Nadir/Zenith

"Doubt thou the stars are fire..."

Today will be the funeral of the young man whose life was cut short outside of school. He was a passionate boy whose gift of good humor often times disarmed my authoritarian ways in class. He was ever-ready to flash that winsome smile, so present was his joy that I used to wonder if there really was so much to be happy about. For all of his faults, and there were a few, his core self radiated with a cosmic glee, as if God himself had given him the insight to see the magnificent joke encapsulated in life, and the boy's laughter was the hallelujah in appreciation.

"...doubt that the sun doth move..."

And now, as I put on the suit and somber face, readying myself for the service, I think about certain questions that everyone who has been in such a sudden situation inevitably ask themselves; the cascade of "what ifs" begins and I'm swirling around in my uncomprehending mind. Isn't it the case that we tend to internalize, reflect upon ourselves the tragedy that has occurred, so that we reaffirm ourselves? As if all events happen to me, and in my so-called voice-over scenes, I'm trying to figure out my motivation. Hell, even this entry is as written in Ecclesiastes, "There is nothing new under the sun."

"...Doubt truth to be a liar..."

When the young man started at our school at the beginning of the second semester, I had meetings with his parents about one curious fact: he does not like to look people in the eye. "Please don't make him look at you," the principal reiterated, "it makes him extremely uncomfortable." Expecting this, our first conversation shook me emotionally, as he held a steady gaze, while I shift my eyes constantly. It was as if I were trying to reduce the expectations for him to hold eye contact by giving him an out; "I'm not going to look at you, so we're on the same page, kid." It wasn't until a few days later that he called me on it. Before class, he and I got into a bit of a wordplay battle, trying to figure out combinations of rhymes and puns, a silly game that I often times play against myself in my head. As I called out the next rhyme, he looks at me, again steady gaze, and says, "are you nervous, Mr. Na?" The truth was, yes, I was. He put me at ease, and for the rest of the semester, we always held eye contact in any conversation, and my selfish pride thanked him for his trust.

"...But never doubt I love"

As he laid bleeding on the street, people came together to help him. A nurse, on her way to work, skidded to a stop a block down, and ran to his aid. A mother pulled up to me as I tried to help with traffic control, asking first if it were her son. When informed that it was not, she immediately burst into tears of relief, then, as if to correct herself, drying her tears, and rushing over to the boy's side, soothing him with the words of a mother. The boys prayed for him, the community prayed for him, especially after the parents asked for people to continuously pray, a Jewish tradition where 10 people are constantly in prayer, organized by 30 minute blocks. As a secular teacher, I could only listen to wails of Hebrew and hold my tears back.

Today, "with hearts filled with sorrow we are sorry to inform you of the levaya of our dear talmid Dov Mattisyahu Klugerman." Today, a family cries and sits in shiva for the passing of their beloved child. Today, we remember a boy taken too early from us, but within this tragedy, as in all sad stories, comes the silver lining. I thought about him in the wee hours of the morning, listening to the falling rain. He once spoke up in class that "when Mr. Na's in a good mood, you know its gonna be a great day." So, putting aside grief, I waited for ELV to wake up. I wrapped her in my arms, told her how much I loved her, and we smiled. For that and much more, thank you Dov.