funeral practices

[cellio]

Today while we were studying we ended up talking about funeral practices. My rabbi recently did a funeral for a member of an interfaith family, so there was also a priest or minister there and this led to some things my rabbi isn't used to, most notably the open casket and the things said to comfort the mourners. So he asked me how I feel about all that, given that my background is different from his.

I think I've always felt weird about seeing bodies at funerals and viewings. I certainly feel weird about it now. But I did as a kid, too; I was raised to never go into someone else's bedroom when that person was sleeping, and this seemed even more an invasion than that. (The analogy for death was sleep.)

The first two funerals in my life were when I was 5 (in one case) and either 5 or 6 (in the other case). One was my aunt Mary, and her death was not unexpected. (Well, it came as a surprise to me, because no one had told me the reason she kept giving things away when we visited, but it was expected by the adults.) The other was my grandfather, who died without any warning at the age of 50. (Heart attack. No prior problems. Died in his sleep.)

Now, especially in the case of my grandfather, we heard a lot of things like "he's in a better place now" (with Jesus, with the angels, etc). Christianity has a lot of focus on the afterlife, so it makes sense that these ideas would be comforting, especially when someone dies young. The religion of my childhood taught me to look forward to the afterlife -- that this time on earth is just a passing thing, vastly inferior to what awaits if we're good. (Yes, I asked the obvious question early on: if you try to hurry things along to reach that goal sooner, you won't reach it at all.)

This sort of thing never comforted me, though. I guess I was, and am, too much of a here-and-now person; especially in the case of my grandfather, I was a greedy child who wanted him back now. I didn't believe he was in a better place, and even if he was, I wanted him to wait. Five-year-olds aren't very sophisticated, but there you have it.

As an adult, I find the theology foreign. We should live good lives, of course, but because doing so makes this world a better place. God gave us this world to care for and live in, after all. An afterlife, if it exists, is a bonus; this world is certain and that one is not. So when someone dies young it's not a comfort to think about the afterlife; rather, I think about all the things that person was doing or might have done in this world and how we're the lesser for his absence.

I don't believe that death is a punishment; people don't die because they were bad and God zapped them. (Well, I suppose it can happen, but it's not the usual case.) But death is not a reward, either; it just is.

Someday, I hope a long time from now, I'm going to have to face the funerals of my parents. I'll be told lots of things by well-meaning religious people that are supposed to comfort me and that won't; fortunately, I'll also have a community that has a different approach, one that seems to resonate more for me. I'm not sure there's anything else that will produce such a sharp division between what my relatives do and what I do.

I'm not sure all this babbling has a point, really, but I found myself thinking about it after our conversation, and I wanted to write something about it.

Comments

[celebrin.livejournal.com]

I've never been to a funeral with an open casket. When I was seven my Grandma Gus, my Mother's mother died. I thought it was stupid to sit around for a week mourning.

When I was fifteen my Grandma Belle died. I remember the shiva clearly. My mom had these ideas of what everyone should do, even though it was Dad's mom who passed. Grandpa went to the basement often to smoke his cigars, and mom said he shouldn't be smoking during the shiva. Dad told her that if she wanted to go to a man who had just lost his wife of 65 years and tell him how to act, then she should go ahead. Mom stayed where she was. I on the other hand went to the basement to sit with him.

I learned more about my Grandmother in that week than I knew in fifteen years. I just sat and listened to Grandpa talk about the day they met, the day they met my mother. What my father was like as a child. There were times that I wondered if grandpa was even aware that I was there...and later I realized that that was the point of shiva. To give people a chance to talk about their departed loved one.

[moose]

I've always found that shiva is different depending on who died and why.

When a younger person dies and/or the death is sudden and tragic, it's a week of pure mourning. When an older person dies and it's not unexpected, the shiva can sometimes be like a party to celebrate the person's life.

It's weird to say, but I remember the shiva week of older, sick relatives being pretty much a family reunion, tinted with a lot of rememberances of the dead person's life.

[goljerp]

To give people a chance to talk about their departed loved one.

... or not talk, if that's what they want. There's a custom not to speak to a mourner until they address you first. (Although I only found this out after several times when I went to comfort mourners...)

I think that the Jewish mourning rituals work on a very human level. First there's the funeral, as quickly as possible, and seven days of intense mourning (shiva) where the community feeds and comforts the mourners. The fact that there are several times a day when there must be 10 jews for the prayers means the mourners are not isolated. After this period, there's almost a year where the mourners go back into their life, but say the mourner's kaddish during the daily and shabbat services. Then the unveiling. After the first year, the mourning doesn't go away - it never goes away - but the mourner's kaddish is only said on the anniversary of the death, and during the Yiskor prayer, which happens 3 times a year. I think this encourages people to move on, while acknowledging that the death leaves a wound in their lives which can never be healed, only bandaged.

Oh, and I haven't even mentioned the practice of Shmira (sp?) - watching over the body before the burial. No, not watching, guarding. Keeping it company. Not necessarily in the same room, but to symbolize the fact that even though the person is dead, the body is still worthy of respect.

[cellio]

Thank you for sharing that.

I've never been to a funeral that didn't have an open casket. (No Jewish funerals yet.) The customs around shiva strike me as very comforting. I'm glad that the community will be there for me when the time comes.