Gan Shalom Cemetery, flanked by the rolling, manicured hills of Briones Regional Park near Martinez, is a beautiful, solemn space. I was there recently on a freelance photography assignment for Sinai Memorial Chapel, the Bay Area’s Jewish funeral home — and as I arrived, I felt as if I’d been there before.
On a hunch, I asked the cemetery administrator to check for the plots of my grandparents on my mother’s side and got confirmation that Gan Shalom is indeed their final resting place. It was my first time back since my grandfather’s burial nearly 15 years ago.
As J.’s staff photographer, I have the privilege of traveling to Jewish spaces around the Bay Area. As a professional photographer on an assignment, I am expected to take full control of any shoot — posing subjects carefully and moving from location to location while keeping careful track of time and cultivating a comfortable environment. Despite what I’d just realized about my grandparents, I needed to stay focused on the task at hand.
Toward the end of the shoot, as I was walking with a group that included the administrator and Sinai Memorial Chapel staff and volunteers, I could feel my heart beating a little faster. An unexpected wave of emotion washed over me as we got closer to my grandparents’ graves.
When I read the names and dates on their gravestones, memories flooded back: their kind, gentle presence in my childhood, some of my final memories of them, and the person I was when they passed away — a young teenager trying to make sense of himself and the turbulent world he lived in.
Lisa Finkelstein, the communications director at Sinai, lit candles and placed them on my grandparents’ gravestones. I knelt and began to weep softly.
Crying is unusual for me. It doesn’t come easily. But when I do cry — when all the factors that allow me to relinquish control over my emotions fall into place — a weight is lifted off my chest.
Perhaps it was a combination of factors that led to my emotional state. The previous workday was a long one, and I’d had little sleep. Regardless of how they came about, the tears helped me mourn.
After a few minutes, I stood up and quietly recited the Mourner’s Kaddish. I wiped away my tears, and then pulled myself together. After all, I had a job to finish. I put a smile on my face and rejoined my group, eager to finish the long day, both physically and emotionally taxed.
This photo shoot reminded me about the privilege I have as a photojournalist. I show up in person and deal with people and events head-on, in all sorts of environments. My work becomes a medium that itself absorbs some of the emotionally and intellectually complex situations I face. It likewise can serve as a conduit for processing my feelings and thoughts.
As challenging and complicated as my job can be sometimes, I’m grateful to work in this community.