My friend Miriam

All parents make choices when they send their children to school. My parents chose to send us to an Orthodox day school that was a bit of a distance from our home. Our father was a Conservative Rabbi. They chose the school because they felt that there, we would get the best, the highest quality Jewish education in Boston. They weren't wrong about the Jewish education, but the experience a child has in school isn't just the book learning but is also about the complex social dynamics that take place in a classroom and in the schoolyard.

Most of the kids who went to our school lived in a couple of neighborhoods. I didn't realize until I was an adult how much of my classmates' lives were also made up of the social life that takes place when you go to synagogue together, and hang out with one another on long Shabbat afternoons, or eat meals together.

We lived far away. Our religious perspective was just different enough. I went through school feeling always not quite in balance as if any wrong move or wrong word meant that kids would make fun of me or shun me. Friendships for me were fragile, unstable, conditional, and certainly not something I could depend on.

I had a couple of friends with whom I felt safe. One of them was Miriam. Miriam's mother and mine knew one another since their adolescence. They were fond of one another as teens or college students ( Miriam and I had never quite figured out where our mothers had first met).  Our mothers had a fond reconnection when they both moved to Boston.

I met Miriam on the first day of first grade. We liked one another and often played together during recess or chose to sit next to each other at lunch. Back in the days when it was acceptable to not invite all the kids in your class or all the girls in your class to your birthday party Miriam invited me to her birthday parties. She even continued to invite me after I had been moved to a different grade.

During high school, Miriam moved to New York. I heard the news about her. She made aliya, and she went to law school in Israel. She was working at the Israel Women's Network protecting the rights of women. 

Miriam and I reconnected on Facebook.  There are people from my Orthodox day school who have asked to be my friend and I need to take a beat when I need to decide if seeing that person's name on my Facebook feed will just make me feel too anxious, or just bring up too many painful memories. I loved reconnecting with Miriam. I loved seeing how my lively-brained friend from childhood had become a lively-minded adult who amazingly seemed to be connected with nearly every person I knew in my adult life.

 There are times when we text when conversations are honest and intimate and open.  There are texts that feel as close as a telephone conversation in the dark with a dear friend. Miriam and I had many texted conversations about complicated uncomfortable situations we both lived through in elementary school. We spoke about our experiences with damaged kids and damaged adults who were part of our school universe. Miriam confirmed that my difficult experiences in my school were real and not imagined or exaggerated (such a true gift to get from my friend).

We spoke about our mothers, their relationship with one another, and our own journies caring for our mothers through their declines into death.

Miriam's mother came from a long line of outstanding Hungarian balabustas. She came from people who knew how to roll a strudel and make jam from scratch. Miriam's mother wrote a cookbook ( of course I own a copy)

Over the past many years, Miriam and I have cooked together virtually for the holidays and for Shabbat. We have asked one another for suggestions when we were stuck. We hadn't been in the same room together for decades but were once again, friends.  

 Miriam was a feminist to her core. She also knew the power of excellent lipstick, a great pair of shoes, and designer clothing purchased at a very deep discount. Miriam was a feminist who could set a beautiful table and cook. Miriam made sure to wear lipstick on her mother's yahrzeit.

I realize that I have been avoiding writing the next part of this post because it is so awful.

 A few weeks ago Miriam suffered terrible burns from a horrific cooking accident. She was rushed to the hospital and underwent five surgeries along with all of the awful treatments that go along with treating severe burns.  Throughout her time in the hospital, Miriam wrote posts that were wry, honest and often very funny.

Miriam was set to go home from the hospital on Erev Pesach. Her husband posted a beautiful photo of  Miriam, bandaged, exhausted but radiant. Many friends posted messages of congratulations and good wishes. 

Miriam's heart gave out as soon as she arrived home. 

After Yom Tov ended my sister read me the awful news.

I can't get my brain around this death. 

I think about Miriam's sister Faye, Miriam's husband Yehudah, and their daughter Ronee. Their grief is beyond the scope of human language.

I wish there were a lovely comforting way to end this post. I really don't think there is one. It feels somehow too soon to say יהי זכרה ברוך, may her memory be a blessing. Of course, my beloved friend's memory will someday be a blessing. Perhaps now is the time to just sit on the floor and wail for a long time.