Mrs. Sadie Friedberg (name changed) had passed away at 92. The funeral was scheduled for Sunday at 10 a.m. I was worried there wouldn’t even be a minyan attending. Such is the reality of the American rabbinate.

She had only one child, her son Norman, a psychologist who lived in Utah. Last time I saw Norman, in 2012, he told me he was “ethnically Jewish, culturally American, and spiritually a follower of Buddhism.” He had married twice, but out of concern for the world’s overpopulation, had never had a child.

When I called Norman to inform him of his mother’s petirah he said he preferred her remains be given an “ecological burial,” which eventually transforms the body into a fine powder. It’s similar to cremation, but Norman claimed it’s better for the environment.

After I explained to him that his mother deserved a Jewish burial, he acceded to my request with one caveat: Since he couldn’t approve of the environmentally unfriendly “disposal” of his mother’s remains, he wouldn’t contribute financially to her funeral, nor would he attend the service.

This left me with the unenviable task of raising funds for a proper Jewish burial.

I quietly mentioned to a few people that money was needed, and I was pleasantly surprised when a Mrs. Bernstein (name changed) contacted me via e-mail and gladly offered to pay for the entire funeral.

Sadie Friedberg had been living at an assisted-living facility for 20 years, and few people recalled the feisty woman. I was curious, therefore, as to why this Mrs. Bernstein would volunteer for this mitzvah, so I called her directly.

“Did you know Sadie?” I asked.

“No, I never even met her.”

“Why then would you come forward to do this mitzvah?”

She hesitated. Then she told me, “My parents bought Sadie’s home in 1995. I was ten years old. I recall when my parents came home from the closing how aggrieved they felt. They told me that Sadie was crying as although she knew she had no choice but to sell, nevertheless, she was pained that the home she’d built with her beloved husband would no longer be hers.

“They told me how as opposed to feeling the happiness of purchasing a new home, they felt as if they were evicting an elderly woman from her home. Then came moving day, my parents were still stinging from the closing and were moving in with feelings of blame and culpability. Instead of being a day of joy and new beginnings, it was a day filled with bittersweet, guilt-laden emotions.

“But as we all entered the kitchen we noticed a beautiful vase filled with 12 beautiful long-stemmed roses.”

Next to the vase was a small handwritten note:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein and Shira,

May you all be blessed with happiness and true joy in this home.

I feel comforted in knowing that my home will now be the home of such wonderful and fine people.

All the best,

Sadie Friedberg

“Rabbi, you cannot imagine the feelings of relief and happiness those flowers and that note brought to our family. Our day was transformed from sadness to joy and from guilt to elation.

I never forgot that small yet life-changing act of chesed of Sadie Friedberg.

“When I heard how she now needed assistance for her final journey, I recalled the personally difficult chesed she did for us on our journey to our new home and I knew I had to help.”

Who could have known how long those roses would bloom, that yesterday’s flowers would blossom into today’s chesed?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 561)