The Soul

2021MEMOIRLifelinesJennifer Gardner TrulsonWHEN MY HUSBAND, Doug Gardner, died in theattacks on the World Trade Center on September11, I was a thirty-five year old mother oftwo small children, Michael and Julia. Doug’ssudden death terrified me; I lurched from overwhelminganxiety to despair, to helplessness.There were times I thought Iwould remain comatose forthe rest of my life. But mychildren needed a competent parent,not the terrified shell of a motherI was becoming. That drove me tofind ways to cope. To be honest,pursuing a relationship with Godwas not one of them.I didn’t want to blame Godfor Doug’s loss or rail against theuniverse, but I also wasn’t ready tolet Him off the hook entirely. I didn’thave the answers, and until I did, Idecided to do what most mothersdo when confronted with an unrulychild. I put God on a “time-out,”until we could both cool off.I have always been deeplyJewish, but not necessarily observant.I grew up in a closely knitJewish community in Massachusetts,where my grandfather helpedestablish the local JCC, and myfather was president of our synagogue.I went to Hebrew school,became a bat mitzvah and wasconfirmed. Once Doug and I weremarried and had a family, Judaismbecame increasingly essentialin our busy New York lives. Webecame involved with the JCC onthe Upper West Side and our kidswent to a synagogue nursery school,where Doug and I would alternateas “Shabbat parents” and attendChanukah and Purim parties. Wehosted Passover, always attendedHigh Holy Days services and hunga mezuzah on our door. Thoughwe weren’t going to keep a kosherhousehold or go to synagogue everyweek, we were committed to bringingJudaism into our home. It wasimportant to create ritual and traditionfor the kids and bring them upin the Jewish faith, to know theirhistory and their community, andto find their place in it.For me, if God isanywhere,He is in the healing.The Jewish tenets of tzedakahand tikkun olam strongly informthe way I try to live. I subscribe tothe idea that, if God gave us thisworld and declared it good, we areentrusted to take care of it and ofeach other. Though I didn’t alwaysadhere to the prescribed words wewere expected to say in synagoguewhen in prayer, what moved meabout the act of praying was welcomingthe moment of meditation,when one could stop, become quietand recognize that which connectsus to each other. For me, faith wasconnected to being a part of somethinglarger—whether it’s the community,the world or one’s perceptionof God’s love.After 9/11, I pushed Godaway and lost the ability to pray.What comfort was I going to getthere? Silence and introspectionwere my enemies; no good camefrom being alone with my thoughts.I must have gone to dozens of funerals,wakes, shivas and memorialservices in the weeks and monthsfollowing the attacks. The sheernumbers broke me and steppinginto a synagogue became an excru-ciating reminder of loss. Almostevery service, even today, feels like afuneral. What made matters worsewas that Doug was killed a week beforethe High Holy Days. It is whyI seethe every time someone says,“Everything happens for a reason.”What reason would God have torip Doug away from his children insuch a heinous manner? How couldmy ethical, philanthropic, deeplyloving husband not be inscribed inthe Book of Life? I forced myselfnot to ask the question, “Why him?”because I’d also have to ask, “Whynot him?” I had to believe Doug’sdeath wasn’t predestined. If Godexisted at all, I reasoned, He gave usfree will, and my husband was simplyin the deadly path of the terroristsexercising theirs. Accordingly,I turned away from religion andfocused on just making it throughan hour at a time.Being Jewish, however, isin the DNA. In times of crisis, weinexorably return to familiar aspectsof our upbringing, even if we thinkwe’re rejecting everything we oncebelieved. Ritual provides comfort.Since we held Doug’s memorialservice five days after the attacks,shiva occurred first. Friends andfamily gently commandeered ourapartment and sustained us for theinterminable days following theattacks. They pulled me out of thehouse for walks where I’d run intopeople on the sidewalk who’d stopto sympathize and remind me thatI was still part of the community. Imumbled the mourner’s Kaddishevery day like a mantra I didn’tunderstand, but felt compelled torecite. Jewish traditions governingdeath helped me cope even thoughI wasn’t consciously aware I wasadhering to them.Though I was still rejectingGod and vowing that I’d neveragain attend a synagogue service, Istill had to face the question of howI was going to raise my children.They were tiny then, but as theygrew older I knew I couldn’t imposemy issues with faith onto them.Again, that Jewish DNA kicked in.It was my responsibility as a Jewishparent that my kids attend Hebrewschool and explore their heritage.I found a way to embraceJudaism as an elegant construct toteach morality, ethics and the GoldenRule. I wanted to pass onto mykids what I’d always enjoyed aboutthe intellectual aspect of Judaism– that our religion encouraged questionsand debate. We are supposedto delve into text, abstract from itand grapple to find meaning. I feltthis was a safe way for me to impartJudaism to Michael and Julia.As Michael was preparingfor his bar mitzvah in 2009 (Juliabecomes a bat mitzvah at CentralSynagogue in December), heshowed me his Torah portion andthe prayers he’d have to recite. Ihelped him learn the words of thealiyot, and gradually the synapsesin my brain started to fire again.Memories of my own Hebrewschool days returned, and I foundthem surprisingly soothing. Theyhad occurred long before I knewDoug and the tragedy that followed.I was able to remember a relationshipwith Judaism that had nothingto do with 9/11. It was duringMichael’s bar mitzvah preparationsthat I started to find my way back.I didn’t just want to go through themotions; I wanted to be present andContinued on page 24Ilan Wolff, World Trade Towers, 1990