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“May Their Memory Be a Blessing”
And other statements intended to comfort mourners.
In Judaism, when someone dies, it’s customary to say the Hebrew, “Zichrono Livrocho” (for men) / “Zichrona Livrocho” (for women). In Hebrew, it’s written as זיכרונו לברכה or its abbreviation ז״ל (ZL).
Of course, translations can be direct or formatted to suit the end language. Sentence structure has nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs in a specific order. Verbatim translations don’t make sense.
“Zichrono Livrocho” literally means, “memory-of-him to-blessing.” Standard translations are “[His/her] memory is a blessing”, “Of blessed memory”, or “May [his/her] memory be a blessing”.
The last one — “May their memory be a blessing” — seems the most common. It’s the one I’ve heard most often and read most often.
I don’t like that phrase.
Blessing the memory
My problem with this one: Of course their memory will be a blessing. There is no may.
Isn’t it always?
For a person grieving, the memory of the person they’re mourning is a blessing, especially if the person was a loving person, a kind person, a mensch, as we say. Extraordinary and ordinary people alike, memories of them are blessings for someone.
On Facebook, an acquaintance posted a beautiful tribute to an 89-year-old man who died on the second day of Passover. “while not a direct victim of the Corona Virus, it is not unreasonable to consider COVID-19 to be his eternal nemesis,” he wrote.
The deceased “was a man of unmistakable presence, both in physical stature and magnanimous personality who could draw an audience in any social gathering.”
According to a Google search, the man was an influential member of Montreal’s Jewish community.
Of course, the memory of this man will be a blessing. He left behind a legacy.
Most people leave behind some sort of legacy (memory). Lives are blessings. Memories are blessings. We don’t need to revere a person to bestow mercy on them.
