Sushi Eulogy

by Eva Rachel

On our first day at Barnard, I endearingly called her Sushi, combining the first syllables of her first and last name. Since I wanted to remake myself at college, I changed my name from Eva, a name for old Jewish women at that time, to the more sophisticated-sounding Ava, which only lasted 2 weeks at college. However, for Sushi, whom I met the very first day, the name stuck.

Every Thursday, we went to The Plex on campus at 9PM, the minute it opened. We had the floor to ourselves, joyfully dancing to the DJ’s selections, telling our story through our movements, releasing stress, and moving in and out of a conversation through dance. When students began to mosey in around 10:15, we dabbed our sweat with a towel, and left full of energy despite how much energy we exerted.

This last year, the innate wisdom and intellect that Sushi possessed resonated to the moon and back. On our last visit in late August, we blew Covid kisses to one another and she sang, “Oh what a beautiful morning..” (Oklahoma). Yes, it is beautiful to have time with a friend, especially since it would probably be the last time we would see one another in this world. Her confident stentorian voice rang out filling the empty space between us. After the general exchanges about how everyone is, I said, Sushi, tell me about you.

What better way to respond than in a song: “I am who I am I am my own special creation.” (La Cage Aux Folles). She was saying, life is neither fair nor unfair; it just Is. Also, I took away that she felt whole and complete. Tears.

Are you feeling sad? I ask. “I am the antithesis of sad,’ she replied with her pitch rising. “Habit is a powerful thing.” Oh that was deep: Create your happiness. She was a perfect example of how to do that.

Are you worried about anything? I ask. She was quick to answer, “I have no anxiety whatsoever. I feel serenity, surrender, beauty, healing energy. I can’t do downward dog, but my yoga practice is limber, my breathing, my mind/body connection, It doesn’t feel like a fight. It feels seamless. Like a flow. Like yoga. This is power.” She was a triathlete, and did not only have a core strength and a powerful intellect (graduated law school), but on this day, I witnessed her intrinsic emotional power, too. I was star struck; like I was sitting with the next Buddha or Mother Theresa.

When I endured treatments for stage IV oral cancer, 24 years ago, I hid my anger, questions of god, my pain under a mask because I didn’t want to lay even more on the people who were caring for me. But Sushi, as she became weaker physically, she became stronger mentally. She was a master at keeping the flow of positivity running through her veins, which bred more positive energy around her. She inherently knew that we lose power when we give fear a voice.

Then, from her reclined position, she sat up straighter, and broke out into another song, “The Wind Beneath My Wings.” Her long arms soaring, her torso dancing, her smile invincible. She was saying, in essence, that she had no fear of dying. Who isn’t afraid of dying?!?!?!?! After this visit, I found an answer: someone who isn’t afraid of loving. Sushi loved so many people, so many causes, so many life experiences, she wasn’t afraid to love everyone and everything fully. Love is what allowed her to feel at peace and to be joyously curious about what happened next in her life.

“Ava Babe, she said, Jesse Lil is the name of my machine. My grandmothers are with me.” Her spirituality stirred my innards like chicken soup when you have a cold. She wasn’t doing this alone. She was going from one realm of love to another. She wasn’t imprisoned by her failing body. She, her essence, her soul, was free!

The pain and grief we feel is the price we pay for having loved her. The more we hurt, the more we have loved. Our tears are a tribute to how precious the love was.

In college, Sushi gave me a Khalil Gibran poem, framed, entitled ‘On Laws’. Now, the poem makes so much more sense to me than it did when she gifted it to me at the age of 19. It speaks about those who “stand with their back toward the sun, and what is the sun but a caster of shadows?” Sushi had her face to the sun and never looked in the direction of the shadows. She went to bed early so she could awaken when the sun rose. There is a significant connection of this particular poem to the 23rd Psalm, in particular, this line, pasted below in Hebrew, and attached to this email in song by me:

Even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

ַגם ִכּי- ֵא ֵלךְ ְבּ ֵגיא ַצ ְל ָמוֶת לֹא- ִאי ָרא ָרע ִכּי- ַא ָתּה ִע ָמ ִדי, ִשׁ ְב ְטךָוּ ִמ ְשׁ ַענְ ֶתּךָ ֵה ָמהיְנַ ֲח ֻמנִי

Sushi and I shared a similar spirituality and connection to our Judaism. We would have had a long discussion about this sentence. Here is my take: Eating from The Tree of Knowledge, Adam and Eve gained the knowledge that separates humans from all the animals; the knowledge of their mortality which casts ‘a shadow of death.’

When you were children, frightened by the darkness, and your mom said, ‘I am here. You have nothing to fear,’ your fears were dispelled. Not only was God with Sushi, but her grandmothers were by her side.

“I will fear no evil for though art with me’ is such a succinct response to why bad things happen to good people. God does not explain. God comforts.

GPS is a necessity for me to find my way to her street. Somehow, every time, it alerted me too late that I needed to turn...and then the gentle voice said, ’Recalculating.’ That is exactly what Sushi has taught me. When the world changes from the course we expect, embrace the new path, and while you are there, enjoy the flora. Inhale.

She didn’t curse the GPS, or gun the accelerator to try to get to her location without losing time, she surrendered to what is. Surrendering to what is, is true freedom, is true self-acceptance and self-love. She took ownership of her life and it was a perfect life filled with so much love.

I am guided by the beacon in Sushi’s blue eyes. teaching me the strategies for navigating challenges and ultimately the final stages of life. Breath in. Breathe out and watch the seeds of love and hope for new beginnings travel far and wide around you.

When you love a person, your hearts are merged. A piece of my heart will rest with her, yet a piece of hers, fills that gap in me. I will miss dancing, singing, and seeing Broadway together. I will miss sharing our Judaic experiences and perspectives from our perspective torah study classes. May my college bestie be healed, whole and renewed. And, may you find the light at the end of the tunnel, bask in the sunshine, and live as fully and as meaningfully as possible as she would want for you.