1,000 Mitzvahs

Prior to my father's death, he and I had discussed the idea of the mitzvah of tzedakah, or donating money in his memory to a charity. We'd played it out rather thoroughly, him suggesting that friends and family not send flowers but rather make donations to "venues that aid people to be the best they can be and help them grow." I'd suggested an organization I knew of, and he told me about ones he'd had in mind. In his obituary, my family requested that friends donate to these charities.

Perhaps the seeds of that conversation sparked the simple thought that awoke me in the middle of the night about a month after my father's death. As I contemplated how meaningful it was that people had donated in the name of my father, in essence allowing his generous spirit to live on, I was inspired to begin a mitzvah project of my own to honor my father's memory. The idea was to perform 1,000 mitzvahs. Mitzvahs are statements and principles of Jewish law and ethics contained in the Torah, or Five Books of Moses. The word mitzvah is translated as commandments. There are 613 mitzvahs. Judaism teaches that Jews are commanded to observe these mitzvahs. There are two types: Positive commandments are commandments to do something, such as, "honor your mother and father"; and negative commandments are commandments not to do something, such as, "thou shalt not murder."

According to Chassidic teachings, the word mitzvah is derived from the Hebrew root tzavta, meaning "attachment." When we act on a mitzvah, we are creating a bond or a further attachment in our relationship with God. Another rabbi I know teaches his bar and bat mitzvah students that these commandments are "spiritual opportunities" for connection. We create or tap into a connection with God, each other, ourselves, and our history when we engage in a mitzvah.

Many of the 613 mitzvahs can't be observed today for a variety of reasons. Some relate only to the ancient holy Temple in Israel, and they include sacrifices and service. Since the Temple doesn't exist anymore, they can't be observed. Others relate to civil procedures in Israel, and because Israel is a democracy today and is no longer governed directly by religious laws, they are also no longer valid.

An important mitzvah category is doing acts of loving kindness, also called gemilut chasadim. The Talmud, a central Jewish text, says that gemilut chasadim is greater than tzedakah (charity), because unlike tzedakah, gemilut chasadim can be done for both the rich and poor, both the living and the dead, and can be done with our actions or with money. "The world is built with kindness" (Psalm 89:3).

People in recent times have begun to use the word mitzvah interchangeably with doing an act of kindness because so many of the mitzvahs call upon our deep capacity for true kindness in the world. For my project and this book, that is the way I chose to interpret it, as well.

My intention from the beginning was to use this concept of doing good deeds as a way to honor my father's memory. It felt like a proactive way to work through the pain and loss that I felt in my father's absence. I figured the project would allow me to help others in small ways and create good feelings to compensate for the pangs of grief and sadness.

The next morning, I shared my idea with my husband, a software engineer, who suggested we create a blog to track my mitzvah project. On January 17, 2007, I posted my first blog entry to www.1000mitzvahs.org. I made a conscious decision to use the more Americanized word mitzvah, rather than the grammatically correct Hebrew plural mitzvot. Although this project is firmly rooted in my religious beliefs, it soon became apparent that it could and would be equally relevant and inspiring to all people. Throughout the project and book, I have continued to use the Americanized word mitzvahs, which I originally chose for my blog name.

The night after creating my blog and writing my first entry, I emailed several close friends to tell them about my project. I was nervous about what they would think. I wasn't accustomed to sharing the details of my personal endeavors online. I worried that someone would call me a braggart. I almost didn't send that email because of fear. The next month, I stood up at my networking group when we introduced ourselves and announced that I was taking a spiritual sabbatical from my business as a direct sales consultant and would be starting a new project: to complete and blog about 1,000 mitzvahs I would be performing in memory of my father. The immediate feedback was encouraging. People applauded my efforts and I began to relax into the new adventure I was on.

Prior to starting my blog, I never considered myself a writer. I had kept journals before but never anything that would be read and shared with others. About a month into the project, I received an email from a gentleman in Israel. His one simple comment made a light bulb go off in my head. I recognized that strangers could find my blog and were starting to follow what I was writing. That realization clarified for me that I was not the only one being inspired by this project. I was part of a greater world where one's actions affect others. In fact, each of us is part of this world where our actions of loving kindness effect others. As the months went by, I befriended men and women across the country who found my project and wrote to me. This recognition helped me gain confidence and belief that this project was something that transcended myself, my family, and my religion, and was something I must continue to share and explore further.

I began to think of the journey of loss and grief as a trip across a raging river. When you begin the journey of processing grief, you suddenly realize there is no getting around it. It has to be embraced, digested and pondered, and ultimately passed through. When I began trying to cross the river of grief, I felt as if the cold water of the river was rushing over me. I felt alive and aware but also exposed, raw, and numb. Others reached out to me to extend a hand and help me cross the river. I heard stories of others and their own losses. It was comforting when I wondered how long I would feel this way and if I would ever feel "back to normal." While crossing the river, I met others who were crossing their own river of grief. We shared an experience of loss, but each one of us was ultimately on our own to cross that river. I embraced as many hands as I could and took that support while I was in the water. There were moments of normalcy, when I stopped on a rock protruding out of the water, and other times when I slipped back into the cold wetness. Slowly, I made progress crossing the river. Eventually, I offered my hand to someone who was still in the river and encouraged them to keep crossing. There were always people on both sides of the river, everyone helping each other get across.

At some point I reached the other side of the river. I don't remember exactly when it was, but I felt that my feet were fully grounded again on the land and I was no longer actually struggling in the water. Everyone experiences grief in their own way. While I thought at the time that I would always know what to do to help another in their time of grief, the truth is that you really only know about your own experience with grief, and your experience will be uniquely yours. Everyone will take the journey through grief at their own pace and with their own ups and downs. No matter what it looks like, grief can also teach us something about ourselves and our resilience.

After the loss of my dad, it became apparent to me how hard it is to know what action to take to help another person who is going through the grieving process. Each life and death is unique, and not everyone wants the same thing after a death. I have had acquaintances who have lost husbands, brothers, mothers, and fathers, and it is not always clear what to do. Sometimes, religion dictates. If they observe traditional Jewish rituals, perhaps it is easier for me to know what to do, but if they aren't there may not be the same clarity of actions. At the very least, send a sympathy card. Making a meal can also be beneficial. Help organize friends and family to cook for a friend in need.

Whatever you choose to do, acknowledge that someone has had a loss and reach out to your friend or acquaintance even if you aren't sure what to say or do. No one really is.

I completed the mitzvah project in May 2009, nearly two and a half years after I began. On a friend's suggestion, I organized a final 1,000th mitzvah celebration at a food bank and asked others to help me collect one thousand bags of food. A local columnist wrote an article about me and my project that ran in the Sunday edition of the Oregonian. It was a wonderful celebration that brought in more than two thousand pounds of food for the food bank.

During my two and a half years of performing mitzvahs, I discovered that, aside from the moral virtue of doing kind acts, being kind is good for your health and happiness. The giver of kindness receives as much benefit or more than the recipient. I learned firsthand that it truly is better to give than to receive. From the beginning, most of my mitzvahs were simple and duplicable. I didn't set out to save the world. I don't even profess that any of my 1,000 small actions stand out as particularly important or life-changing. But I will assert that each of them made a small impact, and that cumulatively they have changed my life. As a busy wife and mother of two, I found ways to juggle my responsibilities to my family and perform these simple mitzvahs. I also learned that many mitzvahs don't take much time or money.

My hope is that others will copy my idea. Ideas are meant to be shared, and it would give me no greater pleasure than to know that someone else has benefited from my story. This mitzvah project taught me the key to living well: Be in service and give of yourself. I believe that there is no better way to learn, grow, and perhaps to move through a dark time of loss, than to give of yourself with time and effort, and sometimes money. I also hope that classes, groups, and organizations might consider using my ideas or share them with their members. A project like this can certainly benefit the collective, too.

When this idea was nothing more than a what-if, just six weeks after my father died, I had no idea the immense benefits and life-changing experiences that would come about as a result of it. It has, indeed, changed the course of my life, and for that and all the other incredible lessons I have learned along the way, I am especially grateful.