A TIME TO MOURN

When my father-in-law died soon after our marriage, I was introduced to the Jewish custom of a family’s “sitting shiva,” or staying home for seven days of mourning. Like most Jewish rituals, it can be quite elaborate, with a widow sitting on a low stool and with other traditions. My mother-in-law was too rational to wear herself down unnecessarily, but she did stay home to mourn and to welcome many visitors. They brought tons of comfort foods—lox and bagels, kugels, candy, and so on. Though the atmosphere was sad, it was also supportive and hopeful. Some of them brought children, which surprised me at first.

My father-in-law’s funeral itself was very sad. For the first time I heard the long Jewish prayers that years later would be used for my husband and other Jews. There was the Mourner’s Kaddish, a eulogy, and psalms; some were in Hebrew, others in English. It was very simple, with no flowers or music. Having grown up as a small-town Protestant, I found the austere Jewish ceremony a stark contrast to the funerals I attended as a child, with screechy sopranos singing along with poorly played organs, and with the sickly sweet odor of carnations overpowering everything. Sad as this funeral was, it seemed more comforting and appropriate.

In recent years I have attended all too many ceremonies I think of as “happy funerals.” Yes, they are called “celebrations of life,” with an emphasis on the dead person’s achievements and on the mourners’ love for them. Most people today seem to prefer these rituals. Too often, however, they seem to become performances.  Mourners arrive ready to read long eulogies, and to gather with other mourners, almost in a party atmosphere. There seems to be little grieving, as if people are obliged to be happy.

I don’t always object to these rituals, of course. When my friend Joani Blank learned that she would die soon of pancreatic cancer, she sprang into action and scheduled her own celebration of life, to occur before her death. And so one day in July, hundreds of people who loved Joani and had benefited from her generosity gathered at the First Unitarian Church of Oakland to thank her and to say farewell. I was unable to attend, but saw a video that make it look like a truly joyous occasion, for Joani and everyone else, though surely some tears were shed.

 

Still, in general when I attend one of these modern funerals, I find myself feeling resentful and wishing to hear the Kaddish.  I think how much better it would be to weep openly, to feel the pain of losing a beloved family member or friend. First there must be a time to mourn. There is much time later to heal the emotional wounds and return to an ordinary life, even to joyous rebeginnings. (Another Jewish tradition is to name the next baby born in the family for the person who died.  L’chaim!)