I have never been really good with death - truth be told, I am afraid of dying.
My fear in dying, lies in my fear of the unknown - or more appropriately, the idea of
"the Nothing".
If you've seen The Never Ending Story, then you know about "the nothing".
While in this movie it's envisioned as a wolf, the idea of nothing is what
makes me the most afraid of death. The idea that after I die - I simply cease
to exist.
For people who subscribe to the idea of existentialism, this is not scary at
all - this is the way things are.
But to someone who has a love of a life - and attempts to see beauty in all things
around her, this is a very scary thought. The idea that I could die - and no one
would have even known that I was here.
Lately I've thought a lot about death.
My grandfather died on April 4, 2010 (Easter Sunday).
In a way, his death on Easter Sunday, was ironic or maybe a better word would be appropriate.
It was kind of that day that I decided that I was really done with Catholicism. Especially after
his funeral - the reality is that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with that day.
I hated everything about his funeral - not just the fact that it happened, but I found
absolutely no comfort in it. I choose not to participate in it at all - I didn't want to
do a reading, I didn't want to bring up gifts (for some reason I recall there being communion during it,
which I just thought was highly inappropriate...maybe I'm wrong...by this point I had pretty much checked
out mentally).
And I get it - the idea is that their suppose to rise to a "new life in Christ".
I couldn't give a crap about whether or not about what he had been risen to - just as long as
he hadn't ceased to BE.
And I really doubted that day - I doubted because it was just so hard for me
to sit there and think about G-d or Jesus and think to myself - he actually knows the true. He knows
if there's something or not. Here we are all sitting here guessing, and he actually knows whether there's a heaven
or a hell. Or maybe - he doesn't, cause there's just nothing.
I then spent the next few weeks completely engrossed in death - I read tons of articles that sought to prove that
there was an afterlife - I thought about the principles of science that say that energy is neither created, nor destroyed.
It went a step further - I actually planned out my own funeral. I decided that I didn't really want a "funeral". I wanted a celebration of my life - a time where my friends (I hope to live to be REALLY FREAKIN' OLD so probably not to many of those will attend) and my family could come together and not mourn that I had died - but rather celebrate that I had lived. I didn't want a church service - in fact, I didn't really want any religious service at all. I just wanted people to come together - to connect, for my memory to live on. I also specified that my re pass, or "shiva" or whatever was to take place at Rutt's Hut. Everyone gets a "ripper", onion rings and a soda (you are all now praying to outlive me...I can feel it).
I'll pause here for a second - why didn't I want a religious service? After all, I'm converting to a new
religion, you would think I would want a Jewish service. And the answer, simply is - No. To put it less
simply, I feel that while there are times religion brings us together, there are also times that it
keeps people apart. Some people get hung up on their religion being "the only true religion". I don't
want someone sitting through a service, thinking that in their mind - using it as a means of separating
themselves or others from what the real focus is - shared grief and love for someone who is gone.
I wanted people to have the chance to get up - share a favorite memory, a feeling and be joined for
that. I hope that makes sense.
This past February, my Aunt Marcia died. This was an interesting experience in that my Aunt Marcia was Jewish, and this was actually the first Jewish funeral service that I have gotten to attend. As I had never been to a Jewish funeral, and never sat Shiva before I began to ask lots of questions about Jewish beliefs about death, burial and mourning.
I was actually surprised and a little disappointed about how little my husband knew about - but the reality is that
Sandy (yes, I am married to a dude with a woman's name...it's short for Sanford, and YES we have a son)
knew very little about it.
I talked to Rabbi Roston and she explained a good chunk to me about what to expect through the service, Shiva
after the funeral, and some general beliefs.
A few weeks ago - my bassoon teacher died. You may be reading that thinking that it's not a big deal. It is
to me. Jane Taylor, or as I called her "The Beautiful Jane Taylor" was the most amazing person I've ever met
and probably will ever meet. I went out with some of her friends, and we were all amazed at how we all knew
Jane, had completely separate relationships with her, and when you were with her - she had the ability to
make you feel like you were her soul mate.
Jane never had children - I asked her once if she had regretted it. She said that it had never been her intention
to NOT have children. She had always thought that it would happen eventually - and then before she knew it
her time had passed. She said that she looked at her students as her children.
I can think back now on some incredible times I had with Jane - happy times, sad times.
But what really hit
me hard about the whole thing was the fact that there was NO service. None at all - no funeral. Her
wish was that her body be donated to science (knowing Jane, the moment I heard that, I thought it was a very
fitting).
And I was enraged. I desperately wanted, no, I desperately NEEDED to be in a room with people who felt as
crappy as I did. Who were as angry about the fact that we didn't have more time with her (although, I guess since she was 79 we're not allowed to be too angry) and that we needed to share the one thing left that we all had
in common - grief.
And this got me thinking - about a lot of Jewish customs about death. Here are some interesting things I've learned.
When Jews die - in addition to the paramedics, or funeral home, you contact your local Chevra Kadisha (burial society).
These people ensure that the body isn't desecrated (whether on purpose or by accident) that it's cleansed and dressed
properly and that the body isn't left alone.
Shiva - which you probably know as the equivalent of a Jewish "wake" is the period of 7 days after the FUNERAL. It begins the day of the burial, and goes for 7 days. Unless the day of the funeral is the first night of Yom Tov (think
holidays like Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Passover) then Shiva is cancelled. This happened a few years ago to
my friend Dana when her fathered died - that night was the first night of Passover, and it was REALLY hard for her.
Mirrors are typically covered, no leather shoes are worn, and some mourners will tear their clothes. To learn more about paying a "Shiva Call" click here.
Jews also do not put out a tomb marker right away - while the marker may go up about 30 days after death, most will hold an unveiling about a year after the kaddish period (11 months, 30 days). To learn more about that, click here.
The thing I became the most fascinated by however - are the rocks.
If you've ever seen the end of Schindler's List, you'll notice that all the real life Schindler Jews, as well as their dramatic counter parts all pay tribute to the grave of Schindler and put rocks on top of it. When my grandfather died, I would take a rock, and place it on top of his gravestone when I went to visit. I even started to notice other little rocks creeping their way onto the marker, only to find out that my Uncle saw my rocks, and began to add his own. But I didn't really understand why I was doing it - I just
did it.
After a lot of research - here is what I've learned about the rocks.
(This copied from yahoo answers. To view the original with additional links, click here)
1. When the tradition started, grave monuments were mounds of stones. Visitors added stones to "the mound" to show we are never finished building the monument to the deceased.
2. to tell the visitors that followed that others had also visited the grave.
3. Symbolically, it suggests the continuing presence of love and memory which are as strong and enduring as a rock. And we know that one name for God is "The Rock of Israel." So the rock is a reminder of the presence of the Rock, Whose love truly is stronger than death.
4. It is a custom in all of Jewish tradition, not just at the Extermination camps. It is a sign of respect for the dead. It stems from the symbolism of making sure the burial site is noted by a stone marker. While adding a small stone doesn't really add a permanent marking to the site, it has evolved that this is the way an individual indicates participation in the process of marking a grave.
5. It is customary, before leaving the grave site, to place a small stone on the marker to indicate that someone has visited the grave. This tradition may also reflect the biblical practice of marking the grave with a pile of stones. Or, it may be the end result of the custom of writing notes to the deceased and pushing them into crevices in the headstone just as notes are pushed into the Western Wall in Jerusalem. When no crevice could be found, the note was weighted down with a stone. In time, the paper disintegrated or blew away leaving only the stone. Thus, some began to think that the leaving of a stone was the custom... and so it became the custom.
6. There is a belief, with roots in the Talmud, that souls continue to dwell for a while in the graves in which they are placed. In the Eastern European folk imagination, these souls -- even those that were benign in life -- can take on a certain terror in death. The stories of Isaac Bashevis Singer and the plays of the Yiddish theatre, rich in the mythology of Eastern European Jewry, are filled with these types of hauntings: souls who returned, for whatever reason, to the world of the living.
The practice of leaving stones atop a grave can be explained as a response to these beliefs. More than a simple marker of one's visit, stones on the grave are the means by which the living help souls remain where they belong -- in the grave where they do no haunting.
Another beautiful answer to the stones on graves question takes its cue from the inscription on many gravestones: the five-letter Hebrew abbreviation taf, nun, tsadi, bet, hey, which stands for "teheye nishmato tsrurah b'tsror haChayyim." This phrase is usually translated as "May his soul be bound up in the bounds of eternal life" -- a phrase wishing for eternal life for the departed.
Yet tsror (the fourth word of the Hebrew phrase) can also be translated as "pebble." Suddenly, the phrase takes on a more nuanced meaning, based on the historical significance of pebbles.
7. In ancient times, shepherds needed a system to keep track of their flocks. On some days, they would go out to pasture with a flock of thirty; on other days a flock of ten; the third day with fifty. As memory was an unreliable way of keeping tabs on the number of the flock that day, the shepherd would carry a sling over his shoulder, and in it keep the number of tsror, pebbles, that corresponded to the number in his flock. That way he could have an accurate daily count.
When we place stones on the grave, and inscribe the motto above on the stone, we are asking God to keep the departed's soul in God's sling. Among all the souls whom God has to watch over, we wish to add the name, the "pebble" of the soul of our departed.
After reading that - I decided that my favorite is #7 blended with a little bit of #6.
I'm going to stop there - I feel that if I go on, explaining - it would detract from whatever purpose, or meaning you
wish to give it. And that's what makes it wonderful.
Shalom
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