I am looking forward to seeing you this Shabbat to welcome Emily to her Highgate home. It will be a meaningful moment for all of us, and we thank Hashem for this special opportunity.

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Two days before pesach, I was knee deep in potato peeling, charoset making, and last minute pesach cleaning. BH our home was full and buzzing.

And then I got a call from our administrator. The police had just called to inform us that a lady had sadly passed away in her home. Though she was not a member of our synagogue, her care home had listed our community as her point of contact.

I dropped the potato, and quickly went to her home – whilst calling Shlomo Sinitsky (a wonderful man who helps with end of life issues) to check what I should look for there, to help organise a Jewish burial for her.

Shortly after the police let me in, I said some prayers beside her. And so began what became an urgent, stressful but deeply moving journey: confirming her Jewish status so she could be buried according to Jewish law.

We knew little about her. About five years earlier, a medical team had reached out, concerned for a woman who had no children, whose partner had passed away, and who was entirely alone. She had asked if our community could provide support—and we did. Members of our community visited her, checked in on her, and showed her care and kindness over the years.

Now, we needed to find out more. Who was she? Was she definitively Jewish? We dove into old emails, tracked who had visited or spoken to her, and heard the same words from everyone: she was a kind, quiet, and refined woman—grateful for every interaction.

But memories weren’t enough. We needed documentation—proof of lineage—to present to the Beth Din and the burial society. We searched her home for clues: Jewish objects, names, records. We found phone numbers, and two nephews, one of whom lived in Australia. They gave us more names and directed us to Ancestry.com, but we quickly realized how complex this task would be. 

Just because someone claims a family connection online doesn’t make it true. It felt like we were navigating a maze—each path branching into more confusion, only to loop back to where we started.

We needed birth certificates, death certificates, census records—something concrete. What started as a daunting task became a family project. Everyone wanted to help. But time was not on our side. According to Jewish tradition, the dead should be buried as soon as possible, out of respect. And we had Pesach, followed by Easter and bank holidays, which made everything more difficult to coordinate. 

Through my research, I discovered that one member of the shul had been calling this lady every single week, and even bought her a wheelchair to help her move around more easily. Others had brought her Purim parcels and Chanuka gifts. I hadn’t known every detail— our wonderful volunteers do chesed (kindness) quietly, without expecting recognition.

Eventually, we gathered enough information to proceed. She was buried on Tuesday, in a small ceremony led by Rabbi Liss, with her nephew and family, and some community members. And while I felt sorrow that she had lived alone, I also felt deep pride and comfort knowing she was not forgotten. Our community came together, as family does. Together, we honoured her, gave her kavod hamet (respect for the dead), and fulfilled a special Mitzva for a special lady. 

This experience reminded me of the incredible goodness within our community. I’m grateful to the United Synagogue, to the burial team, the dayanim, the registrar, and most of all to our volunteers, who daily embody what it means to live a life of chesed. They saw this lady, not as a stranger, but as part of us. One people with one heart. 

Shabbat Shalom

Shuli