The Jewish New Year and a Haitian Funeral

It is Saturday and the Seattle group returned home this morning. Things were initially quiet, until this evening when a young man was robbed of his motorcycle at “machete-point.” The ensuing disagreement led to quite a few interesting wounds, which were treated by our team in the OR. It is now a little after midnight and I have some time to reflect on the last few days.

Thursday and Friday were Rosh Hashanah, and for a variety of reasons, I am here, as I was on last Pesach. There is one other Jewish volunteer, a woman who came down with the church group from Seattle, but was raised in an Orthodox home, and still tries to be somewhat observant. At our evening meeting, we were asked by the group to share the meaning of the High Holidays and some of the traditions. Several others knew of the apples and honey, but wanted to know of the symbolic writing in the Book of Life. We reflected on the chance to look back on our past year, then forward to the future. The image of God as a stern judge was contrasted with that of a loving and supportive energy giving each of us a chance to reach our full potential. I’ve previously shared with you my own struggles with religion as an entity that tries to control behaviors with both the threat of punishment and the hope of eternal life, after you have died. Although I’ve always felt Catholicism had similar dogma (and the ability to, like Jews, play significantly on guilt), I also have grown to respect the support and striving for personal growth by doing for others. As I gain more perspective in my own life, I appreciate the sense of community as Jews accept responsibility both individually and as a community. “Avenu Malkanu, we have sinned before you…” Some have suggested that instead of striking your heart during the recitation of wrongdoing during “Al Chait,” you are messaging its brokenness and sensing your spirit. For each of us, spirituality comes in different degrees, and different forms – but is the connection to an energy that sustains us.


As I was walking back from the operating room on Friday afternoon, it was 95 with bright sunlight. I noticed several hundred Haitians, dressed in their finest clothes, the men in dark suits with starched white shirts, and the women in beautiful dresses that I last remember on Palm Sunday. Outside the compound was a tall man with a trumpet in a white uniform. There is another, smaller church across from the CRUDEM compound, and people were filling the building and spilling out into the courtyard. I learned that one of the village elders had died and the funeral was beginning. I remained across the street, but could hear gospel style singing, and prayers. The casket was placed into a station wagon and the full band assembled ahead. The drums and brass began a dirge and the procession rolled onto the street. The mourners followed the casket, but I didn’t see a lot of tears – just a community, walking slowly together, accompanying a departed soul to the beginning of the journey. I went back into the compound, but could still here the band. Then a pause, and a familiar tune – Simon and Garfunkle”s “El Condor Pasa.”

I'd rather be a hammer than a nail.
Yes I would.
If I only could,
I surely would.
I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet,
Yes I would.
If I only could,
I surely would.

Away, I'd rather sail away
Like a swan that's here and gone
A man gets tied up to the ground
He gives the world
Its saddest sound,
Its saddest sound.

Multiple traditions, diffuse beliefs, but at the core a continuous cycle, with moments of self reflection, a commitment to action, and many chances for new beginnings.