Viduy: What are the last words you want to say?

Viduy: What are the last words you want to say?
Yizkor – Yom Kippur
September 22nd, 2007
Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Sometimes when I visit in the hospital I realize that the end of a journey through life is near. The person before me, often whom I've known and with whom I have shared a simcha or a sorrow is unable to speak. Because we are taught that hearing is the last sense to close, I will say something to them. And then I will open my battered and bruised Rabbi's Manual and read three things. First I will recite Psalms, usually numbers 121, 6, 119, and 23. All these Psalms share common themes: our love of God; His love for us; the desire for nearness to God; the desire for healing; and, the belief that God cares about us, even in such desperate moments. I often will then recite the Mi Shebarach for healing. Even at such a moment, and I am not a fool, I have stood by bedsides all too often in my life, I will still pray for healing, still hope for a miracle. But not always. The Rabbis caution us about a tefillat shav, a worthless and thus dishonorable prayer. They teach us to realize and accept when the end is near or here. And then I don't recite the Mi Shebarach. But my heart aches to say it.

Then I recite Viduy. That is a word that perhaps rings familiar because we recite several different versions of it so often today. We stand both times while we recite Ashamnu and Al Chayt. Both of them are forms of Viduy which meansconfession. For the purpose of Yom Kippur, we desire God's forgiveness for our sins. The process to attain that is called teshuvah, repentance. It requires our acknowledgement that we have sinned, and, charatah, regret that we did so. We confess before God, beat our hearts in contrition, and pledge not to repeat our actions. We then have faith that God hears our words and knows the truth of our hearts and grants us atonement. That is for the living.

I.

For the dying, Viduy, has a slightly different purpose and meaning. In a different text, which I shall read in a moment, we confess our sins. Even using the traditional text, a person still asks for healing. They ask that their death be the ultimate act of atonement and be forgiven so that, especially in death, they can be close to God. That is the ultimate comforting thought. Then they recite their very last words of Sh'ma and profession of God as King. Tradition has composed a text for the dying to recite themselves. It is written in first person singular. It is the most personal conversation with God.

This is the text of Viduy.

My God and God of my fathers accept my prayer; do not ignore my supplication. Forgive me for all the sins which I have committed in my lifetime. I am abashed and ashamed of the wicked deeds and sins which I committed. Please accept my pain and suffering as atonement and forgive my wrongdoing, for against You alone have sinned.

May it be Your will, O Lord my God and God of my fathers, that I sin no more. With Your great mercy cleanse me of my sins, but not through suffering and disease. Send a perfect healing to me and to all who are stricken.

Unto You, O Lord my God and God of my fathers, I acknowledge that my life and recovery depend upon You. May it be Your will to heal me. Yet if You have decreed that I shall die of this affliction, may my death atone for all sins and transgressions which I have committed before You. Shelter me in the shadow of Your wings; grant me a share in the world to come.

Father of orphans and Guardian of widows, protect my beloved family, with whose soul my own soul is bound.

Into Your hand I commit my soul. You have redeemed me, O Lord God of truth.

Sh'ma Yisrael Adonay Eloyhaynu Adonay Echad.

Adonay Hu HaElohim. The Lord, He is God. Adonay Hu HaElohim. The Lord, He is God.

There are alternate versions of this text. Contemporary ones have changed gender and added a little poetry. The traditional text is still the basis of most versions of Viduy. There is an alternate version of the Viduy meant to be recited by someone else on behalf of the person, when they are no longer able to do so. That is the one I read. Into the text I insert the person's name and pray on their behalf that if healing is not possible, then God should forgive them for their sins and accept their death as the ultimate act of atonement. I recite the Sh'ma on their behalf, proclaiming that God is One.

This is a very poignant and powerful moment for me. I don't know what is happening on the other side. Does the person hear me praying for them? Does God hear me praying for them? Does the traditional model, that my praying for them really works in heaven? I take it on faith that it does. I have lost track of the number of Viduy's I have recited. I have earnestly prayed for the souls of so many people through the course of my Rabbinate, holding their hands and reciting Sh'ma.

II.

Today, the holiest of days, the ultimate day in the Jewish calendar, I ask you a very simple, personal and piercing question.
What is the last thing you would want to say before you die?
I have no idea if I will get a chance to decide this later, whenever late should be. My uncle, after whom our granddaughter Raya is named, had a heart attack and didn't have a protracted time frame to consider this question. This is totally speculative. But it does give us the opportunity to frame our thinking about what is most valuable to us, what are the "ultimates" in our lives, what do we not want to go unsaid, and whom do we not want to leave out.
I suppose that we could use our last words to argue with God. Perhaps we could tell him that we don't want to die yet. No matter how old we are, we are too young. We have too much we still want to do. But when we get through with that, what would you want your last words to be?

I'll share with you a few thoughts.

I want to tell my family that I love them. I know that that sounds trite, but they are the most important people to me. I want them to know how much they meant to me, how proud they made me, how much they filled up my life, how many tears of joy they gave me, have many good laughs they instigated, how much I depended upon them at different times.

I want to say to them, to God, or to anyone who will listen, that I had a good life. I 'was' glad that I chose to be a Rabbi, that I 'was' glad that I chased my dreams, that I had many great opportunities to serve them, Torah and God. I 'was' happy that my journey took me to different communities because each made me grow. I want to thank God that I had a good life and while not wanting to die, I would die contented.

I want to tell God that I am sorry for whatever I did wrong. I leave the list-keeping to Him. I am sorry for wrong words, too few words, and according to my father when he heard my sermons, too many words as well.

I want to say that I die with the faith with which I lived.
And then I want to say Viduy.
I really don't want to wait to the very last minute for I want to say these words myself. It's not that I want to get the last word in. I just want to get in my last words. I want my family to know what is in my heart. The last words my father said to me were: "Soon you'll be Pop." All that my father wanted to say to me, all the subjects, were contained in those few words. I carry them daily and eternally in my heart.
            Will my words be carried by my family?
            Will yours?
            What will you say?

III.

In June, 2003, along with several other members of our synagogue, I attended the first North American Chevra Kadisha Conference. It was that event which spurred on our efforts to reconstitute the Chevra which prepares the dead and to elevate our procedures. Among the workshops was one about Viduy. In the materials there was a text written by Alison Jordan, RN, MFT. I share with you her Vidui.

 

Vidui

I know that each of has a time to die.
I myself have known times of joy and times of sorrow.
I have lived through days of ease and days of distress.

Sometimes I see clearly: I am grateful for my life and length of days.
Sometimes I see dimly, through clouds; my eyes fill with tears.
Sometimes I see peace.

I am thankful for times I lived well, for times I acted with care and intention;
Times I touched others with goodness and brought a spark of light to the world.
I am grateful for infinite opportunities given in a lifetime,
And for the help and kindness which has always accompanied me.

I regret times I did not choose well; times I was too hurt or frightened
To see my way, too confused and angry to follow my best intentions.
My heart aches for words I could not say and for those better left unspoken,
For steps I could not take and actions I might rather not have taken.

I know I have caused pain, both intentionally and unintentionally.
I did not always choose to diminish suffering when I might have tried.
For my mistakes and shortcomings I ask forgiveness and reconciliation.

May I find strength and compassion to forgive myself,
Lovingkindness to forgive those who have caused me pain.
May I die with clear sight and an open heart.

My God, in Your endless compassion please sustain my loved ones;
Bring comfort to them and renew their spirits in the fullness of Your love.
Gather me to my people and guide me gently into the shelter of Your presence.

Sh'ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad.

@Alison Jordan, RN, MFT
Iyar, 5764, publication pending

I don't know how old Alison is. It is a beautiful piece, regardless.
Maybe she wrote contemplating using it shortly, or maybe it was writing in contemplation of the future, much like this sermon. I hope that her piece inspires you this day to think of life, its joys, its blessings, and tell someone, anyone, before it's too late, what they have meant to you, what life means to you. Tell yourself. Tell others. And at least at the end, tell God.

IV.

I close these Yizkor thoughts by citing a prayer written by a man who was a professor at the Jewish Theological Seminary. It is found in the supplementary readings in our Shabbat and Festival Siddur Sim Shalom. It is simply entitled:

This is my Prayer

This is my prayer to You, my God:
Let not my spirit wither and shrivel
In its thirst for You
And lose the dew
With which You sprinkled it
When I was young.

May my heart be open
To every broken soul,
To orphaned life,
To every stumbler
Wandering unknown
And groping in the shadows.

Bless my eyes, purify me to see
Man's beauty rise in the world,
And the glory of my people in its redeemed land
Spreading its fragrance over all the earth.

Deepen and broaden my senses
To absorb a fresh
Green, flowering world,
To take from it the secret
Of blossoming in silence.

Grant strength to yield fine fruits,
Quintessence of my life,
Steeped in my very being,
Without expectation of reward.

And when my time comes –
Let me slip into the night
Demanding nothing, God, of man,
Or of You.

May we think about our words, and what we want to share in precious moments.
For now, let us say the words of Yizkor.