“WE DO THE BEST WE CAN”

JEWISH BURIAL SOCIETIES IN SMALL COMMUNITIES
IN NORTH AMERICA

by

Lynn Greenhough

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of

the requirements for the degree of

MASTER of ART

In

LEADERSHIP AND TRAINING

We accept this thesis as conforming

to the required standard

…………………………………………………………………………………

Dr. Neil Gillman, supervisor, Jewish Theological Seminary

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Doug Hamilton, Ph.D., Committee Chair, Royal Roads University

…………………………………………………………………………………

Dr. Louis Sutker, Congregation Emanu-El Hevra Kadisha

 …………………………………………………………………………………

Michael Goldberg, Congregation Emanu-El Hevra Kadisha

Royal Roads University

April, 2001

 ©Lynn Greenhough

CHAPTER FOUR: RESEARCH STUDY FINDINGS

Small communities:  “We do the best we can”

This phrase was repeated in a number of interviews, in fact it became a refrain, the litany of those living in small communities. There are problems facing the continuation of the Hevra Kadisha in many large Jewish communities as well. Large cities such as Toronto, Montreal, New York and Boston generally have Jewish funeral homes, which have the advantage of providing Jews with a professional service. However this same service has also enabled an abdication of responsibility. As someone coming from a small town to the ‘big city’ to conduct my research, I thought I would be able to learn from my more cosmopolitan cousins. It would seem that the country mouse had something to teach its city cousin after all.

Demographic realities are an issue that some small communities are confronting. Some of these communities, once vibrant and active, are now aging, their membership dwindling. Dov clearly outlined the challenges for a Hevra Kadisha in such circumstances.

We are left with only 36 or 38 families. It was once a thriving community with maybe 250 families, but has been shrinking…Our numbers have depleted greatly, as has the size and frequency of attendance…the entire community is now less than 100 souls…There are six men and six women involved…I have great fear for the continuation of the Hevra Kadisha in the real small communities.

The average age in some of these congregations is pushing 70. Amos noted “we are top heavy with aging people.” The challenges of conducting a taharah require certain levels of physical strength. A number of participants voiced real concern about the survival of the Hevra Kadisha in light of a lack of able-bodied young people. Again Dov expressed his concern.  “I would say that when you are first asked it is usually because you are young and able bodied. Men get older, there is little strength left. We need to keep recruiting.” Unfortunately the experience of many in these small communities, is that not only are younger people leaving, few young families are moving in. Even families looking for a way of life they may attribute to a quality of life in smaller towns, may change their minds when they are confronted with its reality. Tzvi remembered one such family.

One family called me before Yom Tov, [the Jewish High Holy days, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur] they were looking for a small community. They wanted to know about Yiddishkeit in our community. But they walked into our shul [Yiddish: synagogue] and they see all gray hair, and no children. They had one small child. They left.

Even in synagogues with younger members there is worry that as the membership of the Hevra ages, the elders are not being replaced by younger people. There were concerns voiced that younger Jews are not as committed to a sense of communal obligation as their elders had been. While most senior members of a Hevra would drop whatever they were doing to take care of a taharah, Golda spoke of the reluctance of younger women to do the same.  “The younger ones I have talked with, the vast majority have excuses - she couldn’t get away from the office [to come to help].“ Although a taharah usually takes only about one hour that hour may come at an inconvenient time for many. A willingness to re-arrange scheduled days is often necessary.

One woman was very concerned about this attitude. She talked about her son and his work with the Jewish Family Services in their town. She talked about the work they both do in their community, and described how her son was grateful to her for setting such an example. Shula’s pride in her son was palpable over the telephone, but so were her concerns. “Parents need to tell their children what they need to do in quiet ways. These days children are being raised without learning to give.” This act of hesed shel emet requires not only commitment and physical strength; it requires time, freely given. Shula was very concerned that too many younger people had not been given the example of such giving by their parents and, as a result, the foundations of community structures were beginning to show cracks.  Shlomo, a forty-year veteran in his Hevra Kadisha stoutly declared that “Volunteerism is on the way out.” Both Shula and Shlomo were concerned that the traditional volunteer nature of Hevra Kadisha groups was suffering.

These statements certainly need to be heard and acknowledged. In many Jewish communities a precious heritage of knowledge and practice of gemilut hasadim has already given way to paid, professional services. Gemilut hasadim translates as acts of benevolence, of kindness. Talmud compares tzedakah, which is righteousness and usually refers to the giving of financial assistance, with gemilut hasadim. Tzedakah only applies to the living, whereas gemilut hasadim also applies to the dead. Tzedakah involves giving of money, whereas gemilut hasadim involves giving of oneself (Sukkah 49b). Hesed shel emet, the caring of the dead, is an act of gemilut hasadim. These individuals were voicing a very real concern for the example being set for Jewish children and for the subsequent survival and continuing of this valued heritage.

Not all of these small synagogue communities were comprised of only elderly people, but age was often mentioned as a significant concern. Changing demographics in these communities may reflect wider social patterns. For example, today many elderly people travel frequently. Travel has become both more affordable and more necessary as sons and daughters move away from their home communities. Safer travel also affords many seniors opportunities for vacations that earlier generations would never have considered. These family trips and/or vacations present the Hevra Kadisha members remaining at home with the challenge to cover the absences of members who are away. Dov recognized the challenge that such absences created.

 We’re all so mobile – half of our group is always away. It can be a real scramble, because you are always doing it quickly, you can never plan ahead. It has its problems. Sometimes we sort of wing it, in a community such as ours.

Given the nature of the training involved in a Hevra Kadisha, such a lack of stability can be problematic. Malka talked about understanding her membership in the Hevra Kadisha as being a lengthy process for her. She spoke of how she is still, after ten years, following the leadership of more experienced members. Even after ten years of membership she is still “searching out the meaning” of this work. Other participants also spoke of how it takes time to feel comfortable with the process. Members moving away from the community necessitate new members being brought in to replace them. This may be theoretically possible, but the fit may not always be as good. While recognizing that some women may have more of a ‘feel’ for this work Shula also realized that time is a factor in developing comfort as well as skill. “When the last two women moved, I had to bring in two other women. They are doing it because we asked, but they haven’t brought their personality into it yet, they are more perfunctory.” The inexperience and instability of newer members puts increased pressure on the older members who may want to pass on the torch. The erstwhile goal of a seamless taharah may seem ever elusive under such circumstances.

There are certainly many positive aspects to life in small communities. Several participants spoke about the love and sense of connection they were able to experience in such settings. Hannah described how the sense of neighborliness that may come with sheer physical proximity could permeate these rituals. She felt strongly that the Hevra Kadisha gave individuals within a community a forum to establish deeper connection with that community, “It has strengthened our bond, strengthening ourselves and strengthened others. There is a sense of love and caring for our elderly women." The interplay between self and other, self and community is reinforced by the transformative potential of these rituals.

However, the strong personal and inter-personal relationships that may develop in these communities may also act to hinder possible participation. This may act as a negative challenge to those considering joining the Hevra Kadisha. Individuals may resist feeling emotionally unable to be involved. Rona’s close connection to her community was the core of her resistance at first. “When I was first invited, I said no, no, no, everyone in this town is related or close friends. I thought it would be very difficult.” However, as Rona reflected on her many years of membership, she, as did other participants, expressed that it was precisely these personal interconnections that encouraged her sense of obligation to this tradition.

Myre spoke about how his community had once had an active Hevra Kadisha but “they got old, and there was little interest in continuing with it.” His community had then depended on a nearby city’s Jewish funeral home where people were hired to do the taharah. But when it was decided to attempt to revive the Hevra Kadisha he went to observe a taharah at this home.  “I was appalled, they were sloppy, careless, they said no prayers. They weren’t as reverent as they might have been. I thought to myself, we have to do better than that.” This community was successful in reviving a Hevra Kadisha, something Amos thought could never happen. Amos was partly committed to being a member of his Hevra because of this concern.

It can very easily slip away. It is the one small thing I can do for the Jewish community. I don’t take it lightly. I’ve obligated myself to guarantee that tradition will be there, and the only way is through my participation. Without a doubt, when it ceases it’s impossible to start it up again, which is why we should continue. It is our obligation to not let it die out. It is becoming more and more fragile. If we have held on this long, we need to do our share. 

His impassioned commitment to the Hevra Kadisha is born of love for this mitzvah and a very real fear that it might disappear.

In other small communities this heritage is not only vibrantly alive but is growing, a testament to determination, love and perseverance. In one community of only fifty members ten percent are members of the Hevra Kadisha. While the men’s Hevra had remained stable for a number of years, Hannah told me the women’s group had a twenty-year gap before restarting. Their motivation for returning to this practice was the number of women in the community who were aging, and a recognition that they needed to face their responsibility to provide this ritual for these women as they died. 

It was clear to me that the individuals whom I was interviewing were usually more senior (membership in Hevra Kadisha and/or age) and had years of practical experience on which to reflect. Many represented a bridge between the practices of European immigrants and of those Jews who were two and three generations removed from immigration. The elders could speak Yiddish, the younger members rarely could. However, the possibility of these disparate groups working together and caring for each other might be more likely in small communities. Many participants reflected on their sense of being needed and of needing others to help sustain this tradition. This need was direct, palpable, and informed by the close social relationships in these communities. The lack of financial and professional resources in these communities demanded that acts of gemilut hasadim become a priority. Individuals described various motivations for involvement. Their personal awareness of the need within their community usually overcame any initial hesitations, fears and anxieties.

Modern realities impinged on these groups in a variety of ways. One participant discussed the terrible pollution in his geographic area, a factor contributing to the decline of the number of any persons interested in moving to his community. The growing population of well-educated Jews choosing professional careers rather than establishing small town businesses has also changed the demographic picture of small Jewish communities. Small towns offer limited opportunities for professional careers. As a result, many smaller communities are suffering their own version of ‘brain drain’. Jewish populations outside of large urban centers are also more likely to inter-marry.

According to the 1990 Jewish Population Survey Jews are a mobile population. Nearly half the population changed their residence in the past six years, and less than 10 percent of Jewish adults live in the same home as 25 years ago. Longer life expectancy, low fertility rates and diminished Jewish identification are all cited as factors in decreasing numbers of Jews in North America. "The future demographic development of North American Jewry will depend on the present generation's ability to transmit a Jewish identity to the next," concluded the demographers. "This will depend on ongoing patterns of marriage and child-rearing” (CUNY, 2001, n.p.).

Participants expressing their concern for the survival of the Hevra Kadisha also reflected their concern for the very survival of their Jewish communities. While Jews have historically gravitated to urban areas, the statistics today reflect even greater urban concentrations. In the United States the total Jewish population is described in terms of four census regions and four identity constructs. The greatest concentration of Jews described is in the Northeast while the Midwest has the smallest population. The largest segment of the population, comprising one-quarter of the total, is the category of Jews by religion, residing in the Northeast while a plurality of Jews with no religion is found in the West (CUNY, 2001, n.p.). Will Jewish communities survive in small communities? Perhaps there will be a shift in the present demographic patterns. Certainly my community has experienced an influx of people wanting to leave once-desirable larger urban centers in the interests of raising Jewish children in what is perceived to be a safer environment. These same Jews often become very involved in all aspects of Jewish community life. Our Hevra Kadisha is a mix of old-timers and relatively new residents. Perhaps there will always be a variation of this theme existing in these small communities.

Membership

The Hevra Kadisha groups that the interviewees belonged to had been in existence over a wide span of years. Six communities had a Hevra Kadisha that was roughly 100 years old, or as Rona put it “since the beginning of time.” Five communities started a Hevra in the past thirty years. Dov was unclear about the length of time, beyond  “many years.” Their personal involvement in the Hevra stretched across a similar span from 2 ½ to 43 years. Four interviewees had over thirty years of experience in the Hevra Kadisha, giving them a unique window of perspectives on organizational practices, training and membership. These individuals were direct witness to changes in these practices as membership shifted from a primarily immigrant population to one made up of those born in North America. The Old World population has now largely died or become too frail to participate in this ritual. I was curious to see what their influence had been, and if it had survived in any manner.

Several people mentioned that their inspiration to join the Hevra Kadisha came through family members. Shlomo’s words were testament to his father’s example.  “My father was a Hevra Kadisha man – this is the best way. When a father moves out there are a set of shoes that are empty. I went into his footsteps.” Amos beautifully described the religious influence of his grandparents. His grandfather and his grandmother had both been active members of the Hevra Kadisha. His grandmother used to hand-sew takhrikhim. “The ladies would come over and sew instead of drinking coffee”. When his grandfather died he wanted to help but was told to wait. “The others did the Hevra Kadisha for him when he died, they would not allow me to do it. I sat outside and waited. They told me, next time, we’ll call you.” The Hevra Kadisha gave Amos both an example of his grandparent’s commitment to this mitzvah and an opportunity for him to then continue to honor their memory.

Dov’s father was a member of the Hevra Kadisha. However, Dov’s actual decision to join the Hevra was influenced more by the death of a dear family friend.

 My father preceded me. He was a member of the Hevra Kadisha. The man that headed it was a very close family friend. Back in the 60’s, I was in my early 20’s. He kind of unexpectedly got sick and died. He was not very old. He’d been trying to get me to join, but I wasn’t all that anxious. [After he died] I said I wanted to do this for him. He was the first.

Such memories certainly gave these participants very tangible and intimate links with preceding generations. Hannah, while not having direct familial links to Hevra Kadisha, and in fact having no idea about its existence as a child, did grow up near her eighty-year-old grandparents. “As a child I went to zillions of funerals. I understood very early that the function of a funeral was not to cry but to bond.” These experiences, forged in her childhood obviously created a visceral knowledge within her about the value of these rituals, and a commitment to ensure that she too would act to create and nurture similar bonds amongst members of her present-day community.

It is not always the death of a family member that may instigate joining a Hevra Kadisha. Golda described the death of a very close friend twelve years ago. Although the Hevra Kadisha was very active, she could not imagine doing taharah for her friend.

She had a long dying period. I didn’t see how I could possibly participate. I called people in S. to come down. I have never forgotten their response. ‘This is your loving deed that you can do for your friend for which you will receive no thanks’. I thought about it – she is absolutely right.

Variations of this phrase punctuated most interviews. This ritual I think does not only powerfully embody both thought and deed, the one reinforcing the other in a seamless fashion, it is truly a gift of love. Another woman reflecting on the imminent death of an elderly and much loved member of her community also wondered how they would get through the taharah. But as we talked, she too was very clear that these rituals were exactly what were going to help them cope with their friend’s death.

Rona had done considerable research into the history of her own Jewish community. She interviewed one gentleman in the course of her research who told her a story about his father and the Hevra Kadisha in his day. She related the story to me. “When he became 13 he automatically became a member. When the banquet [the annual banquet for members of the Hevra Kadisha, often on 7 Adar] was held, if a member was ill and couldn’t come, the dinner was sent to their house.” 7Adar is considered to be both the date of birth and yahrtzeit of the death of Moses. The date was chosen for the banquet because it was Moses who took on the responsibility for carrying the bones of Joseph out of Egypt. It is the date in many communities when the members of the Hevra Kadisha are honored. The members of the Hevrot fast during the day, as they beg forgiveness for any unintentional spiritual lapses during the previous year while performing their duties. A dinner often follows the fast.

Such personal touches often continue to mark these rituals in small communities. In this same community Rona described her own learning about how to do a taharah. She learned with elderly immigrant women, who, as they prepared the body of the woman who had died, would discuss details of her life.

[They] would tell stories about the woman; funny and not so funny stories, but never disrespectful. They would remember how one was such a good cook, or how one lady loved to play cards and how they could imagine her still playing cards. We still do this. We all know everyone.

Shula recalled a similar group of four to five women who had emigrated from Europe and still spoke Yiddish.

[They were] little ladies. I knew them. They told me where to stand. We would do taharah and then ask questions afterwards. It was as if they were visiting someone they loved, they spoke in very loving tones…At the time I was overwhelmed with love as well. It seemed to be so perfect. 

Today in the same community the personal stories have been replaced with more formal prayers, a change in custom against which the ladies fought, a change that members in other communities continue to resist.

Participants were not themselves strictly observant in any aspect of Jewish religious life. Jonathan observed that he thought the term observance was usually open to personal interpretation. “Jews think they’re observant in terms of where they are.”  As if confirming this opinion, Gershon said that he was observant, but “not by Orthodox standards.” Traditional religious observance, while clearly equated in the minds of many participants with Orthodox Judaism, was not considered a prerequisite to membership in the Hevra Kadisha.

Most participants were clear that such an expectation of religious orthodoxy could not be possible in their communities, Dov even declaring that, “I’ve never heard of that.”  The qualifications they were looking for in their members were not degrees of observance as it is traditionally understood, for example being shomer Shabbat (keeping the laws of the Sabbath) or keeping kosher (keeping the dietary laws), but good moral character and an interest in participating in this mitzvah. The bottom line for one group was willingness. Myre welcomed  “anyone who expresses interest, while Dov looked for  “willingness to participate” and Rona was “happy to have anyone.” Others looked for committed individuals who were actively involved in their respective communities. Malka described her interest in involving “ethical and moral individuals, who had good standing in the community.“ Hannah said her group looked for “people who were involved, good community people. If they were extremely liberal we might discourage them. This is very holy work. We have to feel that God is present. There is an understood standard.”

One community had considerably more stringent requirements for membership. Shlomo described these standards. Prospective members needed to be at least eighteen years old, a long-standing member of the Hevra Kadisha must have sponsored them, and they must have given at least an $18 donation to United Jewish Appeal. There was also a one-year probation period for new members and a clearly stated expectation that members would attend at funerals. These stipulated conditions were not perceived by the interviewee as discouraging participation at all.

Even though strict observance of the mitzvot were not a stated formal requirement for participation in the Hevra Kadisha, one participant discussed how this mitzvah acted to encourage observance in other aspects of life. Shula described this influence and tendency within her own group. “[Members tend to become] more observant and observance increases. I have seen this in my own husband, most definitely. He grew up Reform and now he is in shul every week.” Two other participants also noted this shift towards greater and deeper levels of ritual observance.

Membership in the Hevra Kadisha is limited by tradition to “pious Jews.” (Kol Bo ’al Aveilut, p. 87, as cited by Klein, 1979, p. 277). However, while membership is limited to Jews, if necessary preparation may be done by non-Jews, if supervised by Jews (Melamed Leho’il, vol. 2, Yoreh De’ah 112, quoted in responsum on Taharah by R. Sanders Tofield, Law Committee Archives, as cited by Klein, 1979, p. 277). I was interested to note that four participants actually mentioned being Jewish as a requirement for membership. While this might seem a given, such a statement might also be a reflection on the level of intermarriage that is a fact in most small communities. I suggest that the very fact of ‘Jewish’ even being mentioned, never mind as repeatedly as it was, (given the context and nature of this very traditional ritual) might be an indicator of the depths of intermarriage in small Jewish communities. Such mention might also indicate that the leadership of the Hevra Kadisha (as well as of other Jewish organizations) might be experiencing some degree of pressure from the general synagogue membership to broaden its constituency, if not explicitly, then implicitly. However, such mention of ‘Jewish’ might also be taken more pragmatically. Jews living in small towns often have little reinforcement or reflection of their Jewish identity and values outside formal Jewish settings. Such Jewish identity must usually be routinely reinforced, if not pursued. This reinforcement may also require Jews to make routine statements pertaining to their identity, an identity that Jews in more urban climes may take utterly for granted.

Overall my sense of the members of these groups was that of people who were very sincere and dedicated to the Hevra Kadisha. Myre was mostly concerned that prospective members “recognize it for the mitzvah that it is.” Participant’s entry into their Hevra had occurred in various ways but they all seemed to hold a single-minded commitment to the continuing of the mitzvah of taharah. The Hevra Kadisha, by its very tradition of privacy, would seem to lend itself to a certain circumspection of character when individuals consider membership. Most participants described choosing new members as a process of self-selection, a process that in many cases was reinforced by the physical and temporal demands of the work.

A fascinating tension began to emerge as participants discussed their membership in their Hevrei Kadisha. An unstated yet perceptible equation between belief and practice began to tentatively emerge. While significant differences are generally understood to exist between modern belief systems (rationality, scientism, a generalized discomfort with the concept of after-life, individual authority and control of personal destiny) and those of pre-modern or more traditional beliefs (belief in after-life, superstition, faith, an essential integration of individual into communal norms and community structures), participants gave voice to how modern beliefs worked in tandem, and not opposition with pre-modern traditional practices. This simultaneous continuity of commitment by Hevra Kadisha members to an historical practice, while having no intellectual framework for the context of belief or origins of that same practice was fascinating to me. 

Because of the “stripped-down” nature of most present-day mortuary manuals and the subsequent lack of references thereof to religious belief, the Hevra Kadisha practices became that of “we do what we do because that is how we have done it,” instead of “we do this because this is how we understand the development of this practice within the context of our religious history.” This phenomenon may not, in fact, be unusual. Within more generalized observance many Jews keep to various religious practices without having any biblical or rabbinic contextual understanding for that same practice. However this study certainly highlighted how disconnected many Jews are from the origins of Hevra Kadisha customs, and how many want to have a deeper understanding of the origins of these rituals.

While traditional commitment to halakhah and mitzvot were no longer considered primary factors for individuals to consider themselves observant, (never mind influence a determination of membership in the Hevra Kadisha), most participants did consider themselves to be observant Jews. I wondered if the significant commitment to the continuation of the Hevra Kadisha (expressed by all participants) created a milieu of observance, offered an umbrella of belief, by which participants could at least anticipate a commitment to traditional religious observance. Even if not unfurled, such an umbrella could be tucked under their arms, and might afford potential protection from any rain of disdain that might be voiced by more traditionally observant Jews.

While most Hevra Kadisha members I interviewed expressed little if any understanding about why they were doing particular rituals, they were nevertheless committed to the form of those same rituals continuing. Traditionally, the rituals of taharah are understood to symbolize the symbiotic relationship between deed and faith, linking presence in this world to belief in presence in the world-to-come. However, it would seem today that the actions of these rituals continue despite any provision for intellectual, religious, mystical, or historical understandings about their original if not evolving meanings. Given that so much of our comprehension of self is discovered through symbol and myth, I found this primary dedication to form, in spite of such lack of knowledge, intriguing.

I would argue that post-modern conceits of deconstruction and subsequent lack of any possibility of sustained meaning have not entered into the consciousness of the average person. Most people, myself included, tend to still occupy an intellectual realm of modern rationality, even as we may still appreciate pre and post-modern symbolism. Given that supposition, I find it testament to the incredibly enduring nature of these rituals that they have survived in such a vacuum of meaning. As I continued to explore the customs of different Hevra Kadisha groups these tensions continued to intrigue me.

Why join a Hevra Kadisha?

In any Jewish community there are usually many opportunities for participation in communal activities. Organizations such as Hadassah-Wizo, ORT, the Federation of Men’s Clubs, Women’s League, the synagogue board or executive, and various historical, educational and family service committees all rely heavily on individuals volunteering their time. Given the variety of options, why would someone choose to join the Hevra Kadisha? Many people are uncomfortable if not repulsed by the idea of even being in the presence of a dead body. Others think such work is a job best left to the hands of professionals. If, as Shlomo said, volunteerism really is on the way out, how is it that so many people have become so fiercely dedicated to this mitzvah? I wanted to know not only what led to their long-term dedication but also what prompted their initial participation.

Politics in all its guises, both positive and negative, was often cited by participants as a motivating factor in joining the Hevra Kadisha. Jonathan talked about the plans of his community to build their own ‘funeral home’ structure.

[There will be] room for families, room for the Hevra Kadisha, taharah, meetings and gatherings…This opens up the door for the community to have more control. We need to be in control. We need to get our power back, provide the service at an affordable price.

Not only did membership in the Hevra Kadisha give Jonathan an opportunity to become an activist and proponent for his community, his involvement has expanded his definition of what it means to be Jewish.

This is my way of being a Jew. I don’t understand why Jews can’t just be Jews. I don’t see any difference. Especially with the Hevra Kadisha this applies. The Hevra Kadisha has no boundaries. It takes the responsibility for the community to bury its dead. It is way past political differences.

In this vision then, the Hevra Kadisha then, can become a place to both intensely connect with a personal sense of Judaism, (Herberg’s mitzvah-for-me), and can also open doorways between Jews who may otherwise have little cause for connection. Ironically, for Zev and for Malka the Hevra was a very welcome haven from the politicking they so disliked, a politicking that seemed to them to permeate synagogue life. The Hevra Kadisha was their refuge, a sanctuary where their souls were renewed.  

Aging baby boomers reflected on the increased presence of death in their lives. Gershon seemed particularly aware of how his generation was now in its middle years, years where he and many others were confronting death more and more often. 

I’m fifty…Joining the Hevra Kadisha was a reaction to what was going on in my life. My mother was here in a nursing home and she was deteriorating over three years. A good friend of my wife died of cancer. A young boy died of CF. Our generation is constantly having to confront the reality of death. We need to embrace it, learn more about it, learn how it relates to me. As Jews we have a straightforward and positive manner.

Certainly every generation has had to face death. But as they have with every decade the large numbers of baby-boomers are on a crest of influence.  In many communities this influence is being felt as a renewal and rediscovery of aspects of Jewish life. The baby-boomer generation, for example, is a definite factor in the considerable renewal of interest in formal Jewish learning. Social activism led many people of this generation, not just Jews, into an intense examination of their personal values and ethics. The social movements and attitudes that fired political and social activism in the 1960’s and 1970’s were often brought into synagogues as individual Jews returned to Judaism.

The term ba’alei teshuvah has generally been applied to Jews returning to Orthodoxy, but there are also many thousands of Jews who have similarly returned to the more liberal denominations of Judaism. As these Jews return to synagogue communities, they are often blending their newly found learning and commitment to traditional obedience to religious rituals, with their previously held values of ‘radical’ hands-on activism. Ironically, such activism also reflects very traditional Jewish values. The prophetic tradition teaches that God demands Jews value and perform acts of loving-kindness and justice. Within this tradition of prophetic teachings Jews are called to go beyond mere ritualized adherence to and performance of the mitzvot, towards developing an activated consciousness of human and divine connection that will sustain the viability of such actions. Each morning as observant Jews place tefillin on their arm and forehead the following words are recited, “And I will espouse you forever: I will espouse you with righteousness and justice, And with goodness and mercy, And I will espouse you with faithfulness, Then you shall be devoted to the Lord”  (Hosea 2:21 –22, JPS edition Tanakh, 1988, p. 984). As God is bound to us, as we are to God, so too are Jews bound to each other. Such ethical awareness and activism that may have been previously attributed solely to particular modern social movements may now be recognized by many Jews as an inherent element of their traditional Jewish heritage.

Several participants discussed their quest for a deeper understanding of the process of death, and how that understanding offered an essential and enriching element in their lives. As Malka clearly stated this quest was a component in her choice to continue her membership in her Hevra Kadisha. “I’m a member of the Hevra Kadisha because I think death is part of life and makes life richer because you’re aware of the process that you are involved in. it makes the sanctity of life real. Confronting death is like confronting birth.” This ritual contact with death also gave Gershon a personal philosophy that embraced the rich blessings of life.  “This is the sort of thing that will draw people closer. We are able to see the world of life and sunshine, we know how to take advantage of that.” Tzvi described how this mitzvah enhanced his life by its very necessity. “It’s a mitzvah. You do it once and you realize what you have done – this is the natural, normal way. There are no noble reasons. It is just something that has to be done.”

From the most prosaic and pragmatic of reasons to the more philosophical, this ritual was acknowledged by these participants as an instrumental and essential component in their awareness and understanding of the cycles of life and death, death and life.

Death of a family member or a close friend was a significant factor for several participants joining a Hevra Kadisha. Golda described the death of a friend’s mother as impetus for her organizing her first taharah. “I became aware we had to do something. Burial was more than just digging a hole.” There was a sense throughout all of these interviews that very particular personal and communal significance was attached to this ritual. For example, Shula was often called to the hospital to make the necessary arrangements for the release of bodies. Nurses at the hospital had told her several times that the work of the Hevra Kadisha – though they did not know to call it by name – was uniquely special. “[The nurses would say] ‘There is something you Jews have that no one else has’ – what is missing in their grieving is that connection.” The nurses knew what many Jews have sadly lost. As many Jews have left behind traditional rituals and community many have also abandoned this profound sense of connection. Shula expressed a tangible gratitude for the functional connectivity of these rituals. The rituals of the Hevra Kadisha act as a spiritual and physical bond between the present generation, the generations preceding and the generations to follow.

This generational link is perhaps most poignant as Jews recall the millions who perished in the Shoah (the Holocaust). As some Jews say Kaddish weekly for the six million who perished, others perceive the Hevra Kadisha as providing an opportunity to memorialize the anonymity of their deaths. Malka expressed her need to continue this work partly “because 6 million Jews were killed and not given proper burials.” The rituals of the Hevra Kadisha can also provide very real comfort for those who survived the Shoah, but now face death in their old age. Shula described such a couple.

Once there was a Holocaust survivor couple. She was in the hospital and died. The hospital called me in the middle of the night. They couldn’t get him to leave his wife and go home. I went to the hospital and then went with him to the funeral home. He was in the Hevra Kadisha forever. He kept saying ‘You’re going to take care of my Sarah, you’re going to take care of my Sarah’. He relied on us.

This man’s connection with these rituals, so well known from his own participation, enabled him to finally release his beloved wife, knowing he could trust the compassion and loving-kindness of the hands and hearts of the Hevra Kadisha.  Yet another survivor from this same community had a very different reaction to the idea of these same rituals. Again, Shula told me this story with compassion and empathy.

We had a woman in the congregation who got out (of Germany) as a teenager, but her husband was detained in a German prison, not the camps. He was put in a very small cell for 9-10 months. He could only sit with his knees tucked up. Ever since then he couldn’t ride in a car, even a bus – it was too claustrophobic. He walked everywhere. He insisted he would have to be cremated. He insisted, ‘You can’t put me in a box’.  The woman asked – what can I do? She asked her brother, who was a rabbi, and he told her that King Saul chose to be cremated. If it was good enough for him it was good enough for her husband.

This rabbi was recalling the story of Saul and his three sons who were killed and beheaded by the Philistines. Even though cremation was not Jewish practice (and is, in fact, forbidden by Jewish law) their bodies were taken to Beth-shan and burned, and then the bones were buried (First Samuel 31:12 –13). Kimchi (biblical commentator, 1160-1235) has suggested that “it is possible that in this case the bodies were so badly decomposed that it was considered an affront to the dead to bury them in that state” (Goldman, S., 1962, pp.184-185). Thus a biblical precedent allowed compassion for the needs of this survivor’s neshama (soul) to also override the protocols of tradition. That the Hevra Kadisha stretched to comply with the aberrant request of this survivor to be cremated demonstrated their recognition of his despair and honor for his dignity even as they found a way to locate their decision in Jewish text.

Some participants discussed their decision to join the Hevra Kadisha in very pragmatic terms. This was a mitzvah. It was necessary, and it kept the tradition alive. Some spoke of this mitzvah being the most important of all mitzvot. Rona remembered her father’s words to this day.

I remember my father telling me this is the greatest mitzvah there ever is. When you do something for someone there is always the possibility that they will acknowledge you. This is the one thing you can do that the person can never do anything for you…I just keep hearing my father’s voice coming back to me. I think I am doing it for him.

Not all children appreciate the merit of this mitzvah as Myre ruefully acknowledged.  “My children think I am out of my mind. But I recognize the mitzvah for what it is.” How is the legacy of this mitzvah best transmitted through the generations? How do we educate our children and our younger members so that they don’t think we are out of our mind, so that they choose to join their own Hevra Kadisha? Later, I will look at the challenges regarding education about these rituals within our communities.

In many ways taharah is inexplicable. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why there is so little descriptive literature about this ritual. But even without any formal explanations to act as reinforcement, many participants spoke about the intrinsic value of such work. Malka described the experiential knowledge that nourished and sustained her. “I think you only know what the Hevra Kadisha means until after you have done it. First you do and then you understand. It is a living thing, based on experiences. It is the stuff you cannot tell people.”

Golda also described the inner recompense this ritual affords. “We are never paid – only from within.” Generally the word radical is understood to mean in opposition to tradition. But within these rituals the meanings of these words merge. Radical can mean going to the root of a matter, affecting its very foundation. These rituals founded in tradition are at the root of our connection with life and death. The Hevra Kadisha is radical in this very primacy. These rituals enable the living to learn from death as the dead are supported by the living.  Amos referred to this merging of meaning when he described what the Hevra means to him. “It has given me the root of it. It is some way I can hold on to a little part of tradition in my shul.” Amos described how the cycles of life and death are made palpable within the very heart of these rituals.

Some of these stories bring tears to my eyes every time I read them, every time I hear them in my head. They are poignant and intimate; they are stories of courage and fear. Reizl described her work in palliative care. She discussed her need for a sense of connection with the soul of the metah. “I feel I need to follow right through, I feel I can be of some help to the soul, especially with a more difficult death. I help with ‘soul retrieval’, if someone is caught between death and the afterlife, I can help.”

This woman described several occasions where she strongly experienced herself as a spiritual conduit during taharah. Like Reizl, Hevra Kadisha members may experience a sense of themselves as a gesher, as a bridge working collectively in this world to help the neshamah of the met/metah on its journey. As individuals spoke about why and how they became members of the Hevra Kadisha I sensed a larger gesher extending between us all, with the wings of the Shekhinah (God’s Presence in this world) both span and truss. The first four letters of the Hebrew alphabet are often counted out loud as the ties of the takhrikhim are twisted, then tied into three connected but unknotted bows. Reciting aleph, bet, gimel, dalet members of the Hevra Kadisha invoke God’s gift of letters, and the calling of the world into creation by Word. The ties are twisted into the shape of a shin. Shin is the letter that begins one of the names of God, Shaddai, a name that connotes the power of God. It is also the first letter of the Shema, the Jewish creed of belief in one God. So as the body of the dead is dressed and the shrouds are tied in this holy letter, even the garments become prayer, threads of connection between our hands, the neshama of the dead and God.

Training

What training had these participants been given when they first joined? Did they feel that such training was adequate? What training did members receive today? Given the paucity of literature on the subject, I was curious to know how information about taharah was relayed. I was also interested in participant’s opinions about how this training could be improved, if at all. The taharah manuals that I have seen to-date provide an outline, often fairly cryptic, of procedures to follow. But I was curious about what other texts, if any, were available for training purposes. My personal experience of the Hevra Kadisha was that training was usually based on an apprenticeship model. Most participants echoed this understanding.

All participants discussed how prospective Hevra Kadisha members would be initially invited to observe a taharah. When I asked Shlomo about his training he laughed and succinctly replied.  “When I became a member? - Zilch! I was dealing with the old timers!”  Shula also started her initial training years ago and she described her early experiences similarly.

There was no service or reading when I started. The women were in their 60’s and 70’s…the older women had their own ways…We would do taharah and then after they let me ask questions, and they asked me if I was ready to do it next time. If I made a mistake they would just raise their eyebrows.

I often heard from participants that in earlier days, taharah was especially a ritual handed down by elder to younger members. There was a sense of dignity and continuity in such generational transition, and in some communities this is still the case. As Dov described training in his group is largely informal. “There is no formal training. The elders lead the way, directing the ritual. It is an apprenticeship.” Today, many of the ‘old-timers’ are long gone, leaving the aging middle generation with the responsibility of passing on this heritage. In other groups, there appeared to be less of a span in ages, particularly if the groups were relatively new.

A Hevra Kadisha group other than their present community trained several participants. Hannah felt that the training she and the women in her group received was very positive and thorough.

We were made to feel very comfortable by the veteran women. Once we got over our terror at being in the mortuary, we relaxed. There were no bodies, only Annie, a doll. They talked us through; we asked our questions…For the first death we went back with the body to M. We went in and worked with three women who were experienced, it was so much easier, touching her, feeling the emotions. It was a beautiful experience.

Unfortunately, not all such instruction was as positive. Myre learned by wanting to improve on the carelessness he had observed, determined to do better with his own group. Only two members talked about specific formal training. Jonathan mentioned holding training workshops, but then stated that he thought they needed to do more training and educational programs in their community.

Gershon enthusiastically described training sessions, which he had experienced.

[He thought they were] as good as it gets. I was originally trained by the Orthodox in Denver. They gave me tapes and books. They hold daylong programs annually. During the day you watch tapes, typically there is someone there to speak, the rabbis speak, other Hevra members speak, and the funeral director discusses safety issues. The books are on a list with the highest priority at the top. Some of the reading is optional. The leadership of the Hevra conducts the program and acts as coordinator.

Obviously such training sessions are of a very different nature than more informal observational styles of learning about taharah. I would suggest that today, when there are fewer elders to pass on the wisdom of their experiences, and especially when new groups are forming, that these types of training seminars will become increasingly useful if not necessary. New medical circumstances (HIV, Hepatitis B) which may pose a potential risk for Hevra Kadisha members, as well as limited availability of medical personnel who can serve on the taharah teams, may also necessitate some level of formalized education and training.

Participants voiced varying concerns about formal and informal training methods. Rona was very clear that the observational-and-then-participatory training style was completely adequate. “We do it exactly the way we did when I started out.”  Participants also stated concerns about education that went beyond the outlining of actual practical details and procedures. Hannah was concerned that prospective members “understood the spiritual nature of what is done”. She also suggested that it would be important “to be very nurturing of people, to bring them into the mortuary to get them used to being there.”  While some felt that such training could be managed adequately in his or her own communities Golda thought it would be useful to have “somebody from outside the community come in for the training.”  She felt that she had been instructing new members for a number of years, and that a fresh perspective might be both enlightening and inspiring. Amos also felt that what they were doing was adequate but insufficient. “We probably don’t do as well in that area as we could. We need some explanations and learning as we go. A class or two would help. We could have a big group discussion and explain things.”

Such group discussions and more formalized learning certainly could complement the more individualized on-the-job learning that characterized most of the participant’s training. Shula had an idea for a training workshop that she has been discussing with her rabbi.  “I talk about doing workshops with the rabbi, with children of aging parents, to try and get them to come. It should be timed so they don’t feel on the spot, [it would be an opportunity] to let them ask questions.”  Such a proactive workshop would have the merit of introducing basic death and mourning rituals to the surviving family members. However, it would require an acknowledgment of imminent or even potential death that many people might find uncomfortable, if not morbid.

Zev, who had moved from one community to another, also voiced his concerns that members be given adequate practical instruction. He was particularly concerned that even after years of participation during taharah, members still did not know techniques for more easily dressing the body.  “Members should be shown how to dress the body properly. They don’t know how to dress here; they were always struggling.” However, such correct instruction may be difficult to find, especially in more isolated communities. It was only when this individual arrived in his new community, bringing skills he had learned in a larger community with a much longer tradition of Hevra Kadisha, that anyone even knew another technique was available. He was then able to pass on these techniques to members of his new community.

Dov voiced his concern about access to information. He discussed his support for a transition from oral to written transmission of details at least for matters concerning a local Hevra. Even though Dov realized much information about taharah and other obligations of the Hevra Kadisha continues to be passed on orally and by direct example, he expressed his worry that such important procedural information was not also written. His experience was that such information was being kept  “only in the head of the current president. I feel like the person heading this should write down all the information for the second in command…some things have to be passed on that way.”

Such a style of retention of information might be more often found in smaller communities where there might be few or any employees to create and manage information systems. But still, Dov’s point is well taken. Possible illness or the extended travel of the person with such information ‘in his head’ can lead to very real foul-ups and difficulties for remaining members.

I asked participants what materials they were given to study, if any, as preparation for their involvement. Few materials were mentioned. Many participants cited Lamm (1969) as their only source of information, in addition to the taharah manual that their particular Hevra Kadisha used. They were generally positive in their assessment of this book, while at the same time aware of its limitations. Several people mentioned compiling their own collection of reading material – such as there was. Hannah described what she had been able to find. “There is a sentence here, a sentence there, there really isn’t much.” Dov mentioned occasionally receiving something from United Synagogue but that it was just very general reading about Hevra Kadisha. “Sometimes it applies and sometimes it doesn’t.” 

Rona was clear. Much as she thought she might enjoy reading more about Hevra Kadisha, she did not think that the women on her team would be interested in either reading about this ritual or participating in a formal workshop. I sensed she didn’t want to push her luck, given the limited human resources in her community. “I’m grateful when women want to participate – I don’t want to bother them with a lot of reading.” Amos was also concerned about what the response of members of his group would be to any expectation of formal study or reading. “I’m not sure everybody wants to be that well informed. Some say – just don’t load me up with lots of information.” There was a general sense that if such materials were more widely available then those who were interested could at least study the information themselves. Perhaps they could then pass on new information to other members of the Hevra Kadisha in a more informal or conversational manner.

There appeared to be a tension of needs between those who wanted to read as much as they could (and who were frustrated by a singular lack of text) and those who were uninterested in any level of formalized learning. Amos noted that relevant books were mentioned in their community newsletter.  “[But] they probably get used by the teachers in the Sunday School rather than by the Hevra Kadisha.” Golda perhaps best summed up the approach to this matter in her own inimitable manner.

People in our community, if they come up with anything, they bring it to me. I have all the known publications, which is so small…I learned (I was also one of the people who set up the kosher kitchen in the shul) which are the good hekhshers, and which are questionable. [1] [I learned] that there are levels of everything, from taharah to eating a hot dog.

Her respectful yet humorous pragmatism personified the attitudes of many of the participants. Recognizing this, I suggest that increased training, with both formal and informal styles to complement each other, can address the needs of prospective Hevra Kadisha members and can be gauged to the nuances of individual and community. Even as there are “levels of everything,” I believe most present-day Hevra Kadisha groups are spending their capital and not re-investing the interest of their members. As new groups form, as elders in communities themselves die such training becomes more essential. The present-day detachment of many Jews from understanding any textual or historical context about these rituals also necessitates greater degrees of training. As I will discuss later educational networks are being developed that will enable the Hevra Kadisha leadership and members to share their experiential resources and expertise. But one practical and essential aspect of training for all Hevra Kadisha members today is safety.

Safety

Safety precautions while conducting taharah were fairly standard even as safety has increasingly become a concern. None of the Hevra Kadisha groups required participants to have Hepatitis B inoculations, a procedure that is becoming recommended more frequently in urban groups. Rabbi Zohn stated that “there was no reason to not have Hepatitis B shots. I now recommend shots" (personal communication, September 11, New York). Certainly many urban Hevra Kadisha groups are grappling with regulating this procedure. For example, a member of New York’s Lincoln Square Hevra Kadisha posted the following question on-line;

“We have been told that the danger of infection from hepatitis is much greater than the danger of infection from the AIDS virus. Most of our members have already been vaccinated for hepatitis but not all. Do you advise or require all your members to take the hepatitis vaccination? Are you aware that after the first 3 initial injections, it is necessary to receive a booster injection?” See URL:  (http://www.jewish-funerals.org/infection.htm accessed January 10, 2001).

My sense is that there needs to be a concerted effort to clearly communicate to all Hevra Kadisha members what medical risks are involved with regard to hepatitis B and other infectious diseases.

Several participants mentioned that being in a small community provided them with a certain understood protection in that they usually knew everyone in the community, and knew with whom they were dealing. Most deaths were natural deaths, usually of the elderly. Several people mentioned that they had never dealt with contagious diseases of any kind.  But Dov, even as he described his Jewish community as tightly-knit, acknowledged that members of the Hevra Kadisha now had concerns about safety, particularly with regard to strangers they may be obligated to prepare.

[These concerns about contagious disease] have only come up in the last couple of years. Today we are much more careful, more by our own fear of what could happen, our own lay knowledge of bodily fluid contact. If the body is tagged hepatitis, we always ask to be notified. We are much more careful than I recall 25 years ago. We get a fair number of people we don’t know…different situations are far more frequent.

While members of the actual Jewish community may be well known to Hevra Kadisha members, it is entirely possible that they may encounter Jews unknown to them. There will always be a certain number of unaffiliated and unknown Jews that a Hevra Kadisha may encounter. In smaller communities the likelihood of a community volunteer Hevra Kadisha being called upon to provide taharah for a stranger is certainly possible. Such an occasion may, in fact, not only be more noticeable but may be considered more risky than in a larger city where the anonymity and professional services of a Jewish funeral home are usually in place. To this end, extra precautions may be necessary. Amos reinforced these perceptions by mentioning the differences in precautions his Hevra Kadisha used with strangers. “Most people we get, we know their health ailments. For people from out of town, we use all precautions.” A number of participants had discussed communicable diseases, including hepatitis and AIDS, within their groups. Some groups took direction and guidance from funeral home directors, while others turned to nurses and doctors who may assist the taharah team. Zev said his group arranged for doctors to come to the Hevra Kadisha meetings held once monthly to discuss various diseases and medical procedures. Only one Hevra had never discussed this aspect of safety during taharah.

When confronted with death by contagious disease, the possible medical risk to Hevra Kadisha members must be weighed against the task of completing a full taharah. Dov described exactly such a circumstance that his Hevra Kadisha had recently encountered.

We had somebody, not very long ago. We didn’t know much about them, and we didn’t know they had a contagious disease. Nobody mentioned any of this. We didn’t know until we read the tag. Four of us went out in a mid-winter snowstorm to get over there, without knowing anything about this person. We found out they wouldn’t do him in F. – they’re Orthodox. But we said, “If he’s Jewish we’ll do it.” The tag said ‘Be careful.’ The guys were very upset by that. They were upset that they didn’t tell us anything. I mean we’re here risking our lives. We did kind of a limited taharah. The washing was much more limited. We did manage to dress him in takhrikhim, but we were more careful in the washing and preparation. Very careful. We’re not professionals.

 All participants wore latex gloves and gowns or smocks. Usually participants only wore single gloves, doubling up if only there was a problem, for example, cleaning the rectum. Some wore waterproof aprons over their gowns. Hannah described their precautions in this manner. “We try to imagine every surface being like tar, every surface is contaminated. We take the gowns off from the inside.” In some communities the gowns are cleaned after every usage. Zev described a similar technique for removing gloves, removing them from the inside, and being careful to never touch the outside of the glove.

Some participants wore foot coverings or rubber boots. Half the participants routinely wore surgical masks, the other half either did not wear masks or only under particular circumstances. One group had Plexiglas shields available if members wanted to use them. Few participants routinely changed their gloves between the washing of the body and the actual taharah. Scrubbing well with antiseptic soap after completing the taharah was also mentioned. If any IV’s or needles needed to be removed, participants either relied on the expertise of the nurses and doctors on their team, or on the expertise of the funeral home personnel, who often had removed such needles prior to the taharah.  Hannah actually described how to remove an IV.  “You take a couple of clamps, clip as closely to the body as you can. While keeping the clamps on, take out the IV. Leave the clamps on, leave them alone.” Other participants did not mention such specific detail.

Communication is probably the most important aspect of safety for the Hevra Kadisha. Communication between the funeral home and the members of the Hevra about the state of the body to be prepared is very important, as is communication between medical personnel and members as they learn how to best deal with situations that may arise. Even where there is potentially very low risk within a given community, it is essential this information be shared.

Certainly concern for their fellow members safety was an overall issue for most of these participants. There were clear expectations that they should and would receive prior warning if there were any situations where that safety might be compromised. But as concerned as the participants were about this aspect of taharah, it felt secondary to the primary purpose. Beyond this concern was the greater concern that they be willing and available to provide a dignified taharah for any Jew who needed. A number of participants discussed their reliance on the knowledge of funeral home directors. Hevra Kadisha members, as volunteers, expressed their appreciation for the expertise of these professionals. 

Funeral homes

One of the primary responsibilities of the Hevra Kadisha is to arrange for the taharah and for the use of space, as needed, in a funeral home. Most small communities conduct the taharah in a non-Jewish funeral home. Participants described the relationships between Hevra Kadisha members and funeral home directors as generally very cordial. Employees of the funeral homes tended to take care of all the paper work essential for the mourning family: notifications to various government offices, obituary forms, and death certificates. The funeral home directors also had multiple roles to play vis-à-vis the Hevra Kadisha. They advised on safety matters, and they often had checked the body prior to the arrival of Hevra Kadisha members, removing any IV or medical equipment. While some Hevra Kadisha groups were very firm about opening the body bag themselves, others allowed the funeral home to prepare the body at this initial stage, prior to the actual taharah. The funeral home directors routinely made arrangements for the funeral, for the digging of the grave, and for the use of a hearse. Most Hevra Kadisha groups also had an arrangement whereby the funeral home would purchase kosher caskets and takhrikhim as needed.

Of necessity then, the relationship between the Hevra Kadisha and the funeral home is closely intertwined. Although I hadn’t asked directly about this relationship, all participants discussed the funeral homes they worked with. Some groups had a long-standing relationship with one or several funeral homes; others had a portable supplies cabinet that they took with them to the funeral home of the families’ choice. One participant reminisced about how his Hevra Kadisha used to pick up the body from the family home or hospital themselves, but today the funeral home was responsible for all such transportation.

The financial ups and downs of the funeral industry, particularly over this past decade, have led to considerable re-organizations of ownership. Loewen is the "second largest and fastest growing publicly held funeral service corporation in North America" according to its Internet web site. Loewen operates more than 1,000 funeral homes, 450 cemeteries and 50 crematoriums in the U.S. and Canada. Funeral industry whistle blower Darryl J. Roberts has criticized the climate surrounding funeral services takeovers (Roberts, 1998, n.p.). Such takeovers have led to changes that Shula described as leading to a more strained relationship.

The funeral home was sold to a conglomerate, and there was less and less sensitivity. Once they even walked in on us. I talked with them at a board meeting. Later, a new funeral home was going to be built close to our neighborhood. There were protests from people about its location, so they used us as an example of why it would be okay to build there. They told everyone that Jews don’t embalm bodies – so it went through. They needed us, so now we have our own room with our own cabinet.

This situation clearly became a case of quid pro quo. Another community, however, was anxious to end its dependence on the funeral home they were using. They decided to fund raise to create their own Jewish funeral home. They were paying $2200 for each use of the funeral home preparation room, dollars they preferred to see stay in their own Jewish community.

Sometimes the relationship between funeral home and Hevra Kadisha was very positive. Golda described an arrangement whereby the “funeral home lets the Hevra Kadisha use the facility gratis.” Golda also pointed out that the funeral director she worked with was actually very knowledgeable about Jewish customs as well as customs of other cultures. She stated that such familiarity was “part of their training.” In one city an owner of a funeral home used by the Hevra Kadisha was even invited to the annual Hevra Kadisha banquet, a clear indication of the respectful relationship that existed. The funeral home, now managed by the owner’s son, had provided services to the Jewish community for many years, in a relationship of mutual regard and respect. Certainly the overall tone of relations between most participants and funeral homes appeared to be one of respect. When there were problems between a funeral home and a Hevra Kadisha a meeting with those involved usually immediately resolved any problems. It would certainly be advisable for several representatives of a Hevra Kadisha to meet with the management of any funeral home that they are planning to use and explain the basic requirements necessitated. My experience is that funeral home personnel are pleased to also learn more about specific rituals and custom. Such time is well spent.

Many participants also mentioned developing their relationship with the local coroner as an essential part of their work. Based on the experiences of some participants I also recommend that a representative of each Hevra Kadisha be pro-active and arrange to meet with the local coroner to explain Jewish customs and expectations, particularly with regard to autopsies. In some communities the rabbi spoke with the coroner, in others a member of the Hevra Kadisha did so. The emphasis on doing minimal damage and on sewing the bodies back up as completely as possible often required careful explanation. Rona’s group had a particularly horrifying situation.

Once we had a situation where the organs had not been put back in after an autopsy; they had not sewn the body back up. We tried not to look. We just put a towel over the body and then dressed the body. A doctor went and talked with the people at the hospital and explained we were not professionals. He said ‘I don’t want to ever hear of this again, it is inexcusable’. I have made up a list of instructions to give nursing homes about what to do and what not to do.

Myre also mentioned their “good relationship with the local coroner. We really discourage autopsies.” Whether new or already existing, each group should seriously consider being proactive in this matter, and approach not only coroners, but all professional medical organizations, nursing homes and hospitals, leaving them information about preferred procedures for handling a Jewish body after death. There was a general consensus amongst participants as they discussed their relationship with these professional groups, that once individuals in these groups had been sufficiently informed about Jewish customs these expectations were honored. However, given the considerable changes of employment in both funeral home and medical personnel, such educational efforts need to routinely become part of the responsibilities of Hevra Kadisha members.

Taharah: Manuals

Historically, most communities borrowed and/or published their own version of a mortuary manual. Similarly today, all participants had some form of manual or guide to consult during the taharah. These manuals were also often borrowed from other communities and then either revised or used as is. Some participants were completely satisfied with their manuals but others mentioned changes they would like to see incorporated in a new manual. Several participants mentioned that the pages of their manual were plasticized, which provided useful protection given the washing and handling of wet cloths.

Several communities had both the procedures and the berakhot (blessings) fastened to the wall of their preparation room where they conduct the taharah. Rona described how her community actually had an artistic rendition of their guide fastened to the wall of their preparation room.

An artist did a big picture with all the rules and regulations and the prayers. It is on the wall, we leave it up. It is adequate to our needs. His son re-did the painting. The man had originally written taharah incorrectly and the son wrote it the same way. He wrote tarah.

The word tarah is missing the central letter hay, a letter that can symbolize the Presence of God. The letter hay has multi-dimensional meanings. Talmud discusses the form of the letter hay. It has three sides, but one side is open. It is said that this indicates the freedom of choice open to all humans. We are not confined to religious observance but given free choice. However if one leaves the strictures of Torah it is possible to slip and fall through the open space into an abyss. At the same time, the letter symbolizes the potential for teshuvah, for repentance, and God’s ever-readiness to forgive (Menachot 29b, Munk, 1983, p.87). As art may imitate reality so too may this missing letter reflect a perception of God’s absence. Ritualized human intervention is necessary to complete the purifying quality of taharah as human hands prepare the met/metah for return to God.

All of the manuals had both Hebrew and English text. Only two groups used manuals that had transliterated Hebrew. Only some of the guides had separate text for men and women or offered necessary linguistic gender changes within the body of the prayers. Several people seemed surprised by this question of gendered language and didn’t know if the text provided for this or not. Rona, for example, said, “I never thought about it.” Given the lack of Hebrew literacy in many small communities such inclusion should be considered standard in future publications. Several participants mentioned using the Jewish Sacred Society guide from Chicago. Zev particularly liked the graph that outlined responsibilities for particular individuals during the course of the taharah. However Hannah found the biggest problem with this particular guide was reading the Hebrew. Even Zev complained that the Hebrew in the booklet was tiny, the print was fuzzy, and thus generally difficult to read. Both Zev and Hannah wanted larger clear print that was more readable.

Many participants read the blessings in English as well as in Hebrew. Several participants mentioned the capacity of God to understand the blessings no matter what the language. All groups attempted to have at least one person on any team that could read Hebrew. However as Malka pointed out, “there is reading – and there is reading and understanding.” Shlomo, who has been doing taharah for over forty years didn’t understand Hebrew and felt prayer in English was entirely acceptable.  “We may as well be realistic, you can pray in English. I don’t understand Hebrew.” Halakhah does not require the blessings to be recited in Hebrew, but it is advised.

Rather than have only a person who is fluent in Hebrew recite the blessings, Rona mentioned that she used these blessings as an opportunity for different women to expand their learning. “Yes, they can read Hebrew. Three or four are converts. I try to have a different girl read the prayers each time, first in Hebrew, then in English.” Amos said, “If we have eight members, out of that eight, three can read. But someone is always present who can read.” Shula commented that even if someone chose to struggle with the Hebrew all his or her prayers were repeated in English. As the comments of these participants reflect, levels of Hebrew literacy are minimal in many small communities. However, all participants discussed the need to balance a sense of inclusion with respect for linguistic heritage.

Facility with Hebrew is a challenge for many North American Jews – for those in smaller, less urban communities where there may be fewer opportunities for adult learners, this challenge is particularly acute. Transliteration may be a window for some individuals to at least pronounce the Hebrew words they may be accustomed to only being able to hear. While I am sure God does hear our prayers in every language, I think the very sound of Hebrew syllables elicits a certain resonance, especially for Jews. Transliteration has obvious problems – as my attempts to transliterate the words in this text have illustrated. However it has real benefit as well. I think of transliteration as another form of gesher, a drawbridge enabling those who wish to traverse the moat of incomprehensibility into at least a temporary locale of vocalization. Reading the English as well grounds the participant’s understanding of the blessings, while the very sounds of the Hebrew carry those blessings through time, from ancient days into the future.

Shula found the language of the prayers, even in English, distancing. “I’d like to see the prayer service in contemporary language, so women can feel connected to it. It feels Old World, some women have a hard time reading it even in English.” Some of the taharah manuals reflect a similar searching for contemporaneity, providing alternate selections for the traditional prayers. Some groups seemed more comfortable incorporating new language, new blessings, while other groups were more dedicated to traditional prayers. Shula also mentioned that their Hevra did not always know the Hebrew names of the deceased, that they may only know their English name. In such a case the English name was used during the blessings. If the person’s Hebrew name is completely unknown the name Chaim/Chaya, a name that means life, may be given to reflect both their life in this world and in the world to come.

The taharah guides were varied. Not everyone even followed his or her own guides all the time. Amos described their practice as more fluid than rigid. “It [the manual] has been around for a while. The rabbi revised it. We skip some prayers, sometimes do a combination. We use it almost as a program guide. On occasions we don’t use it. It can be a matter of logistics.” Some suggested such flexibility was inappropriate. Zev, for example, said his Hevra did things “by the book.”

Whether sticking to “the book” or not, these manuals and the manner in which a community responds to the particular needs of a situation are part of an historical continuum. Certainly such fine-tuning on the part of each community brings the comments of Rabbi Jacob ben Asher to mind. Writing in the fourteenth century he commented on the burial practices of his age with pragmatic wisdom. “All of these matters are dependent on (local) custom…and in our generations these customs are forgotten…rather, this is how we practice now” (Kraemer, 2000, p.139). The basic order of the taharah procedure – washing, pouring of water, dressing – may remain much the same. But in each community minor variations continue to embellish these basic rituals.

Taharah procedures: Washing and purification

The word taharah has come to mean the entire ritual of preparing the body for burial. It is a word that commonly describes both an entire ritual and also a specific procedure within that entirety. Similarly the ritual bread served for Shabbat meals is called hallah when the hallah is actually a small, walnut sized piece of dough taken prior to shaping and baking the loaves. The piece of dough is then burned, a last remnant of the Priestly sacrifices in the Temple. There are three basic components to the taharah procedures: the rehitzah, or physical washing, the taharah or spiritual purification and the halbashah, or dressing.

When the members of the Hevra Kadisha arrived at a funeral home the body, (always face-upwards, never downwards), was usually already lying on a table, and covered with a sheet, having been previously prepared by the hospital or funeral home staff.

The tables may vary, but most commonly groups used a table similar to the one Myre described. His Hevra used a “slanting table which allows the water to drain into a receptacle.” Two groups stood the body up for the taharah, but both groups had a table that tilted, allowing members to comfortably support the body during the pouring of water. According to Rabbi Zohn, boards – usually lengths of 2x4’s - should be placed at the shoulders, hips and feet. These boards should first be dipped into the water (in the buckets used for washing) prior to being placed under the body. The boards act to support and lift the body, providing greater opportunity for more of the body area to be covered during the pouring of water. However, only one group routinely put boards underneath the body. 

The Hevra Kadisha members gather and a prayer is recited and then they begin to wash the body. While the body is being washed excerpts from the Song of Songs are usually recited. The body is washed thoroughly in a very specific order from head to toe, from right side to left. Once the body is completely washed, nine kabin (24 quarts) of water are poured over the body symbolizing a spiritual cleansing. This ritual of pouring of water is actually the taharah. Usually three separate vessels are filled with water and poured in sequence so that water streams continuously over the body. The taharah with its streaming waters acts to separate the spiritual from the physical. Water, so inherently a symbol of life, thus serves to help guide the soul on its journey to olam ha’ba.  A prayer is recited while the water is poured over the body from head to toe. After the taharah is complete the body is then carefully dried and dressed. The hair is combed prior to the halbashah.  As the Talmud states “in the World to Come the righteous sit with their crowns on their heads and delight in the divine splendor” (Berakhot 17a). Through such preparations the head (and hair) of the soul is prepared to be crowned (Weiner, 1999, p.37).

None of the participants had a mikvah in their community to use for taharah. (Instead of pouring water over the body, the body is placed on a lift and then lowered into the waters of the mikvah).  But several groups did have a mechanized lift to help carry the met/metah from the table to the coffin, usually to alleviate the strain of lifting. As Shlomo asserted, without the lift “the women were breaking their backs.”

The concept of hiddur mitzvah, enhancing and beautifying a mitzvah, applies not only to beautiful silver crowns and shields for the Sefer</