My favorite article of all time was written by the late Jonathan Tjarks of The Ringer, six months before he died. Tjarks had an aggressive cancer he knew he would not survive. He wrote about the emotions of being diagnosed – how he maintained his faith in G-d despite knowing the odds, how he coped with long doctor visits, and what his hopes were for his young son, Jackson, who was only two at the time.
Tjarks concluded that he would come to his friends in the next world and ask them a simple question: Does my son know you?
“I don’t want Jackson to have the same childhood that I did. I want him to wonder why his dad’s friends always come over and shoot hoops with him. Why they always invite him to their houses. Why are there so many of them at his games. I hope that he gets sick of them.”
This was a profound read for me at the time, but it became even more meaningful after my own experience with grief. In February 2023, my sister, Adira Rose Koffsky, died in a car accident while studying in Israel at the age of 18.
As I reflect on what has meant the most to me from the friends and family who have supported us over the past three years, it is not what someone said. It is not a profound, physical gift that was given. It is the time I have been able to spend with those I love – the availability of the people who are still here. The simple invite to a Shabbos meal, or the routine hangouts at my house that they are always up for.
I recently listened to Meredith Gaudreau on Kylie Kelce’s (wife of Jason Kelce, who is the brother of Travis Kelce, who is marrying Taylor Swift) podcast Not Gonna Lie. Meredith’s husband, Johnny Gaudreau, and her brother-in-law, Matthew, were struck by a drunk driver while cycling the day before their sister’s wedding in August 2024.
Last month, when Team USA hockey won gold in Milan, the players kept Johnny’s jersey in their locker room and unfurled it on the ice when they won. They also made sure to bring Meredith’s two oldest children, Noa and Johnny Jr., onto the ice for the team photo. Meredith said on the podcast how touched she was: “They didn’t need to do that.”
I was deeply moved by this – not just because of patriotism, but because it was a powerful example of a kind of sensitivity to grief that we don’t often see. Team USA was still thinking of their fallen teammate two years later. In the moment of their greatest triumph, they made space for Meredith and her family to have something to hold onto.
I later saw a photo on social media of Brady Tkachuk sitting on the floor playing with little Noa and her toy kitchenette. What Jonathan Tjarks hoped for his son has, in many ways, come true for Meredith’s children – Noa, Johnny, and Carter. Their father’s friends and teammates have shown up. Their children know them.
The hardest thing for people to understand about grief is that it does not end. Other challenges in life can pass through us with resilience, but nothing can replace those we love and can no longer see. The pain remains; we simply get better at carrying the broken pieces of ourselves.
As we gather this Passover, let us think about those around us who could use extra support. We begin Maggid not with the Four Questions or the Four Sons, nor with the story of the Yam Suf, but with Ha Lachma Anya:
“Let all who are hungry come and eat; let all who are in need come and join us for the Pesach.”
In this season of renewal, let us remember those who need more people at their table – because the ones they most want there can no longer attend.