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TABLE OF CONTENTS Prologue by David J. Wolpe 11 Foreword 13 Acknowledgments 19 How to Read This Book 21 Biographies of the Voices in This Book 23 The Art of Jewish Mourning and Comforting 29 Part 1: Facing Death The Process of Dying 34 Visiting the Dying 36 Talking With the Dying 38 Part 2: A Death in the Family Medical Issues and Jewish Law 48 Advance Directives for Health Care 49 The Vidui Confessional 50 What Happens When a Person Dies? 53 Special Cases 55 Issues With Regard to the Body-Autopsies, Donating Tissue, Cremation Neonatal Death 57 Miscarriage 63 The Death of a Child 65 AIDS-Related Deaths 68 Part 3: The Art of Jewish Mourning Grief-work and the Experience of Jewish Mourning 75 The Phases of Jewish Bereavement 82 Part 4: From the Death to the Funeral For Mourners "What Do I Do Now?" 89 Making Funeral Arrangements 91 Helping Grieving Children 109 Preparing for Shiva 119 For Comforters When a Friend Experiences a Death-The Art of Jewish Comforting 121 What Can You Do? 122 Close Friends 124 Friends 128 Part 5: The Funeral For Mourners The Service 134 How to Write and Deliver a Eulogy 139 The Kaddish 141 Questions About the Funeral 148 Sephardic Burial Customs 154 Special Cases, Suicide, Divorce and Remarriage, Non-Jewish Family Members 155 For Comforters How to Attend a Funeral 159 Part 6: Shiva For Mourners The Shiva 166 How Long is Shiva? 167 The Observance of Shiva 170 The Open House-Or-Who's the Host? Who's the Guest? 176 Seudat Ha-havra'ah-The Meal of Condolence 178 Prayer Services During Shiva 182 Questions About Shiva Services 188 Sephardic Customs During Shiva 189 Children During Shiva 190 Dealing With the Aftermath 191 "Getting Up" From Shiva 192 Sitting Shiva Out-of-Town 194 For Comforters How to Make a Shiva Call 196 "What Do I Say?" 199 "Don't Take My Grief Away" 202 Hearing With a Heart 205 What You Can Say 207 Sharing Memories 213 Additional Reflections For Mourners How to Talk to Comforters 216 Family Time 218 Planning for the Future 219 Part 7: "What Can I Write?" For Comforters How to Write a Condolence Letter 223 For Mourners How to Respond to Comforters' Letters 228 Part 8: Shloshim To Yizkor For Mourners Shloshim 234 Saying Kaddish 236 Gravestones and Unveilings 239 Visiting the Grave 242 Memorial Tablets 245 Yahrtzeit 246 Yizkor 250 Naming Children 254 Excessive Grief 255 Exhumation 255 Remembering the Deceased 256 Starting Over 258 Being Single Again 260 For Comforters Remembering the Living 262 The Community and the Bereaved 266 Part 9: How to Prepare for Your Own Death Before Funeral Arrangements 272 An Ethical Will 276 A Living Will 281 Estate Instructions 292 Distribution of Personal Items 295 Part 10: Afterlife What Happens After We Die? 300 Epilogue 303 Appendices Estate Instructions 306 Selected Bibliography 309 Glossary 314 About the Federation of Jewish Men's Clubs 319 About Jewish Lights Publishing 321 PROLOGUE When someone dies, we are faced with two sorts of questions: specific questions about what to do in the moment of grief, and general questions about the meaning of life and death. It is easy to be overwhelmed and lose ourselves in all the issues raised by death: How do we care for ourselves, and for those close to us who are grieving? How do we think about death, and explain it? How do we reestablish a relationship with the world, and with God? These questions lie at the heart of the Jewish approach towards death. Judaism is honest without brutality, compassionate without evasion. It helps us cope with death, and equally important, it guides us in helping others when they are bereaved. Like every great religious tradition, Judaism shows its deepest wisdom in times of loss. Judaism offers guidance in matters both of action and of attitude. It gives us specifics about how to behave in the face of death. And it urges general explanations about how death fits into the scheme of life, and of faith. Ron Wolfson's book captures the best in Judaism's approach. It is honest, tender and wise. A Time to Mourn, A Time to Comfort speaks in many voices: the voice of those who have endured grief, the voices of rabbis who deal daily with tragedy, the voices of those who are spiritually searching, and the voices of those who have found their own path through dark times. Throughout this book, the reader will learn how people today seek traditional answers to cope with life and loss. How do I arrange for a funeral, and why did God do this to me? Both questions are part of encountering the end of life. In these pages we hear answers, ancient and modern, that speak to our hearts. Judaism finds healing in God, in the community, and in the resources of each individual soul. It illuminates a path by which we can, step by step, be led to the affirmation of the biblical Job: "The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord." David J. Wolpe FOREWORD The first funeral I ever attended was at the Beth El Cemetery on a tranquil hillside among the cornfields on the outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska. I was twenty-two years old. My Bubbe, Ida Paperny, had died after a long illness, and I had returned from college to attend her funeral. Having grown up in a family that shielded children from the reality of death, I now stood at her grave site, quietly sobbing, as much at the sight of my bereaved parents and relatives as for my beloved grandmother. It was at that moment that I first realized that the wise and powerful Jewish rituals surrounding death are as much for the survivors as for the deceased. Two years later, my Zayde, Louis Paperny, lay on his deathbed in Clarkson Hospital. My wife, Susie, and I were summoned to Omaha to his bedside, where he lay surrounded by his family. Since Bubbe died, I had studied Jewish mourning practices in college and was intellectually more aware of what was about to happen. But I was totally unprepared emotionally to witness my zayde's death. My grandfather Louis was a larger-than-life figure. Well known throughout the region as a generous and colorful businessman and philanthropist, Zayde Louie was the patriarch of our family who lavished love on everyone, particularly his grandchildren. Whether playing gin rummy, or taking us to his box behind home plate at the Triple A ballpark, or locking us in his patented powerful leg scissors, each of us nine grandchildren were known to him as "the best boy/girl in the United States of America." Coming to America as a humble fruit peddler at the beginning of the century, he built Louis Market into the largest grocery store in three states. Short, stocky and tough, he possessed an unbelievable strength developed over many years of hauling heavy sacks of potatoes and other produce by hand. Yet, he was one of the most gentle and emotional men I have ever met; his eyes quickly filled with tears at the simple sight of a grandchild crawling into his lap. I loved Zayde for all that he stood for: his strength, his independence, his caring for those less fortunate, his popularity as a public figure, his devotion to Jewish life. He lay in the hospital bed, weakened by many years of illness and totally dependent on the doctors and technologies of modern medicine. The end was near. Zayde had slipped into a coma, a deep and peaceful sleep. The physicians had done all they could; the machines had been removed. Surrounded by his devoted daughters, sons-in-law and grandchildren, Louis Paperny was about to leave this world. As he drew his last breath, an incredible calm came over his body, and I whispered the words he could not: "Shma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad: Hear O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is One." I had no idea what would happen next, but what did occur was certainly nothing like the movies. No nurse came into the room to cover the body with a sheet. No doctor came in to pronounce him dead. Rather, we, his family, sat close to him, sobbing and weeping, letting the reality of the finality sink in. Zayde was gone, and now we had to embark upon the ancient rites of coping with death in the Jewish tradition, rites designed both to honor the dead and empower the living. In stark contrast to the weeks and months of waiting as Zayde "slipped away," his burial would be completed in less than twenty-four hours. Within minutes of his death, the rabbi and funeral home had been contacted, a time set, an obituary written, and a lightning-fast series of phone calls made to alert the community to the news. Since all the arrangements were handled by my mother and her sisters, I felt lost and frustrated at not being able to do something to express my grief-or my love of Zayde. Then I remembered something I had learned in my studies that enabled me to act. I announced to my parents that I wanted to be a shomer, an attendant, to my grandfather's body. I wanted to go to the mortuary and stay with Zayde throughout the night. Traditionally, people from the community are asked or hired to fulfill this act of kevod ha-meit, honoring the deceased. Frankly, my parents had never heard of such a thing, but they quickly gave their blessing. The next thing I knew, I was at the door of the Jewish Funeral Home, ready to fulfill the mitzvah (commandment) of shmirah. It was the first time I had ever stepped foot in a mortuary, and to be quite honest, it gave me the shivers. The thought of spending the night in a place with a dead body was at best disconcerting. Yet, the wonderful old man who greeted me at the door quickly dispelled any feelings of doubt. He thanked me for coming and praised me for my decision. When I expressed curiosity about the other rituals of preparing the body for burial, he took me into the room where taharah, the ritual preparation of the body, was performed. I saw what looked like an operating room, a clean and sterile environment in which the body is lovingly washed and shrouded according to the ancient rites. The members of the hevra kadisha, the group of volunteer laypeople who prepare the body for burial, had already been to the funeral home to do this mitzvah for my grandfather. The funeral home director explained why the body is not to be left alone and suggested that I read Psalms or study the Bible to pass the time. Usually, a stranger from the community is asked to be the shomer. "What a wonderful mitzvah you are doing for your Zayde," he said to me as he left the home. Suddenly, I was there by myself, except of course for Zayde in the next room. It was an eerie feeling, but I did not feel like I was alone. I picked up a book of Psalms and began reading the Hebrew to myself. Thankfully, my brothers Bobby and Doug and a couple of cousins decided to join me throughout the night. We reminisced about Zayde and the truly wonderful times we spent with him. The time flew by and before we knew it, morning had broken. The hearse arrived to bring the body to the synagogue for the funeral. I didn't want to leave Zayde for a minute, so my mother had sent my suit to the funeral home and I changed there. It is said that participating in the rituals surrounding death is the most selfless act of love in all of Jewish tradition because the deceased cannot thank you or repay your kindness. That is true, although the love and thanks I saw in my mother's eyes when we met at the synagogue for Zayde's funeral was indeed a gift to me. Perhaps because I was so tired, or perhaps because my task had been completed, I cannot remember much about the funeral. Nor do I remember much about the seven-day shiva period of mourning followed, except that for the first time I began to appreciate in depth the great wisdom in the Jewish approach to grief. As the week progressed, the intense emotions of the first days gave way to reflections on Zayde's life and achievements. Bubbe and Zayde's house, the center of our extended family, became a hub of never-ending activity. There were daily prayer services attended by family and friends. There were lots of people dropping by to offer their condolences. There was a steady stream of food. There were hundreds of condolence cards and donations in memory of Zayde, many from his loyal customers over the years, mostly Christian neighbors who adored and admired the man they knew simply as "Louie." By the time shiva ended, the grieving process had progressed, and most of us were ready to move on to the next stage and resume life and work, filled with the memories of this incredible man. Zikhrono livrakhah-may his memory be for a blessing. I have been bereaved, but I have not yet been a mourner. As contradictory as that sounds, it is true. I have lost a child, but I have not mourned her. Susie and I were married for three years before we "got pregnant." I say "we" because throughout the uneventful pregnancy, I felt as close to the baby-to-be as a father could. I marvelled at every stage of development during the nine months, especially when the baby moved. What an amazing feeling it is to touch a human being in potentia within the womb! A leg or an arm would push out from Susie's belly, seemingly anxious to come out and play. Pregnancy is a time of great excitement and wonderful dreams about what will be. Will it be a girl or boy? Will she look like Susie or me? What will we name him? How will having a child change our lives? We had taken Lamaze childbirth classes and awaited the due date. Despite the superstitions about setting up a nursery, we had ordered the basic furniture and bought a few toys. We hadn't thought for even an instant about the possibility that something could go wrong, terribly wrong. Our first child was born full term on the afternoon of May 6, 1974, and died thirteen hours later. The baby had become stressed during a prolonged labor and Susie was rushed into an emergency Caesarean section. Due to the stress, the baby had ingested contaminated embryonic fluid, a medical condition known as meconium aspiration. Despite the valiant efforts of a team of neonatal specialists throughout the night, there was no way to save her. The baby had been rushed from the delivery room to the neonatal intensive-care unit of Children's Hospital, across the street from Barnes Hospital where Susie remained. Susie's parents stayed with her and I waited through the night at Children's with my parents. The doctors and nurses were superb, bringing us updates on the baby's condition, but holding out little hope. At one point, a social worker suggested I see the baby. It was a heart-wrenching moment. I spent most of the night crying, thinking about Susie and how devastating this loss would be for her. Susie had spent the night recovering from the operation in the last room at the end of the hall on the maternity floor. The first inkling she had that something was wrong came when a nurse walked into the room and took down several decorative pictures of smiling mothers holding their newborns. I talked to her by phone, admitting that there was a problem, suggesting that she try to rest from the ordeal of the labor and operation. Early in the morning, an intern, a terrific young man who had worked all night on the case, came into the waiting room to give me the news, but his crying eliminated the need for words. The shock overwhelmed me, even though I knew it was coming. I literally ran across the street to the hospital wing where Susie had been taken. "She died" were the only words I could get out before collapsing into her arms. We cried together for a long time at this most unhappy ending. Little did I know that the ordeal had just begun. No one knew how to handle this tragedy-no one. The nurses moved Susie from the maternity floor to the urology ward to "save her" the pain of hearing the sounds of babies. The obstetrician came to say he was sorry and then warned us that, because he had had to do a C-section, he would have to add $350 to his fee. Our parents, expecting their first grandchild, were devastated. Our friends rushed to the hospital to offer comfort, but most only exacerbated the hurt with comments like: "You're young. You'll have other children." "It'll be okay." Well, it was definitely not okay. Jewish tradition failed us, too. What should have been a moment of supreme joy had become the ultimate nightmare. Instead of rejoicing as new parents, we were plunged into intense grief as mourners. Except, according to Jewish law, there was no mourning for our baby. As incredible as it seems to the modern mind, traditional Jewish practice stipulates that there is to be no official mourning for an infant who dies before reaching thirty days of maturity. There are historical reasons for this. In the Middle Ages, large numbers of infants did not survive birth. To the legal authorities of the time, relieving parents of the obligation to mourn a stillborn or an infant less than a month old was viewed as lifting a great burden from them. But, to us, it was a great robbery-stealing the traditional forms of bereavement at the precise moment we needed them most. There was no funeral-the cantor arranged for the mortuary to take the baby to the cemetery for burial. There was no shiva-even though many friends and family came to our home to offer their condolences and support. There was no gravestone-she was buried in a tiny unmarked grave in a special section of the cemetery. There was no yahrtzeit, no Yizkor, no memorials. It's as if the tradition wanted the memory of the experience to be wiped out completely, as if it never happened. I bought it. My reaction was not to mourn. "Let's forget about this and look ahead to the future," I reasoned. "We'll get pregnant again. We're moving to Los Angeles. We'll make a fresh start." For Susie, the loss was overwhelming. She was plunged into enormous grief, anger and pain. Despite the assurances of doctors, social workers and me that we would recover, Susie felt unheard and abandoned. And Judaism offered her no vehicle for her grief, no status as a mourner. Ironically, for a tradition that is so wise in most matters of loss, its answer for the death of an infant was hollow and unhelpful. We moved to Los Angeles and came under the care of a wonderful doctor specializing in high-risk pregnancies. It took two years for us to get pregnant again-two years of unresolved mourning for Susie and two years of denial for me. After a very carefully monitored pregnancy, we celebrated the birth of Havi Michele. Two years later, Michael Louis was born. Seven years after the death of our first baby, Susie joined the first support group for mothers experiencing neonatal death ever held in Los Angeles and finally began to resolve her grief. To this day, I feel I have never truly mourned the loss of our first baby. Perhaps, just perhaps, if the tradition had offered me some way to mourn, I might have been able to cope with this loss in a healthier way. It was a Sunday night about 10:30 p.m. I had just fallen asleep when the phone rang. Susie took the call and then hurriedly awakened me. "Jerry Weber's been shot!" she exclaimed. I couldn't believe my ears, yet, in an instant, we were on our way to UCLA Medical Center. We didn't say a word during the fifteen-minute drive, fearing the worst, hoping it was all a mistake. We found our dear friend Sally collapsed on the floor of a waiting room in the Emergency Department in the throes of uncontrollable sobbing. When she saw us, she began to yell, "They killed him, they killed him!" as she fell into our arms. The shock was overwhelming. "What happened?" we asked the stranger who had been with Sally from the moment the incident occurred and had called us to the hospital. "They were at a drive-up automatic teller machine and two guys robbed them in the car. Jerry gave them the money and then tried to drive away, but they shot him," she explained. Sally cried, "He gave them the money, his wallet...forty dollars. For forty lousy dollars, they killed him!" That terrible night plunged the Weber family and their many, many friends into a nightmare of grief and loss. Jerry's violent death hit the community like a sledgehammer. A beloved communal worker, eulogized by his rabbi, Harold Schulweis, as the shadhan (matchmaker) of the community, Jerry was well known and admired for his work as the founding director of the Council on Jewish Life of the Los Angeles Jewish Federation. His funeral was attended by more than a thousand people representing virtually every movement and organization in Los Angeles Jewry. Even with the enormous shock of Jerry's sudden death, Sally wanted the shiva for Jerry to be an experience that would honor the Jewish tradition he loved so much and offer those who visited warm memories of this unique man. Thus, each prayer service was supplemented by a brief study session offered by one of Jerry's coterie of rabbinic friends. Each visitor was given a sheet of paper on which to write memories of Jerry that were shared with the family and anyone who wished to read them. Even the usual petty conversations were discouraged in favor of reflections on Jerry's life. In an extraordinary week that saw hundreds of visitors come through the Weber home, Sally and her family were comforted by the many expressions of concern and shared grief, but also by the warm memories of Jerry and his impact on all of us. Zikhrono livrakhah-may his memory be for a blessing. These experiences with death, loss and grief have had a major impact on my life, as a human being and as an educator. The inevitability of death means that each of us will at one time or another be mourner and comforter. How to mourn? How to comfort? These are the subjects of this book. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This volume is the fifth in The Art of Jewish Living series, a project of the Federation of Jewish Men's Clubs and the University of Judaism. The other publications-The Shabbat Seder, The Passover Seder, The Passover Seder (Russian translation) and Hanukkah-have been welcomed by those seeking to infuse new meaning and creativity into age-old Jewish celebrations. The acknowledgments begin with the creator of The Art of Jewish Living series, Jules Porter. An extraordinary man and Jew, Jules epitomizes the best in Jewish lay leadership. His commitment to renewing Jewish practice in our generation is unwavering. In addition to his responsibilities as a past president of the FJMC and board member of the University of Judaism, Jules is serving as president of Sinai Temple, a major Conservative congregation in the West. The Art of Jewish Living is his labor of love, and anyone touched by any one of these books is indebted to Jules Porter. The Federation of Jewish Men's Clubs is led by outstanding lay and professional leadership. The current president, J. Harold Nissen, and Art of Jewish Living chairman, Ken Bravo, both deserve recognition for their efforts to bring quality programming and materials to the Conservative movement. Rabbi Charles Simon, Executive Director of the FJMC, was very helpful in shaping this text. My colleagues at the University of Judaism continue to support my work in Jewish family education. Thanks to Dr. David Lieber, president emeritus, and new president Rabbi Robert Wexler for their encouragement. The manuscript was enriched by the comments of Rabbi Elliot Dorff and Rabbi Joel Roth, both members of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Rabbinical Assembly of America. The suggestions of Rabbi James Michaels and Ann Smith, who field-tested the text in a course on Jewish bereavement at Temple Israel in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, were very helpful. A special word of gratitude is due Bruce and Shelley Whizin for their enormous trust and faith in my work. Thanks to my colleague David J. Wolpe, for his meaningful words of Prologue. On the technical side, the book has been skillfully constructed by an outstanding creative team. Linda Watson and Gail Minkow lent their organizational talents, Jane Golub, Alan Rowe and their colleagues at Alef Type & Design provided the design, and Jules Porter and his staff did the beautiful photography. My good friend Joel Lurie Grishaver applied his outstanding editorial skills to the project. Thanks to them all for producing an appealing volume. The individuals and families interviewed for the book provide its warmth and humanity. They graciously offered their experiences, insights, pains and triumphs so that others facing the task of mourning and comforting can do so in a healthy and healing way. Thanks to Rabbi Harold Schulweis, Rabbi Bernard Lipnick, Rabbi Jack Riemer, Rabbi Moshe Rothblum, Rabbi Ben Zion Bergman, Rabbi Sam Joseph, Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum, Dr. Herman Fiefel, David Techner, Lois Rothblum, Tamara Greenebaum, Benjamin Dwoskin, Richard Lopata, Sandy Goodglick, Alan Shulman, Allen Brown, Saralei Foote, David Novak, Carol Starin, Dennis Gura, Ann Metnick, Abram Kukawka, Susan Knightly and Leonard Yakir, Bruce Whizin and Danny Siegel for their contributions. The staff of Mount Sinai Memorial-Park and Mortuary, particularly Arnold Saltzman, Martha White and Morley Helfand, were very helpful in sharing their sensitivity and expertise. We would like to acknowledge the gracious support of the following individuals, families and foundations: The Milken Family Foundation, Encino, CA; Dr. Sidney Kobernick, Sarasota, FL; Mr. Robert Belfer, New York, NY; Dr. Alan Phillips and Family, New York, NY; The Morris and Betty Kaplun foundation, New York, NY; and the estate of Harry Pick. I am blessed with an extraordinary family. To my children Havi and Michael, I hope that in a way these Art of Jewish Living books are my ethical will to you, revealing the deep love I have for our Jewish tradition and my prayer that you will choose to take your place in the chain of Jewish continuity. To my wife, Susie, my affection and unending gratitude for being my partner, my guide, my love. Ron Wolfson April 1993 Passover 5753 HOW TO READ THIS BOOK This book attempts to reach two audiences simultaneously: mourners and comforters. You may be reading this book because you have recently sustained the death of a loved one. We join with your family and friends in wishing you the traditional Jewish words of condolence: "May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem." Mourners will find that the book follows the chronological events associated with bereavement, beginning with dying and ending with yahrtzeit. Each chapter contains a section written especially for you. You may be reading this book because you are preparing to comfort a family member or friend who has recently been bereaved. Your role as a comforter is absolutely crucial in assisting the mourner during the grieving process. Jewish tradition places a high value on offering deeds and words of comfort to the mourner. Comforters will find that Parts 4-8 contain sections detailing your role during the bereavement process. You may be reading this book as part of a course on Jewish bereavement. You are to be congratulated for having the courage to take the steps necessary to learn about and prepare for the eventuality of your own bereavement and, ultimately, your own death. As shocking as that sounds, this book is designed to help you do both, before the need arises. You will want to read about what mourners face and how to be a helpful comforter. The chapter entitled "How to Prepare for Your Own Death" provides detailed information on advance planning for health-care directives, ethical wills, estate planning and other concerns. BIOGRAPHIES OF THE VOICES IN THIS BOOK Richard Lopata Richard Lopata is a real estate developer in Los Angeles. His wife, Caryl, died in 1984 of breast cancer after a long struggle with the disease. Caryl was an elementary school teacher and bilingual specialist. The Lopatas raised two children, Laurie and Robert. When Laurie was five, she was diagnosed as having cystic fibrosis, an inherited disease that destroys the lungs. Caryl Lopata founded the Valley Guild for Cystic Fibrosis, raising many millions of dollars for research to find a cure for the usually fatal condition. Laurie Lopata was preparing for a career in medicine when she died of cystic fibrosis in December, 1991. She was 28 years old. Tamara Greenebaum Tamara Greenebaum's experience with death in a rural community, within a small, but dedicated, Jewish community, illustrates how challenging it is to cope with loss from a distance. It also vividly illustrates how responsive a small Jewish community is to a family facing death. Tamara is the Dean of Admissions at the University of Judaism. David Novak David Novak grew up in and has been a member of the Conservative movement throughout his life: Temple Israel in Manchester, New Hampshire; Kol Shofar in Marin County, California; Beth Shalom in Spokane, Washington; Herzl-Ner Tamid in Seattle, Washington; and Beth Chayim Chadashim, the gay and lesbian synagogue in Los Angeles. No stranger to bereavement, David experienced the deaths of seven close relatives before the age of 13. Today, as a leader in the Jewish gay community of Los Angeles, he is witnessing the inexorable, slow, tragic deaths of many friends to the AIDS epidemic. Carol Starin Carol is the Executive Director of the Jewish Education Council in Seattle, Washington. She met her husband, Joel Starin, in the first grade of religious school. A partner in a major law firm in Seattle, Joel was a very active member of the Jewish community. He was diagnosed with brain cancer fifteen years before he died at the age of 43. Carol and their two teenage sons, Rob and Geoffrey, are coping with the aftermath of Joel's death three years later. Herman Feifel Herman Feifel is a prime force in the academic study of death and dying. Chief psychologist at the Veterans Administration Outpatient Clinic in Los Angeles and Clinical Professor of Psychiatry and the Behavioral Sciences at the University of Southern California School of Medicine, he published the ground-breaking book The Meaning of Death in 1959. Steeped in Jewish tradition and learning, Dr. Feifel is uniquely qualified to comment on the Jewish approach to dying and bereavement. Allen Brown Allen Brown is a former executive of Eastman Kodak Company in Rochester, New York. He has served as President of his Conservative synagogue and is currently an International Vice President of the Federation of Jewish Men's Clubs. Allen's father, Harold, died of renal failure in 1992. Saralie Foote Saralie Foote, a friend of the Brown family, stepped forward to organize the shiva after the death of Allen's father. Saralie herself has suffered the deaths of a brother in his twenties and her father. Benjamin Dwoskin Ben Dwoskin was the founding General Manager and CEO of the Mount Sinai Memorial-Park and Mortuary in Los Angeles, the largest synagogue-owned cemetery and mortuary in the country. Recently retired after thirty-eight years in the post, Ben is an active leader in the Los Angeles Jewish community. Arnold Saltzman Arnold Saltzman is the current Executive Director of the Mount Sinai Memorial-Park and Mortuary in Los Angeles. A Jewish communal worker by training, Arnold is the former Director of the Jewish Family Service in Los Angeles. Martha White Martha White is a pre-need counselor at Mount Sinai Memorial-Park and Mortuary in Los Angeles. She has directed the Community College of Jewish Studies and taught in a number of adult education programs in the community. Moshe And Lois Rothblum Moshe Rothblum is Rabbi of Adat Ari El, a Conservative congregation in North Hollywood, California. He has served as President of the Southern California Board of Rabbis. Lois Rothblum is Director of the Educational Resources Center and Instructor in Education at the University of Judaism in Los Angeles. We interviewed Moshe and Lois on the final day of shiva for his mother, Ruth Zahava. Gail Dorph Gail Dorph is the Director of the Fingerhut School of Education at the University of Judaism in Los Angeles. Good friend to the Rothblums, Gail was interviewed during a shiva visit to their home. Jack Riemer Jack Riemer is Rabbi of Congregation Beth David in Miami, Florida. A well-known speaker and author, he is the editor of Jewish Reflections on Death and co-author of So That Your Values Live On, a book on Jewish ethical wills. Bernard Lipnick Bernard Lipnick is Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation B'nai Amoona in St. Louis, Missouri, where he served as Rabbi for forty years. Rabbi Lipnick earned a Ph.D. in Education from Washington University. Susan Knightly Susan Knightly, an author, and her husband Leonard, Yakir, a filmmaker, live in Brooklyn, New York. Married only fifteen months, they experienced two miscarriages during the first year of their marriage. Their third pregnancy ended with the birth and death of their son Joshua. Susan, a Jew-by-choice, and Leonard decided that the most appropriate way for them to deal with their grief was to engage in the ritual of Jewish bereavement. Sandy Goodglick Sandy Goodglick is a leading layperson in the Los Angeles Jewish community, serving on the Board of Directors of the University of Judaism and the Brandeis-Bardin Institute. She is the principal behind SIM-PLEX, a service firm that assists people in organizing their financial affairs. Harold M. Schulweis Harold Schulweis is Rabbi of Valley Beth Shalom in Encino, California. A highly influential rabbi, his innovations in synagogue programming include the havurah, pararabbinic and paraprofessional counseling programs, and a family empowerment center. He is founding chairman of the Jewish Foundation For Christian Rescuers. Bruce Whizin Bruce Whizin is a member of the Board of Directors of the Shirley and Arthur Whizin Center and the University of Judaism. He is a marriage and family therapist in Los Angeles. Ben Zion Bergman Ben Zion Bergman is Chairman of the Bet Din of the Pacific Southwest Region of the Rabbinical Assembly and professor of rabbinic literature at the University of Judaism. He serves as a member of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards for the Rabbinical Assembly of America and is a member of the National Bet Din of the Conservative movement. Abram Kukawka Abram Kukawka was born in Slovotich, Poland, eighty-three years ago. He immigrated to the United States in 1951, settling in Omaha, Nebraska, with his wife, Hildegarde, and daughter Susan. In 1975, upon his retirement, his children gave him a membership in the Omaha Jewish Community Center where he became part of a group of senior men called "The Round Table" who meet daily in the Men's Health Club. Abe's wife died in 1989. Now he is coping with the steady march of death claiming his friends in the Health Club. Dennis Gura Dennis Gura and his wife, Kathy, are active members of the Jewish community in Venice, California. Dennis has served as President of Mishkon Tephilo, a Conservative synagogue. In 1991, their daughter Rebecca died of leukemia at the age of six. Defying the statistics, Dennis, Kathy, and their four-year-old son, Ethan, have kept their family intact and strong in the face of this tragic loss. Ann Mitnick Ann Mitnick, her husband, and another couple decided to make pre-need arrangements for their funerals. To take the edge off the situation, they went "plot-shopping" together. Sam Joseph Rabbi Sam Joseph is a Professor of Education at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, Ohio. He is a co-founder of the Fernside Center, a counseling center for children coping with death and bereavement. David Techner David Techner is a funeral director at the Ira Kaufman Chapel, a large Jewish funeral home primarily serving the Conservative and Reform Jewish communities in Detroit, Michigan. He has appeared on numerous television programs discussing issues of grief, particularly male bereavement. David and his wife, Ilene, suffered the death of their eight-month-old daughter Alicia on January 19, 1978. Sharon Kleinbaum Sharon Kleinbaum grew up in a Conservative movement family, attended an Orthodox yeshiva high school, received her ordination from the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, and worked in the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. Today, she is the Rabbi of Congregation Beth Simchat Torah in New York City, the world's largest gay and lesbian synagogue. With a membership of 1,200 people, Rabbi Kleinbaum must comfort a congregation that loses one of its members to AIDS almost every two weeks. She has become a forceful advocate for full acceptance of homosexuals into the mainstream of Jewish life. THE ART OF JEWISH MOURNING AND COMFORTING We are not alone. This is the fundamental message of Judaism about death and bereavement. Every law and every custom you will read about in this book has at its core the overwhelming motivation to surround those who are dying and those who will grieve for the dead with a supportive community. While some may argue that facing death heightens one's feeling of aloneness, the Jewish approach seeks to place loss and grief in the context of family and friends. We will all die. No matter how hard we try to cheat death, the inevitable conclusion of living is dying. When this realization finally hits us, there can be any number of reactions. Some will be saddened. Some will drift into melancholy. Some will be depressed. Some will live in denial. The Jewish approach is reality-based. There is a time to be born-and a time to die. From dust we are fashioned-to dust we return. No denial. No avoidance. The art of Jewish dying is a fundamental factor in the art of Jewish living. We will all mourn. Sooner or later, we are all bereaved. Death takes a parent, a child, a sibling, a spouse-and we become mourners. Thousands of years before modern psychoanalysis, the rabbis who fashioned these practices understood grief and how to heal it. These practices are not easy to take. The thud of the earth thrown on the casket by the mourner brings us face-to-face with the reality of our loss and the inevitablity of our own mortality. But, at the very same moment, we take the first step on the path to healing, the long road back to life renewed. The Jewish approach shows us the way to mourn, the way to grieve, the way to recover, the way to remember. We must all comfort the mourner. Judaism asks us to honor the dead and comfort the mourner. These are two of the most important imperatives in Jewish life. How do we honor the dead? By respectful care of the body, by accompanying the deceased to the burial place, by honoring the memory of the person's lifetime of achievement. How do we comfort the mourner? By being there, in body and spirit, by enabling the mourner to grieve and to pray, by surrounding the mourner with community, by easing the mourner's way to a new life after death, by remembering the deceased and not forgetting the mourner. In these pages, you will find the stories of mourners and of comforters. You will learn how the Jewish tradition wants us to approach death and mourning. You will learn how to comfort the mourner. And you will even learn how to prepare for the inevitability of your own death, may you live to be one hundred and twenty! May you be empowered to face the reality of death by learning this aspect of the Art of Jewish Living.
Library of Congress Subject Headings for this publication:
Jewish mourning customs.
Consolation (Judaism).