Category: Death & Mourning

A Succinct Lesson on Jewish Thought

Image: A flowering cholla cactus. Photo by Kenneth Redmond on pixabay.com.

An old Ashkenazi gentleman once said to me, “I don’t know what happens when we die. Some say we go to heaven with the pearly gates. Some say it’s a big yeshivah up there. But me, I think it’s just this life and then, you know, the worms. So we better do our best in this life, since it’s all we’ve got.”

In truth, there’s no single Jewish idea about the afterlife. I have always like this man’s description of the puzzle, though, because it seems to hit all the main points of a typical Jewish worldview:

  1. Life is full of mystery.
  2. Some say this, others say that.
  3. But yes, I have an opinion, which is not a rosy one.
  4. The important thing is to live a good life.

 

 

 

Mourning for a Non-Jewish Loved One

One of the things that sometimes catches Jews by Choice by surprise is mourning. A loved one dies, and suddenly we are thrust back into our old religious environment, or into mourning behaviors that are alien to Jewish practice.

When my Catholic father died, I was abruptly thrust into a difficult set of situations and decisions. Viewing the body? Mass? A meal afterwards that was mostly pork and shellfish? Should I, could I, mourn as a Jew in space that was Catholic space? What about Kaddish? What about shiva, sheloshim, and other Jewish mourning rituals? Did I have a right to mourn as a Jew for a parent or loved one who was not Jewish? Was it  inappropriate for me to mourn using Jewish practices?

Since that time, I’ve supported many of my students through similar experiences when they were mourning for a relative who was having a non-Jewish funeral and mourning ritual. Over the years I have learned a lot from their experiences and from my own study of Jewish texts.

On February 4 and 11, I’m teaching a class through Lehrhaus Judaica in which I’m going to offer the results of my experience and study on the subject: Death & Mourning for the Jew by Choice.  This class will be an exploration of mourning and self care for converts to Judaism. I am going to provide you with some options and choices, so that you don’t have to invent the wheel as you grieve.

It’s the class I wish I’d had back in 2007: not a list of “thou shalts” but some gentle resources and options for the future. My perspective is that of a Reform rabbi, but with some consultation from your own rabbi, the class is designed to be useful to a Jew in any stream of Judaism.

I will not be offering this class online at this time, but if there is interest may do so in future. For more information, and to sign up for the class if you are in the San Francisco Bay Area, see the description in the Lehrhaus Judaica online catalog. Tuition is $15 for the two sessions. This class is co-sponsored by Temple Sinai, Lehrhaus Judaica, and Building Jewish Bridges.

 

Jewish Social Skills: Death & Mourning

This afternoon and Wednesday I’m teaching my Intro classes about Jewish Death & Mourning. I am pretty sure that when they look at the syllabus, they are thinking about funerals, and they are mostly identified with (1) the dead person or (2) the mourners. That’s normal and human, to picture a topic with ourselves in the center.

My task as teacher is to teach them how to be members of a Jewish community that has mourners in it. True, sometimes they will be the mourners, and someday every one of us will be in that casket at center stage, but for most of our Jewish lives, we’re in the “mourner support” roles. And face it, that’s where the mitzvahs are.

Yes, it is a mitzvah to bury one’s dead. No doubt about that. But there are many other mitzvot that come under the general heading of “comforting the mourner,” most of which don’t sound like a modern idea of “comforting” at all. Here are ways we comfort the mourner:

  • Support our synagogue, so that there are clergy to assist mourners.
  • Support our local Jewish funeral home, so that Jewish mourners do not have the added stress of explaining everything.
  • Show up at funerals, even for people we barely know.
  • Show up at shiva, even if we are not “close” to the family.
  • Offer to babysit, run errands, wash dishes, answer the door during shiva.
  • Sit quietly with a mourner at shiva, just listening.
  • Refrain from telling mourners how they should feel “by now.”
  • Alert the rabbi if a mourner appears to be slipping into depression or otherwise in trouble.
  • Call or write weeks after the funeral, just to “check in.”
  • Say hello to mourners when we see them at synagogue.
  • Invite widows and widowers to events or to dinner in our homes.
  • Make sure that no mourner in our community feels abandoned.

The English word “comfort” in modern usage generally transmits an image of a pat on the back, accompanied by “there, there” or magical words of healing. Grief cannot be fixed by magical means. It can only happen in its own time. We can help by supporting, by being present to the mourner.

Those of us who have been mourners know how important this sort of support can be. Perhaps we received it; perhaps we didn’t. One route to self-healing is to take our sadly-won knowledge and turn it outward, making sure that the next mourner is not left to grieve alone.

What to Say When Someone Dies

If you really want to learn what to say, spend some time reading What To Say When Someone Dies, a magnificent blog by writer and editor Teresa Bruce. Ms. Bruce is a widow, so she speaks from experience.

I know of few better resources anywhere for comforting the mourner. a mitzvah which we call in Hebrew Nichum Avelim (nee-CHUM ah-veh-LEEM.)

Jewish tradition reminds us that our presence is the main thing we have to offer. There is a human impulse to run away, to avoid, and we must fight that impulse with all our might, because there are few things more cruel than to abandon a mourner. Mourners bear the weight of loss, and they deserve our support. We can express that support by showing up, by reaching out, and sometimes simply by being there in silence. But sometimes we need to know what to say, or how to say it: that’s where Ms. Bruce’s blog is such a gift.

There are a lot of entries. Use the tools on the side: search box, categories. Find the things that will help you in your current situation. She covers many situations, and you can leave her a question in comments  if you can’t find the help you need.

So go, read, learn how to be there for the mourners in your community! If you don’t know any now, the day will come and you don’t want to be caught flat-footed! This is a mitzvah we can all do, and with such gentle instruction, we can do it well.

Mortality and the Jews

A reader asks:

Is the Jewish perspective that mortality is a bummer? If so, that is not very comforting, and it doesn’t seem useful… What does Judaism say about death?

GREAT question! There is no single “correct” Jewish teaching about what happens when we die. In every era of Jewish thought, there have been a number of thoughts circulating on the subject. In Biblical texts, people are thought to “go down to Sheol” when they die (Genesis 42:38.) Sheol is a dark place full of dust, thought to be somewhere underground.

At some point in the Second Temple period (500 BCE – 70 CE) Jews began to speculate on a resurrection of the dead. We can see this in the books of Isaiah and Daniel, for instance, “Thy dead shall live, my dead bodies shall arise, awake and sing, ye that dwell in the dust, for thy dew is as the dew of light, and the earth shall bring to life the shades.” in Isaiah 26:19. However, references to this in rabbinic literature are vague and contradictory. Some references seem to be to an “end of the world” resurrection, and some to a resurrection that will take place with the coming of Moshiach, a military leader who will revive the nation.

Modern Jewish thinkers occupy an entire range of possibilities. On the Orthodox end of the spectrum, there is a belief in an immortal soul and at some future point, a resurrection of the body. Many liberal Jews believe in an immortal soul, but without specifics about where or what it is. Some mystical Jews believe that souls are immortal, but that they may occupy different bodies over history (a sort of Jewish reincarnation.) Some Jews believe that life is limited to this life, and this life only, that when we die, that’s it.

One thing that all forms of Judaism agree upon: there is no Hell such as that described by Christians or Muslims. Ideas about Heaven range from the rabbis’ vision of a heavenly Study Hall to some vaguely pleasant future existence.

The truth is, Judaism does not focus on the next life in the way that Christianity and Islam do. For Jews, this life is the immediate concern. The next life, if there is one, we leave in the hands of the Eternal. Our concern is this life. 

Hearing this, sometimes Christians ask what incentive Jews have to be good, since we neither fear punishment in Hell nor look forward to a specific set of rewards in Heaven. What a Jew seeks is a meaningful life, and the way to give our lives meaning is to live this life as well as we can. A life of Torah is a life spent trying to make this world better. Jews differ on exactly the best way to go about doing that, but it is the thing that we all have in common.

So is mortality a bummer? Yes, in the sense that this life is full of good things that will come to an end when we die, and relationships which will be forever altered by that death. But mortality also gives us a sense of urgency about doing good in this world, and about giving our brief lives meaning. Death presses us to make the most of our lives.

You can get a sense of the vagueness of Jewish belief about afterlife in the prayer El Male Rachamim, God Full of Mercy, which is chanted at every Jewish funeral. Whether one takes the images as literal or as metaphor, they suggest that the end of life is a return to the Unity that is the Eternal God, but that the dead also find immortality in the hearts of the living.

God filled with mercy,
dwelling in the heavens’ heights,
bring proper rest
beneath the wings of your Presence,
amid the ranks of the holy and the pure,
illuminating like the brilliance of the skies
the souls of our beloved and our blameless
who went to their eternal place of rest.
May you who are the source of mercy
shelter them beneath your wings eternally,
and bind their souls among the living,
that they may rest in peace.
And let us say: Amen.

Can I Go to Shiva Instead?

From the searches that brought people to this blog: “Can I go to shiva, instead of to the funeral?”

If you were to stop me on the street and ask me this question, I’d say, “Tell me more.” I am very curious about what’s behind the question. I’d buy you a cup of coffee and we’d chat.

However, I can imagine two possibilities:

(1) “I really cannot get off work but I want to comfort the mourners.” Sometimes we just can’t do everything we want to do. I’m so glad you want to comfort the mourners! It’s an important mitzvah, and you will certainly be performing that mitzvah if you attend shiva at the house. Don’t forget to give them a call a few weeks later, just to say hello and check in.

(2) “The funeral is at the cemetery and I hate cemeteries.” Well, let’s talk about this a bit. Are you so freaked out by cemeteries that you literally cannot enter one? Because if that is the case, perhaps I should offer you a referral to a good therapist. But if it’s dislike, let’s dig at that a bit: why do you dislike cemeteries? Cemeteries are uncomfortable for many of us because they remind us of our own mortality. It’s hard to avoid the thought that I am going to die someday, when I am standing by the grave of a friend. Jewish tradition tells us that our discomfort at that thought is a good thing: it can motivate us to live better lives, because we remember that our days are limited. If that’s the issue, and it isn’t at the level of a phobia, I’d be inclined to encourage you to grit your teeth and give it a try. Also, what if everyone gave in to discomfort and no one showed up? How would the family feel?

The funeral and shiva are not an either/or choice. They are actually two separate mitzvot. The funeral is levayat ha mayt [accompanying the dead] and it is the last good deed we can do for a friend. Attending shiva is nichum ahvaylim [comforting mourners] and while it also happens at the funeral, it really gets down to business at the shiva.

Mortality is a bummer. We are naturally inclined to think that we will live forever. However, that simply isn’t the case, and our tradition is clear that it isn’t good for us to entertain the fantasy of living forever. Getting in touch with our mortality, once in a while, is one way to truly appreciate the present.

How would you answer this person’s question? Have you ever been to a funeral that was very sparsely attended? Any other thoughts to share on this topic?

Yahrzeit of Michael Brown

Today is the yahrzeit of Michael Brown.

Unsurprisingly, his parents are still mourning him. They will never stop mourning him. Parents whose children die do that.

His story has been back in the news, and I’ve watched today as social media has argued about his death, and about the movement that began with his death, #BlackLivesMatter.

I don’t have special access to the facts about Michael Brown. I’m not going to defend him here, nor am I going to defend the policeman who shot him.

Right now, it’s the anniversary of the death of a boy who represented hope and promise to his family. It’s the anniversary of the death of a young man who was their pride and joy.

A year ago these people lost their child to a violent death.

Let’s pause for a moment of human sympathy.

Why Three Weeks of Communal Mourning?

The three weeks preceding Tisha B’Av are traditionally a time of mourning in the Jewish world. They are called “The Three Weeks” and traditionally Jews avoid public entertainments, buying new clothing, and getting haircuts during that time. The period begins with Tzom Tammuz, and include three Shabbats which have special readings from the Prophets (Haftarot.) 

The Prophets in Jewish tradition reproach Israel for the rupture of relationship with God. (For more about Jewish readings of the Prophets, read “Blood Moons” and the Meaning of Prophecy.) In the world of the Prophets, Israel has become selective in her reading of Torah, and too often observes the letter of ritual law while flouting both the spirit of that law and the ethical commandments. The Haftarah readings during the Three Weeks are:

  1. Jeremiah 1:1 – 2:3
  2. Jeremiah 2:4–28 plus 4:1–2 or 3:4
  3. Isaiah 1:1–27

Now one may well ask, what is the point of observing this period of time, especially for liberal Jews who do not pray for the rebuilding of the Temple?

This can be a time for reminding ourselves of the consequences of communal sins. If we are to grow and learn as a people, then we must not forget the times in the past when we have gone wrong. The sages teach us that Solomon’s Temple was destroyed because of idolatry, and the Second Temple was destroyed on account of sinat chinom, usually translated “baseless hatred.”  So this is the time to ask if Torah is truly the “operating manual” for our institutions and families, or are there things that we prioritize above Torah? And as for sinat chinom, this excellent article by Rabbi Shmuel Weiss asks some interesting questions.

This can be a time to remind ourselves that we are truly Am Echad, one people. Whatever our differences about practice, our history is unfortunately full of occasions when outsiders made no distinction between secular and observant Jew. What point is there in treating one another badly, when the world is so cruel?

This can be a time to learn about mourning. Grief is part of the human condition; only those who die as very young children manage to live their entire lives without experiencing it. Over the centuries, generations of our ancestors crafted this period in which we may or may not experience grief for the Temple itself, but in which we can read the words of lament, and observe the fact that the entire season is shaped as a process. There is the approach of disaster (the Three Weeks), the acute phase of loss (Tisha B’Av) and then the much longer period of Consolation, which stretches for seven full weeks. One way to get the most out of this period is to approach the various readings as a student, learning from our forebears how to mourn.

These are only three possibilities for growth during the Three Weeks. What experiences have you had of this period in the Jewish year? Does the thought of mourning for the Temple make sense to you? Why – or why not?

For the Mothers and the Fathers, the Sisters and the Brothers

Image: Graves at Arlington National Cemetery, public domain.

It’s Memorial Day here in the USA, and I am cranky.

This is the day we remember our brothers and sisters who died in the wars. I honor every one of them. I am grateful that of those I have loved who have served our country, all came home in one piece – well, in more or less one piece. As my better half, Linda, said this morning, no one who sees combat is ever really the same again.

She should know. She served in the Navy during Vietnam as a drug and alcohol counselor. She was a sailor on a landlocked base (how surreal is that?) trying to help those who returned stateside with a problem.

Our son joined the Navy on his 21st birthday. I was on the other side of the world, in Jerusalem, and called to wish him a happy birthday. He was all excited about his news, and I kept my voice as calm as I could. This was during the run-up to the invasion of Iraq, and the writing was pretty much on the wall. The idea of my baby in a war, in a stupid, stupid war, was almost more than I could bear. As things worked out, he didn’t go to war, but as far as I knew that day, he was headed straight into it. I was proud of him and I was terrified.

All soldiers in every war are somebody’s baby. They might be big and strong and capable with weapons, but they are each beloved of someone. My heart today, Memorial Day, aches for the mamas and the fathers and the sisters and the brothers. I ache for the girlfriends and the boyfriends and the family pets. I ache for everyone who remembers someone they loved who will never grow older.

And I am angry – deeply angry – at anyone who dares to sell those precious lives  cheaply. Saying “I support the troops” is nothing; it’s lip service. Sending other people’s children into war when yours aren’t going is about as low a thing as anyone ever did. And yes, I know, great men have done it: Abraham Lincoln tried to keep his son out of the Civil War, to name just one. That doesn’t make it right.

I don’t want to hear about how “they are all volunteers, so it’s OK.” Aaron was, yes, but the vast majority of young men and women who go into the military in this country do so because it’s their best option, because college has been priced out of their means. The only way I will accept that our Congress and the Executive Branch can send our young people to war will be if all their kids have to go, too.

That was part of my experience in Israel: when I was completely shaken by Aaron’s news, Israeli parents would put an arm around me and hug me. They told me to be proud, that I had raised a good man. And I knew those weren’t cheap words, because they had served, and their children would serve. And I was consoled, not because some idiot in a suit “supported the troops” but because those men and women understood.

Today, Linda and I remembered those who died. It’s not a weekend for barbecues and celebration at our house; it’s quiet. It’s the day I count my blessings, because all my loved ones are home. It’s the day I think of all those who miss someone who will never come home again.

It’s the day I pray that Isaiah’s vision will someday come true:

[God] shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. – Isaiah 2:4

The Interfaith Family Funeral

Articles about interfaith families usually focus on the interfaith couple and their children: making decisions and choices, navigating holidays, making it work. But as most married couples can attest, when we marry we marry not only our beloved, but also all his or her relatives.  And usually it’s still a matter of making decisions and choices, navigating holidays, and making it work.

But when it comes time for a funeral, things can become painful and complicated very quickly, because death is terrifying and loss is excruciating. Even the calmest, most rational people are at their least rational in the time of bereavement. Tradition, which may not be important at any other time, suddenly looms large. And as outreach expert Kathy Kahn once taught me, “We do not get do-overs for funerals.” The emotional stakes are very high for funerals.

So everyone is in a lot of pain, and often there are no written instructions about what the departed wanted for the funeral. Jewish burial and mourning practices are very detailed and very precise, and in many ways they come into conflict with the traditions of other religions and regions. These conflicts can set us up for painful adjustments and conversations.

For instance, I recently helped a student plan his return to Alabama for a Southern Baptist funeral. (I have changed details for his privacy.) There would be a visitation at the funeral home of many hours, with the embalmed body of the departed at the focal point of the room. There would be an open casket service. Afterwards, there might be a meal for the family, and then the funeral would be over. My student said, with anguish, “We don’t look at dead bodies, rabbi! I hate that they are going to embalm my grandfather!” So we talked about ways for him to navigate the funeral without looking at the deceased (in Jewish tradition, we do not look at a dead person, out of respect and kindness.) We talked about and rehearsed what to say to people who wanted to comfort him with talk about Jesus or about the appearance of the dead. Then we talked about arranging Jewish mourning with his Jewish community when he gets home. A tough loss is going to be tougher because he is Jewish and his family is not.

In other cases, I have assisted families in planning funerals that would meet the needs of both the Jewish and Christian relatives.  Even if there is agreement about “no open casket,” the Catholic side of the family may want to say a rosary together at some point, for comfort, even if the dead person is actually Jewish. My role as officiant is often to assist in explaining why (1) the Jews don’t want to be there for the rosary, and may not want to hear much about it, either, and (2) the Catholics really need the rosary for comfort, that they intend no insult to the dead.  You can insert many other practices for “rosary.” Sometimes there is no way to accommodate both traditions, and then the challenge is to help the family make choices in such a way that the relationships of the living are preserved intact and the feelings of all are acknowledged.

The best I can tell you is that if you are anticipating a death in your interfaith family, think ahead and think lovingly not only of the person you are about to lose, but of the people with whom you are about to be left behind. Talk with clergy early. Recognize that even if the person who died is of one tradition, family members of another tradition will need support and care. Let the funeral home know early in the process that yours is an interfaith family.

If you are not in the part of the family in charge of planning, recognize that planning a funeral is complicated and is usually done very quickly, without time to consult with every individual in the family. Take responsibility for your needs and emotions. It is OK to say, “I don’t want to participate in X,” but it is better not to combine that with “how dare you suggest such a thing.” Figure out what you can do to meet your needs and to honor the dead.

When my father died, I did not view his body. I sat with my family at the funeral Mass, but I did not take communion. I said “Amen” to prayers that I could affirm. I had a pocket sized book of Psalms with me to read when prayers were said that I couldn’t affirm. In that book I had a copy of the Kaddish; after the graveside service was concluded, I quietly stood beside his grave and said Kaddish. I didn’t make a production of it. At the meal afterwards, when I saw that everything on the table was stuff I did not eat, I asked the kitchen what they had that might work. Fortunately, all unadorned veggies are kosher.

It is possible to navigate these difficult things, but it is easier to do it with support. I wish I had asked my friends and colleagues back home to support me in sitting shiva. I didn’t do that, and regret it now. My shiva time, such as it was, happened on an airplane with my son and it wasn’t enough. This is my own fault: I didn’t ask for what I needed from my Jewish community. I won’t make that mistake again.

The point of all this is to say that funerals are tough for those in interfaith families. Ask for the support of your clergy (of both traditions, if possible.) Tell others what you need, but try to keep in mind that it is hard for everyone, and you may not be able to get everything you want. Be kind not only to others, but also to yourself.

If you are anticipating a loss in your family, I wish you comfort in the arms of family and friends. Ask for support from your faith community in order to get what you need. Know that others have walked this road, so you are not alone.