A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! ‘a pour’d a flagon
of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was, sir,
Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester.
This? [Takes the skull]
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite
jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a
thousand times, and now how abhorr’d in my imagination it is!
My gorge rises at it.
Where do you find God?
In the grave.
One of the greatest joys of working with children is you never (yes, NEVER), know what they’re going to say. Early this week a 3rd grader shared with me that, “God created life by creating love.” Then, later that day, a 7th grader asked me if he could donate a portion of his bar mitzvah money to The Davis Academy as a way of “thanking the school for making him who he is.” And then, there’s the wonderfully macabre statement of the kindergartener shared above. When I say that there was a collective gasp from the 300+ adults that were present when this remarked was made, I mean it.
Imagine the scene, a visiting rabbi, Rick Jacobs, the new president of the URJ, no less, asked the question: “Where can I find God?” Responses, “In the sky”; “In your heart”; “Everywhere”; “In the sky”; and then, “In the grave.” Followed by collective gasp.
I couldn’t help but smile. Now I happen to know that this particular kindergartener has been curious about death lately. Thankfully he hasn’t suffered a recent personal loss or anything like that. Rather, he’s very curious about death and his parents have very open conversations on the topic. But I couldn’t help but smile because he’s absolutely right.
When Hamlet confronted the skull of his old comrade, Yorick, his imagination was “abhorr’d”. He can’t grasp that something so vital could cease to be. It’s an affront to his desire to dwell in a meaningful and compassionate universe.
When our kindergarten student thinks of death he, knowingly or not, is expressing his belief that death is a part of life. He’s expressing the belief that as God gives us life, so too God is present with us when the light of life is extinguished. He’s paraphrasing the traditional Jewish blessing, recited upon learning of someone’s death: Baruch Dayan Ha-emet, Blessed is the True Judge. He may even be making the point made by many an existentialist philosopher that the awareness of our mortality is the key fact that compels us to make the most of each day.
How blessed we are to have children to teach us life’s most profound lessons!