Her community, we are told, pauses in its travels to mourn. The rabbis understand this as observance of shiva—taking a week out of life’s flow to stop, gather, grieve, and remember. This pause is a powerful acknowledgement of the reality of death—a reality that will not be suspended, that cannot be put on hold or avoided. It must be acknowledged. In our day, many people shrink shiva to a day or two, or ignore it all together. Are our jobs—the ones we thrill to leave behind for the weekend, or to go on vacation—really so important that they cannot wait for the psyche to come to grips with its loss, sooth itself, and relax into the new reality?
In the verse immediately after Miriam’s death, the Torah reports that “there was no water for the congregation” (20:2). Connecting these two episodes, the rabbis report that “from here [we learn that] all forty years they had the well in Miriam’s merit” (Rashi, citing Ta’anit 9a). A spectacular well bubbled with water and life as they traveled, quenching the people’s thirst, due to Miriam’s virtue.
The life force is bountiful like a well—coursing,
bubbling, giving. It is constant, but
ever-changing. When someone dies, I
imagine, the Well of Life pauses just slightly in its flow, then resumes. When someone we love passes away, we are
asked to do the same.
Have you observed shiva?
What was that experience like?
What did it teach you?
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