The Elder as Teacher of Yesod
Memory, Forgetting, and the Return to the Soul
There comes a moment in many families, in many lineages, when the elder begins to forget. Names, places, times, and familiar rhythms slip away. For those who love them, it can feel like loss, like watching a library slowly empty its shelves. Yet from the perspective of Kabbalah, memory and forgetting are not accidents of biology, but mysteries of the soul’s journey.
In the Tree of Life, memory is held in the sefirah – dimension ofYesod, the Foundation. Yesod is the great reservoir of images, dreams, and impressions — the place where the soul’s stories are stored. Every smile, every sorrow, every prayer ever whispered is inscribed in Yesod. It is not only personal memory but the collective memory of humanity, the bridge where the invisible becomes visible, where spirit kisses body.
When Yesod flows clearly, our foundation is strong. We feel connected, creative, and able to transmit the divine into daily life. But when the structure of Yesod loosens, as happens in dementia or Alzheimer’s, the bridge begins to tremble. Memory no longer travels in linear time. The images scatter, like sand slipping through the fingers. The soul is still whole, the archive still intact, but the channel into the vessel of consciousness begins to fade.
From the outside, this looks like forgetting. Yet mystically, it is a return.
Yesod not only holds memory, it also holds our sense of time. When it loosens, the elder no longer lives in the same calendar as the rest of us. Past and present collapse into one. They may speak to ancestors as if they were in the room, or return to the innocence of childhood. This is a teaching: memory is eternal, not bound by clocks. Forgetting is not disappearance, but a reminder that the soul’s life unfolds in eternity, not chronology.
Kabbalah tells us that before Creation, there was Ayin, the nothingness, the silence before sound. When an elder forgets, they are not simply losing themselves; they are leaning toward Ayin, slipping partly back into the mystery that held them before they were born. They become threshold-dwellers, half-rooted in this world and half in the one beyond.
This loosening of Yesod also purifies. Yesod is bound to desire, to the creative and sexual energy that fuels life. When dementia strips away the layers of personality, raw innocence or unfiltered expression can appear. This is not chaos but a kind of return to the primal spark — life-force before it was clothed in social masks.
And sometimes, as Yesod dissolves, Keter, the Crown, begins to shine. The mind may falter, but the soul’s light grows bright. We see moments of childlike wonder, flashes of radiance, sudden clarity that feels like revelation. The elder who forgets teaches us that when all structures fall away, only the essence remains.
This is why they are our teachers.
They remind us that memory is not what makes us human — the soul is.
They reveal that the covenant we carry in our deepest being cannot be erased.
They train us in compassion, asking us to slow down, to meet them where they are, to love them in the simplicity of presence.
And they show us the path we will all one day walk — the surrender of roles, names, and identities, so that we may return to Ayin, and from there, be gathered back into the light of Keter.
Why would a soul choose to forget?
Kabbalistically, forgetting can itself be a tikkun — a soul correction. Some elders, after a lifetime of holding responsibility, memory, and family history, may need to release the weight of remembering so they can return to innocence. Forgetting becomes their initiation into simplicity, into the childlike state Yeshua spoke of when he said that only those who become as children will enter the Kingdom.
Others may carry ancestral memory so heavy that the only way to purify the line is to let go of its stories. Their forgetting releases the next generations from patterns too deeply woven to be carried forward. They “forget” so that we may remember in a new way.
And sometimes the tikkun is for us, not for them. The elder who forgets teaches the family patience, compassion, humility. They break the illusion that we are loved for what we can produce or remember, showing us that dignity rests in simply being. Their forgetting forces us to love presence more than narrative, soul more than personality.
Yet Kabbalah also teaches that this tikkun — this loosening of memory — is not inevitable. There is another way.
An elder can consciously choose to ascend toward Keter without the pathway of forgetting, by purifying Yesod — the subconscious reservoir. This purification means clearing images of fear, trauma, resentment, and unintegrated desire so that only the clear waters of soul-memory remain. When Yesod is cleansed, it becomes a transparent channel for higher light. Then the ascent to Keter can unfold not through fragmentation, but through lucidity, peace, and conscious surrender.
How is this purification done?
- Through Teshuvah (Return): Daily practices of forgiveness and release, clearing unresolved stories, making peace with the past.
- Through Prayer: Aligning thought, speech, and imagination with the Divine so that Yesod fills with holy images rather than fractured ones.
- Through Chesed (Acts of Lovingkindness): Every act of compassion etches a new imprint in Yesod, refining the foundation and lightening the soul’s burden.
- Through Study and Remembrance: Meditating on sacred texts, chanting divine names, or reciting Psalms — these overwrite the subconscious with letters of light.
- Through Conscious Breath and Body Practices: Since Yesod connects to life-force, breathwork, sacred movement, and embodiment practices strengthen its foundation.
For families, the healing of this tikkun is to walk beside the elder in love — not clinging to the personality that fades, but honoring the soul that shines. This means creating environments of beauty, singing or chanting to awaken soul-memory, and remembering that the elder’s dignity is untouched. When family members anchor compassion and patience, they become partners in the elder’s ascent.
For the elder, the tikkun is to remember that they are more than memory. They are the breath of God in flesh. If they choose, they can ascend consciously, carrying the clarity of Yesod into the brilliance of Keter, showing us that it is possible to leave this world with eyes wide open, memory intact, and heart at peace.
Let us always remember that to sit with an elder who forgets is to sit at the threshold of mystery. It is not only they who are being unraveled; we too are being taught to release, to soften, to remember that the soul’s foundation is eternal even when the vessel falters.
In this way, they are not only patients. They are prophets.
Not only fragile. They are mirrors of what is most enduring.
Even as memory fades, the soul remembers.
And that is enough.
What an amazing way of seeing dementia 🤔🙏😍
Bless you. Ahava
Thank you Ana for this writing; I love this. I took care of my grandmother for many years toward the end of her 16-year journey with Alzheimer’s. Especially in her final year, I was struck by the presence, the peace, and pure love that we experienced just by being together in simplicity. She was more at peace than I had ever known her to be. Songs from her youth never left her and music was the enduring spark to light her up. It definitely was a time of initiation for me, walking close to the threshold. I didn’t expect to be back home during that time, over her last year(s), (in fact, I resisted it) but in the end I was very grateful. Thank you for sharing on this from the Kabbalistic teachings, very resonant. <3 Ahava
Bless you for your beautiful service to your grandmother. Ahava