Tanya Nachshen Clement 1914-1996

We have gathered here to pay our last respects to Tanya Clement, zichrona liv'racha.

Though there is much we may want to say, we content ourselves with permitting the words of the Psalmist, the Prophet Isaiah, as well as those of other poets and sources of wisdom both ancient and modern. They guide us in at this time. Underlying all that they say is the belief that we must seek consolation, even when we say that death was blessed relief from difficult illness and decline. Yet rarely are we truly consoled. Our minds race with the most ancient of questions: What does it mean that Tanya once lived? We ask the question in the name of the deceased, but we know the question arises in response to every loss, to every heartache -- and we also know that it is really being asked about how we are living our own lives as well. We ask it now in the presence of the deceased, hoping to claim some semblance of an answer.

The architect Mies van der Rohe once said that "God is in the details." This is particularly true of the meaning of an individual life. Two nights ago, sitting with the family and listening to them, hearing them reclaim her from death, I could not imagine a more wondrous and enduring gift than the sheer joy and delight with which they recalled her in story after story. With much laughter and enthusiasm they poured out anecdotes, their voices citing "Tanya-isms" and their hands, faces, and bodies moulding themselves to her gestures, her expressions, her tone, her delivery of insight, wit, and wry observation. The most incongruous image popped into my head: it was as if each person there was opening a package left to him or her by Tanya, addressed personally and only to them; and in each parcel, the recipient found the most wonderful and unique gift. I am here to share these gifts with you at the request of the family. Tanya was born in Pograbiish, Ukraine, the youngest of seven surviving brothers and sisters born to Moshe and Sarah Nachshen, a Boyaner *Chassid*. The world of her childhood was one of sharp contrasts between the piety of the Boyaner *Rebbe* and the virulent hatred and anti- Jewish violence of nearby communities. Tanya vividly recalled that at the age of three or four, Cossacks attacked the Jews; her Bobbe, her grandmother hid her under a bed, shielding Tanya with her own body, while on the bed above them another Jew, who had fled into their house seeking shelter, was murdered. The need to be hidden and locked away, sometimes the only protection for the children, particularly young girls, so offended and frightened her, that all her life she disliked closed doors; even during her last days in hospital, she insisted that doors were always to remain open.

Tanya arrived in Montreal by way of the Halifax port in 1927. Her oldest brothers had gone first, and begun the slow process of earning the money to pay for passage and immigration for the rest of the family. Tanya and her parents were the last to arrive. Her father worked as a peddlar, struggling to bring in money. She contributed her own efforts, working in a union garment shop fabricating hats. After a couple of years of school, she, too, joined in the pitched effort for the family's economic survival. She grew up fast, with little time for frivolity; she channeled her creativity into wit, humor with home-grown philosophizing, and a limitless ability to show warmth and caring wherever she was.

Tanya lived and worked in the immigrant world of Montreal, a child of a family that is still remembered to this day for its piety and its decency. If you ask older members of the Montreal Jewish community about the Nachshen family, they will speak of them with warmth and admiration. Her older brothers and sisters saw themselves as more "old country" in their ways, but Tanya served as the "bridge" between the Old World and the New.

She used to call herself a "daughter of the Revolution," having belonged to the "Young Pioneers/Komsomol" in Russia. Being brought up with both the lessons of Hasidic life and of the Soviet Revolution, she fashioned a unique perspective on life. Living in a manner uncharacteristic of Old world Hasidic insularity, Tanya became a member of a left wing cultural centre in Montreal. (Probably her parents simply accepted this as a way to ensure she would have some pleasure in a life marked principally by hardship and deprivation.) She performed in plays and was public and visible in a manner that would have been considered immodest in Ukraine. Jack first saw Tanya with her group on Mount Royal, and decided to join that group. They appeared in Sholom Aleichem plays together and married.

When asked about their early days togetherm Jack spoke of extraordinary financial hardship in the sewing business. Business cycles seemed to take their greatest toll on clothing manufacture, and in any given year, there were months without any significant income. Of course they did not own a car, and could afford no luxuries. They often wondering how they were going to make it. Yet Jack would come home Fridays and Tanya would have made a beautiful "Shabbes" in the house, despite their lack of resources. How did Tanya do this? Sometimes she travelled by streetcar to her brother's grocery to secure a few things for the Shabbos meal that they otherwise could not afford. At other times, she simply "managed," and, almost miraculously, there was challah on the table. The main thing was to ensure that their house was a home, and Shabbat was the day on which all hopes and dreams were given their freest reign.

Everyone speaks of Tanya's unique role in the larger family. Quite simply, everyone loved her -- her siblings, their children and grandchildren, neighbours and their children, people whom she would meet and speak with. Many of the cousins confided in Tanya and Jack when they needed to talk to some one who understood the modern ways which their own parents didn't, or when there were private difficulties. Tanya was an address for many many of her nieces and nephews, and ultimately their children, her great nieces and nephews.

It was, in fact, a shock for the children of neighbours, who trusted them and always felt welcomed into their home, to discover that Aunt Tanya and Uncle Jack were not really relatives -- just remarkably kind people you wished were "family." The fact that great- great nephews have flown in to be here to console the family is a reflection of how far reaching end encompassing Tanya's love was. She was for years the oldest "parent" on Parents' Day at Camp Shomria, attending even 30 years after her own kids had outgrown the camp . . . to see the nieces and nephews, grandchildren, and all the unrelated children she loved. When she was already ill with cancer, her belly filled with excess fluid, not having been able to eat properly for weeks, she still insisted on going to see her granddaughters off to camp. It was a habit of her heart, as necessary to her life as air, water, food, and light, for her to be gracious and kind to others.

There was enormous room within that love for others. Jack and Tanya were blessed with their own children: first Nechama, then the twins Peter and Phillip, and finally Mintzy. In a relatively short span of time, Tanya and Jack went from the great joy of their first- born's arrival to the tumult of the boys, and thence to a condition of exhaustion by the time Mintzy was born. The twins seemed to catch Jack and Tanya by surprise. Raising twin males who never slept at the same time, who fought all the time, and who never tired of inventing new mischief) and then having another baby to care for seemed an almost imposible task. Tanya said she considered living past the boys' 5th birthday to have been a miracle. She used to say that their first words were" "SEPARATE, BOYS, SEPARATE!"

Somehow, despite the tumult, Tanya remained gracious and dignified, though there were moments of weariness as well. At times she could not be as giving as she wanted to be. Sometimes she was reduced to gesture rather than face-to-face interaction, as when she would leave ten dollar bills around for Mintzy to find, rather than give the money to her directly, which would have embarrassed Mintzy. Or when she would set aside a little "extra" in the cookie box, or treat bag, or fridge, so that if any of the children asked for a second helping there'd would be something.

Not everyone's parents were this kind and gracious -- that was obvious. And the children knew the doors of their home were always open to their friends, who received warm welcomes and an invitation to stay, no matter whether Tanya and Jack were notified in advance or not. Though living modestly, Tanya always found a way to treat everyone royally. It was, quite simply, a remarkable experience to be with Tanya, touched by grace and good humour. Even though she often protested when people complimented her on her generosity and her wit, the truth was evident in continuing visits, laughter, and a pervasive joy in the Clement home.

Somehow she brought delight and openness to everything that happened. When her grandchild Stephen went to see Tanya, a friend said to Philip, "Won't Tanya be upset at Stephen's long hair?" He replied, "No, no way -- Tanya is the most tolerant person in the world. When they went in to see her, Stephen gave Tanya a hug. Testing the waters, Philip said, "Do you mind Stephen's long hair?" She replied, "No, I love Stephen's hair. I wish I had long beautiful hair like his."

The children spoke of her memorable openness to try new things -- whether it was a little recreational drug experiment at Peter's insistence, university courses, dozens of trips to plays at Stratford, Niagara-on-the-Lake, or Quebec City, her standing declaration that she was ready to travel almost anywhere in the world with just a few minutes' notice. She had been giving her jewelry, various framed pictures, mementos, dolls to the grandchildren, children, to her sons' wives for the past year, explaining, "Why should they wait until I'm dead? This way I know who got it, and I can enjoy the giving!" As children, nieces and nephews married, and as in-laws entered into the Clement-Nachshen clan dynamic, the comment most often made by those coming in through marriage was how Tanya made them feel part of the family. When Nechama married Ari, for example, he had no family of his own. He travelled to Canada for his honeymoon, the first time he met Tanya. He was very apprehensive about meeting everyone, but when he arrived in Montreal he was so welcomed into the home and the family that he was overwhelmed. It wasn't something that Tanya tried to do -- just a reflection of "who she was." It was simply understood and accepted that he was part of the family and made to feel completely welcome. As Bev, Gabrielle, and Rafi joined the clan, her open acceptance, rooted in an unshakeable sense of who she was and what she believed, invited each new arrival to see him- or herself as a part of something larger than their own lives. Tanya stories abound. You will tell many more of them in the days ahead. I will share with you these few:

When Peter Bev's children, Tanya and Jack wanted to also legally adopt them as their grandchildren to make sure they felt part of the family, so she and Jack arranged to publish an announcement in the paper to make it "official".

The nurses at Bay crest said, "It's easy to take care of your mother. She is such a gracious lady."

Rabbi Berlat, on the staff at Baycrest, came to see Tanya. He says to her you'll have to speak up because I'm deaf in one ear. She answers, that's alright, I'm deaf in both ears. She says to him, how much time do you have for me to tell you my story. The rabbi says, "20 minutes". She proceeds to tell him. Then she said, "OK, I have 20 minutes free, now tell me YOUR story." Afterwards she tells Nechama and Mintzy that she just wanted to see if he knew anything about Baycrest.

Talking about her own funeral, she said, "I don't want no satin. I never wore satin when I lived -- I don't need it when I die." We are close to the end on a very difficult day, and we are here to honour Tanya's last requests by what we do. She asked that she be permitted to die simply, and with grace and dignity, as she had lived. She asked that her children teach their children about her and her life, about what it is to be Jewish. She asked that you take care of Jack. She asked that we not only mourn at her shiva, but that we celebrate her 82 years.

More than any words we may have to say now, this gathering is itself testimony to the elegant and powerful simplicities of Tanya's life as dutiful daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, relative, and friend. But what did she really do with her life? I have a suggestion, as guest at this feast of joyous and sorrowful recollection: We are here to celebrate that she saw her family as the most important part of her life and, perhaps on an intuitive level, as repository of her culture's deepest hopes and dreams. She taught you to love and to care beyond what you think is the limit of loving and caring -- to be great-hearted. The truth is that Tanya has done admirably by one of the great visions of human life, from the pen of Albert Camus, who once said that "Real generosity consists in giving all to the future." Tanya never received any official awards for her dutiful life -- not that she would have accepted them. She was undemanding, generous to a fault with her children and grandchildren, loving toward her children and their loved ones, gracious in acknowledging her family's pursuits. When she offered criticism, it was honest, tempered by love, and expressed with awareness of how the other would feel.

Do Tanya and yourselves a great honour. Keep recalling and collecting these stories for the sake of the future.

God forbid -- and I hope such a time never comes -- we may one day need to remember the meaning of lost words like compassion, grace, lovingkindness, and caring. These are lessons our ancestors taught not only through books but through the daily acts by which they lived and their bittersweet lives were made beautiful.

Keep your memories, for the sake of the world and your children. We hope and pray for memories woven lovingly around her life. This doesn't take away from the loss you are experiencing; rather, it is a reminder of how well and how fully she lived. It is a measure of the human capacity to be a blessing.

"T'HEY NISHMATOH TZRURAH B'TZROR HA-HAYIM."

"May her soul be bound up in the embracing memory of those who live on."