the dead across time and worlds.

The Talmud, like an early Reddit forum, allowed them to revisit their mentors’ lessons, stories, and interpretations across generations.

In the same way that we continue to learn from our early sages by name, sharing the wisdom of those who came before us b’shem omro, keeps them alive in the world today.

Today, as we say Yizkor, let us revisit our memories of those who have died, tucked away in our minds and, when we feel safe to do so, share that wisdom in our world.

And when others approach us in their grief, let us be brave enough to ask for their stories, to listen with care, and to join the sacred conversation that bridges worlds.

Rabbi Hannah Ellenson, who lost her father, the late Rabbi David Ellenson, z’l, offers an interpretive translation of our prayer for the dead.

We pray,
Baruch atah Adonai,
eloheinu melech ha’olam,
mechayei mahameitim.

Blessed are you,
Adonai our God,
Sovereign of All,
who makes even those who have died, live.