For the last year, I have thought about whether or not I wanted to write this letter. Last summer we celebrated a beautiful membership BBQ. For our family, that BBQ was very bittersweet. That day would have been just after Rebecca finished her first trimester. We would have shared with all of you the news of our second pregnancy and hopefully expected our second child this past February. Yet, a few weeks before that BBQ, our plans changed, we had a miscarriage. Honestly, when Rebecca said we needed to go to the doctor, I was in denial. Even after the doctor said that there was no heartbeat and either we were off in our calculations, or this pregnancy was unlikely to go to term, I still hoped that we just counted wrong. Yet that night, when she was in so much pain that we visited the ER of St. Luke’s Hospital, I could no longer deny reality. Our hope for that pregnancy to lead to a second child was over.
The next months were filled with repeated cycles of hope, disappointment and mourning. Even as I write this, I still have no happy announcement. Yet, we are hopeful. After realizing that we have been hoping for another child this long and not yet been blessed, we made the decision to go through a complete fertility checkup. Amidst a slew of invasive tests, (much more invasive for my wife than for me), we now have more hope. We are DOING something.
I share this, even as we have not been silent about our challenges, but because in order for me to serve this congregation, I have to be authentically me. I cannot be a good rabbi, unless I am a good Jew, a good man, a good Philip. Each day I strive to serve the Holy One, to serve Gd, to teach Torah, and to work with Israel. Each day, I bless Gd, even on days when I am angry or frustrated. I also share this because of the conversations it sparks. Mentioning the miscarriage at a service last year, a half dozen people immediately mentioned their personal or familial experiences. Speaking of a procedure my wife endured after Shavuot, others shared their journeys of infertility, some mentioning the challenges of our holy matriarchs--of Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel. Knowing that we are not alone, that we stand with a community, who know where we have been and know that hope is possible, is incredibly powerful. For that, I thank you.
I regularly argue that Judaism does mourning better than any other faith tradition (or lack there of). Through the routines of shiva, shloshim, yahrzeit, we use the support of our community and our rituals to find a sense of wholeness, even among the brokenhearted. As I have written previously, some of our greatest rabbis have recognized that there is nothing so whole as a broken heart, that through loss and pain, we can find reserves of strength AND empathy.
While these rituals do not exist traditionally for miscarriage, I have found solace online (in Jewish blogs and articles on the subject), in my rabbi’s manual, in prayer and writing, in therapy, in the words of all of you, and in conversations with Rebecca. At the end of this month, I will perform the wedding of a close friend, participating in that life cycle event reminds me of the joy of what I do!
