The Jewish Cemetery Association of Massachusetts has been ahead of the curve for over 10 years at its Beit Olam Cemetery in Wayland.  In 1999, when the cemetery was consecrated, JCAM ensured that the burial of non-Jewish spouses and their children would be part of the religious regulations at this cemetery.

This responsa below validates JCAM’s ongoing commitment to bury “non-Jewish dead and comfort their mourners so that we follow the ways of peace.”

JCAM is currently expanding the Beit Olam Cemetery with and additional 7,700 gravesites to accommodate the growing interfaith Jewish community.
Click below to read the full 12-page Responsa.

Rabbinical Assembly Responsa

This recent article, written by Sue Fishkoff was published by JTA, the Global News Service of the Jewish People, June 8, 2009. Because we believe this topic is deserving of attention, we chose to publish it in its entirety on this blog page.  Your comments are welcome.

BERKELEY, Calif (JTA) - With cremation on the rise and more Jewish cemeteries accepting ashes for burial, a national organization of Jewish burial societies is trying to promote traditional in-ground burial among liberal Jews.

“We’re going on the positive offensive rather than the negative ‘don’t get cremated’ route,” said Rabbi Stuart Kelman, president of Kavod v’Nichum, a consortium of burial societies, Jewish funeral homes and cemeteries, and founding rabbi of Berkeley’s Congregation Netivot Shalom, which hosted the group’s seventh national conference June 7-9.

Conference organizers brought in rabbinic speakers to present traditional Jewish sources that teach the human body should be returned after death to the dust from which it was created. According to the Orthodox position, that means burying the body in its entirety, in anticipation of the revivification of the dead that will take place in the final Messianic Age.

Organizers and speakers pointed to the psychological wisdom of Jewish burial ritual, which places limits on the mourning period and forces mourners to face the finality of death by watching their loved ones be lowered into the ground.

“I can’t tell you the number of times people who have had close relatives cremated come to me and say it’s as if they just disappeared.” Kelman said. “There’s no closure for them.”

Many also brought up the burning of Jewish bodies during the Holocaust as a compelling argument never to engage in such a practice voluntarily.

Kavod v’Nichum’s executive director, David Zinner, hoped to leave the three-day gathering with a group initiative encouraging traditional burial, but that did not prove as easy as he had hoped.

“It seems like a simple issue, but we can’t push people before they are ready,” Zinner acknowledged.

Most of the 100 participants represented non-Orthodox congregations that are struggling with members’ rising demand for cremation.

While the Orthodox movement forbids cremation as a desecration, the Reform permits it and Conservatives take a middle ground, strongly advising against the practice but not forbidding rabbis from participating in funerals before the body is actually burned.

Rabbi Stephen Pearce of San Francisco’s Reform Congregation Emanu-El said more than 50 percent of the funerals in his congregation involve cremation–a number other participants found extremely high, although they all acknowledged that cremation was on the rise in their communities.

Dan Brodsky of the New Mount Sinai Cemetery in St. Louis said 19 percent of the burials in his cemetery involve cremains, whereas three years ago the number was in the single digits.

Nationally, Rabbi Richard Address, director of Jewish family concerns for the Union for Reform Judaism, said he has noticed a “slight” increase in cremation among the  Reform communities he visits.

Pearce suggested the practice is more prevalent on the West Coast, largely due to ecological concerns–many Westerners feel in-ground burial is a wasteful use of limited resources.

In fact, according to Kelman, who is spearheading a project to create the country’s first “green” Jewish cemetery just north of San Francisco, said cremation releases a great deal of carcinogenic materials into the atmosphere and uses more energy than in-ground burial.

The high cost of traditional burial was cited as the main reason behind the Jews’ growing interest in cremation. A straw poll of the room yielded an average cost of $5,000 to $12,000 for a traditional Jewish funeral, including the cost of buying the plot, versus $1,000 or so for cremation.

Although the conference was unable to come up with a unified position statement opposing cremation, there was consensus that the greater Jewish community should do more to bring down those costs, including encouraging simple wooden caskets, before the organization could in good conscience promote in-ground burial.

Many Jewish cemeteries find themselves in a bind, as they may be owned by one congregation but are called upon to serve a wider Jewish community with varying religious standards.

Gary Webne, co-director of the Conservative-owned Richmond Beth-El Cemetery Corp. in Richmond, Va., said that many Jews in his community have asked why the cemetery will not bury cremains.

“There are people interested in saving land and resources, a rethinking that’s beginning to emerge,” he said. “Rules are not necessarily set in stone, and we need to take modern needs into consideration.”

Ralph Zuckman, executive director of Clover Hill Park Cemetery in Birmingham, Mich., recalled the day he had to tell an elderly man that his wife of 40 years could not be buried with him because she had never converted to Judaism. Tears rolled down the man’s face.

“The unaffiliated are the majority, and most of them don’t know anything about the Jewish traditions around death,” Zuckman said, adding that his cemetery, which is owned by a Conservative synagogue but serves Reform, Orthodox and the unaffiliated, will open special sections for cremains and intermarried families this summer.

“I can’t put my head in the sand and say it’s halachically incorrect,” Zuckman said. “It’s going to happen, and we need to serve the entire community.”

But it shouldn’t be up to cemetery directors to make these decisions. he concluded.

Zinner agreed, saying it was up to local burial societies to educate their Jewish communities about Jewish views on death, mourning and burial.

Rabbi Dan Goldblatt of Beth Chaim in Danville, Calif., noted that those views are now in flux.

“At a time of such environmental concern, when kashrut is being reframed in terms of ethical kashrut, what is an ethical burial?” he asked.

Rabbi Margaret Holub of the unaffiliated Mendocino Coast Jewish Community in Albion, Calif., was one of the few in the room who accepted cremation as a legitimate option–or at least was willing to admit to holding that position.

“I see it as a reasonable, thoughtful option.” she said. “It’s very difficult to tell someone to spend $6,000 to $8,000 or more for burial. I can understand why some Jews would do something else that still shows honor for their dead.”

And HaShem G-d formed man of the dust from the ground (Afar min ha adamah), and He blew into his nostrils the soul of life; and man became a living being. Bereshit 2:7 (Genesis 2:7)

HaShem collected from the ground of the four corners of the Earth, so wherever a person might die the ground is fit for burial (Rashi, ibid). That means that the ground is collected and prepared to watch over the body until Techiyat HaMaytim–resurrection of the dead. (Siftei Chachamim on Rashi).

By the sweat of your brow shall you eat bread until you return from the ground, from which you were taken: for you are dust, and to the dust shall you return. Bereshit 3:19 (Genesis 3:19)

Then Abraham rose up and bowed down to the members of the council, to the children of Heth. He spoke to them saying: “If it is truly your will to bury my dead from before me, heed me, ad intercede for me with Ephron son of Zohar. Let him grant me the Cave of Machpelah which is his, on the edge of his field; let him grant it to me for its full price, in your midst, as an estate for a burial site. Bereshit 23:7-9 (Genesis 23:7-9)

Thus Rachel died, and was buried on the road to Ephrat, which is Bethlehem. Jacob set up a monument over her grave; it is the monument of Rachel’s grave until today. Bereshit 35:19-20 (Genesis 35:19-20)

So Moses, servant of HaShem, died there, in the land of Moab, by the mouth of HaShem. He buried him in the depression, in the land of Moab, opposite Beth Peor, and no one knows his burial place to this day. Devarim 21:22-23(Deuteronomy 21:22-23)

Thus said HaShem: For three transgressions of Moab [I have looked away], but for four I will not pardon them for their burning the bones of the king of Edom into lime. I Kings 14:11-13

A eulogy is for the honor of the deceased. Therefore, the Beit Din [rabbinical court] forces the descendants to pay for a  professional euligizer. But if the deceased decreed while they were alive not to be eulogized, we don’t do a euology. But if the person decrees not to bury them, we don’t listen to them, because burial is a Mitzvah, as it says, “rather you shall surely bury him on that day (Kavor Tikbereinu).” Rambam, Laws of Mourning 12:1

It is certainly prohibited to burn a Jewish body after they have passed away, and this is for two reasons:

1.  Because by doing this you will have nullified a positive Mitzvah, as the  Torah says, “rather you shall surely bury him on that day (Kavor Tikbereinu).” And it doesn’t matter if you have the ashes, even if you’re supposed to bury the ashes, you are no longer able to fulfill the Mitzvah of burial, because when the Torah says to bury a body, it means to bury the entire body.

2.  It’s prohibited to burn a human body, because we see from the Torah and the Talmud that it is a great disgrace to the body to burn it. As we see in the verse in the prophet Amos, the story in tractate Senhedrin about Yehoiakim’s skull and that the sages of the Talmud allow us to violate Shabbat to remove a body from a burning building. Melmed LeHoil, Yoreh Deah 114:2 (Rabbi Dovid Tzvi Hoffman, Germany 1843-1921)

…according to the Beit Yitzchak (Rabbi Yitzchak Shmalkis–the head of the Rabbinical Court of Paramishleh) And the essence is that the Mitzvah of burial is something our great ancestors have involved themselves in, and one who buries their deceased has faith in Techiyat HaMaytim (the coming of life of the dead) and one who burns a body, it’s as if they deny HaShem’s ability to bring back the dead. Achiezer (Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinsky, Dayan of Vilna 1863-1940)

Though some might have considered the burying of the dead merely as a “minhag” (custom), not as a “mitzvah” (an explicit law), it is certain that this “minhag” was very deeply rooted and was consecrated in the consciousness of the people, and such a “minhag,” such an unwritten law, is–according to very ancient Jewish legal principles–superior to the written law, and even supersedes it (Haminhag mevatel et hahalacha). It is further certain that since the eighth century all authorities, without exception, agree that “kevura” (burial) is one of the 613 commandments of the Torah.  The first one who specified the 613 commandments (which, according to a dictum of Rabbi Simlai, are prescribed in the Torah) was R. Simon of Kahira, and in his enumeration of the same he included also “likbor et hametim” (Halachot Gedolot, ed. Hildesheimer, p. 13)

Rabbi Stephen S. Pearce, PhD
Congregation Emanu-El – San Francisco, California

To set the tone for my remarks this morning, I have to share R. Lee Sharpe’s (1870-1950) poem “A Bag or Tools”:

Isn’t it strange that princes and kings
And clowns that caper in sawdust rings
And common people like you and me
Are builders for all eternity?
To each is given a bag of tools
A piece of clay and a book of rules
And each must fashion ere life has flown
A stumbling block or a stepping-stone.

We are all given a bag of tool, a piece of clay, and a book of rules; what we builders do with tools, clay and rules determines whether they represent stumbling blocks or stepping stones to eternal life after death. We all have our own images of how to mold the clay of ritual and follow the rules of what is proper and acceptable and what is impure and contaminated, but the real impact will come from how we position, market, or sell immortality and life after death.

Although I officiate at cremations (and upwards of 50% of all funerals that I officiate at Congregration Emanu-El involve cremation), I do not like what they represent or how these procedures distort the underlying rationale of Jewish burial customs and practices and what they ought to do to help mourners deal with the reality of death and the healing process.

Nevertheless, the things that bother me, and most of you, about cremation are almost never on the radar screens of those who give the bodies of their loved ones over to the flames of the crematorium. I do not think we do a particularly good job in helping people understand why in-ground burial is preferable to cremation.

This morning, I would like to address some of the psychological and theological underpinnings of the increase in cremation among contemporary Jews, not to make a case for it, but to better understand why it has such currency today. People vote with their feet, and denial of funeral services is not the answer to those who select cremation because such an action will not stop them from choosing cremation, but education will!

Let me begin by reminding you that all Jewish burial and mourning customs are designed to help people deal with the reality that death is real and final. When mourners hear the tearing of “kriah” (fabric) or the thud of earth on a coffin, they invariably shed tears. There is no room for denial or the fantasy that this is all a nightmare from which they will awake. If you have ever dealt with a mourner in open denial of a death, as I have, then you know how important these reminders of death’s finality are. When a body is missing and an urn is present or absent at a funeral, mourners often are deprived of the finality of death. There is something surreal and illusory about a ceremony without a body or grave. Over the years, people who were not present at a funeral and/or did not see the body of a loved one before burial have told me that they always believed that they would one day turn a corner and see the dead person alive. Of course this feeds into the funeral industry’s standard of protecting people from the harsh realities of death. They never use the word “corpse,” everything at the cemetery is covered over with Astro turf; often burial does not take place until the family has left the grave.

We deal with people who cannot decide if children should be included in a funeral. They are conflicted because they hope to protect the child from death but in reality they do their progeny a disservice by mystifying death as a taboo that belongs to the adult world of secrets. Contrary to many who are uncomfortable viewing a body, I believe that seeing the body before burial is very important in order to emphasize the finality of death. When you see a corpse in a pine box, there is little room for denial of death. I remember one parent who was upset because his 10-year old daughter wanted to see grandma before the funeral and burial. He remembered being haunted by having been forced as a child to look at his dead grandparent. I asked him who he was protecting–himself or his daughter? He relented and allowed her to see the body.

One more thing: I find that the final disposal of ashes to be profoundly disrespectful to the deceased. There is a bizarre quality to having a box of ashes stashed in a closet for years because of ambivalence over what to do next or how to let go. One woman showed up in my office with 2-dozen 35mm canisters and asked me to help her scoop her husband’s ashes into them so that she could distribute him in all of the places that they loved.

It is not difficult in the post-Holocaust world to make a case for not burning Jewish bodies. Given recent history, it is personally repugnant to me to burn bodies. I find the procedure spooky. I shudder when I think that a body is burned and the remains, or “cremains,” as the industry likes to call ashes, are then run through a grinder to pulverize bones into a gray powder. Nevertheless, this is most often not a consideration or even on the radar screen for those who choose cremation over in-ground burial for their loved ones. Over the years, I have come to understand some of the motivations that place Jews at odds with custom/halacha that effectively bars cremation.

1.  Plain and simple…people do not like dirt and germs. You see the all-pervasive Purell dispensers–purse and pocket size and those in cafeteria lines and other public places. We are all compulsive about germs to one degree or another. As an aside, our sanitized world is giving rise to the suspicion that the increase in things like childhood asthma and other illnesses are the result of not having enough contact with germs that, as it turns out, build immunity. Compulsive hand washing, for example is only heightened by the germophobia that is being acted out in bathrooms where people use paper towels to open doors and shut off water taps, in people “air” kissing, not wanting to shake hands with someone who has cold symptoms. I noted with amusement people’s behavior over the recent threat of–you should forgive the expression–swine flu. I met  congregant in a restaurant and I shook hands with him and he immediately took out a bottle of Purell, smeared some on his hands and offered me some, which I politely declined. We spoke for a few minutes and, having forgotten the previous scene, said good-bye and mindless shook his hand again; and again, out came the bottle of Purell.

Years ago, not knowing that an undergraduate classmate’s father was deceased, he responded to my question of what his father did for a living by saying: “He catches worms.” As a young rabbi, a woman at a burial sternly rebuked me: “Rabbi, don’t you ever shovel dirt on me.” I suspect that to some, burial in earth seems dirty and unsanitary as opposed to ashes that have been purified by fire and are “clean” and “sanitary.” Sturdier, more expensive coffins are marketed to those who subconsciously want to forestall the inevitable disintegration of a body by microbes and other flesh-eating creatures. Cleanliness is equated with holiness. Our sacred texts constantly emphasize ritual disqualification because of impurity. Coming before God pure and unblemished and the exclusion of Cohanim from the presence of a body make a case for not wanting a rotting body to be the vehicle that transports one to the afterlife. I will have more to say about that in a minute.

For a long time, cryogenics was in vogue because it offered the opportunity of being frozen and preserved for eternity or better still, until a cure might be found for the fatal disease that would allow a mate to literally live again. In short, phobias play into the decision to prefer cremation and avoid traditional in-ground burial. And lest you think I am making this up, there are long lists of phobias, a number of which centers around death and burial:

• Claustrophobia - Fear of confining spaces.
• Herptophobia - Fear of crawling things.
• Mysophobia - Fear of germs, contamination, or dirt.
• Necrophobia - Fear of death or dead things.
• Taphephobia - Fear of being buried alive or of cemeteries.

2.  There is an irrational element to burial. Do we feel pain? Could we be buried alive? Edgar Allen Poe once referred to such illogical thoughts as the “imp of the perverse.” He capitalized on this phenomenon in stories that featured the portrayal of such fear. I remember not long ago watching the final scene of Aida and feeling uncomfortable knowing that the main protagonists were going to be sealed alive in a tomb. Being sealed in a tomb in contrast to having ashes sprinkled over the bay or ocean feels claustrophobic. I remember, as a student once saying to a Hebrew Union College professor that I thought the thing I would like least about being dead is that there would be no light. He responded by asking, “How do you know?” That question was personally liberating.

3.  I do not believe that we provide Jews with a theological understanding of most things, but especially the theology of death, resurrection, and eternal life. And even if we teach techyat hamatim (life after death), most Jews do not believe it. Given what Christianity did to the pharisaic concepts of resurrection, eternal life, punishment and reward, many of us are just uncomfortable teaching the theological meaning behind the liturgy. Take for example, the supposed child-like song, “An Only Kid” found in the Hagadah. It is much more than a Jewish version of “I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly” because it ends with God slaying the Angel of Death. Chad Gadyah champions the notion that God will slay death and humanity will not longer be limited by mortal years. It holds out the hope that one day, death will be meaningless because it will be the portal to eternal life. Trying to convince people of why cremation is inappropriate when we’ve done little to lay the groundwork for such a position leaves little time to have people process and accept this important notion. Often the debate is carried out at the time of death when decisions have to be made quickly and often without the benefit of reasoned discussion or rational consideration. I remember one family that solved the conflict between children of whether or not to bury or cremate by burying the deceased, only to have the body later dug up for cremation after everyone left.

Only once did a woman come up with a reason to be cremated that I had difficulty arguing with. She had suffered her entire life with cerebral palsy and walked with leg braces and crutches for what seemed to her to be endless years. She told me that she wanted to be cremated because she did not want to have that body when the Messiah arrived and put people back into their bodies.

In place of the notion of resurrection and immortality, we tend to look toward a different kind of everlasting life that was best expressed by Waldemar Argow in his book What do Religious Liberals Believe? (Antioch Press, 1950). His explanation of what contemporary liberals hold to be immortality helps us understand why the debate over cremation and resurrection is so irrelevant to so many. These words were written over a half a century ago:

Religious liberals believe in the immortality of ideals, and values; they believe in the immortality of personal influence by which we live on in the lives of other persons and shape this world to a fairer dream; and most assuredly they believe in the immortality of the life force of the universe  seen most clearly in the process of evolution and in the annual miracle of returning spring.

Here is a way of thinking about immortality, which gives no blanket guarantees, but offers instead a wonderful promise. If you will dedicate yourself to the service of those ideal values and emergent purposes in the universe we have identified with God, you will not be swept upward to a golden heaven, but you will be swept onward by that creative life force of which you have made yourself a part, swept forward and onward until the human race arrives at last at that goal of perfection and completion which liberals believe may be seen as the end purpose of man’s grand adventure-epic on this little whirling ball of dust under the eternal stars.

If this is, indeed, the way most people see their immortality, when what difference does it make what happens to the body after death make? We are falling down on the job because this kind of immortality and not resurrection and eternal life is what we teach!

4.  Protecting the environment and shifting ceremonial needs are major features of the movement toward cremation. Many believe that cemeteries are ecologically damaging to the environment even though in many cities cemeteries are the only real open spaces not overbuilt and polluted by human activity. But to many, taking up a spot for eternity means that that the small piece of land will never be utilized for anything productive. In a place like Japan where land is of such a premium that is an issue solved by small family burial plots that receive generations of ashes piled upon generations of ashes. Furthermore, in our religion-by-menu era having ashes scattered provides the comfort of being returned to and being at one with nature and “eternity.”

You may be interested in knowing that for almost two decades, Congregation Emanu-El has operated a vegetable garden in an unused portion of the congregation’s cemetery where volunteers tend the Pe’ah Garden, the largest provider of fresh vegetables to the SF Food Bank–over two tons of fresh vegetables are grown and donated by volunteers every year. In so doing, we have taken sacred land devoted to death and re-consecrated it for life.

5.  Family mobility–People are no longer rooted in a place of work, retirement, or intergenerational familarity. The decision of where to bury when the survivors will move on to one or more distant locations in later years only complicates the choice of if and where to bury.

See: www.Jewish-funerals.org for articles on teshuvot.

They say if you ask 2 Jews a question, you’ll get 3 answers. But when it comes to the question of what defines a person as a Jew, that’s a whole other story….Is it one who is born of a Jewish mother only? Or is it when either parent is Jewish? What becomes of the status of children born to mixed marriages when one parent is Jewish and the other is not? Is it DNA or is it defined as one whose heart follows and observes Torah?

These questions will you get an array of answers, opinions and a whole slew of controversy over the subject and depending on what branch of Judaism you follow, is yet another interpretation….

But a bit of research has uncovered some explanation of why for centuries a person’s status as a Jew was decided through the patrilineal line (e.g. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob) and then became the defining factor in who was a Jew through the matrilineal line somewhere after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 A.D.  Read some of the excerpts below from the Reform Movement.

The following is an excerpt from the Report of the Committee on Patrilineal Descent adopted on March 15, 1983 (Reform Movement’s Resolution on Patrilineal Descent)

“Both the Biblical and the Rabbinical traditions take for granted that ordinarily the paternal line is decisive in the tracing of descent within the Jewish people. The Biblical genealogies in Genesis and elsewhere in the Bible attest to this point. In intertribal marriage in ancient Israel, paternal descent was decisive. Numbers 1:2, etc., says: “By their families, by their fathers’ houses” (lemishpechotam leveit avotam), which for the Rabbis means, “The line [literally: 'family'] of the father is recognized; the line of the mother is not” (Mishpachat av keruya mishpacha; mishpachat em einah keruya mishpacha; Bava Batra 109b, Yevamot 54b; cf. Yad, Nachalot 1.6).”

“In the Rabbinic tradition, this tradition remains in force. The offspring of a male Kohen who marries a Levite or Israelite is considered a Kohen, and the child of an Israelite who marries a Kohenet is an Israelite. Thus: yichus, lineage, regards the male line as absolutely dominant. This ruling is stated succinctly in Mishna Kiddushin 3.12 that when kiddushin (marriage) is licit and no transgression (ein avera is involved, the line follows the father. Furthermore, the most important parental responsibility to teach Torah rested with the father (Kiddushin 29a; cf. Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De-a 245.1).”

To read the full text go to: Source: http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Judaism/patrilineal1.html

The following is an excerpt from the responsum on this subject from the Central Conference of American Rabbis (Reform), the full text of which may be found through this link: http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=38&year=carr

“We should contrast the rabbinic position to the view of the earlier Biblical and post-Biblical period. Patrilineal descent was the primary way of determining the status of children in this period. The Biblical traditions and their early rabbinic commentaries take it for granted that the paternal line was decisive in the tracing of descent, tribal identity, or priestly status. A glance at the Biblical genealogies makes this clear. In inter-tribal marriage paternal descent was likewise decisive (Nu. 1.2, l’mishpehotam l’veit avotam); the line of the father was recognized while the line of the mother was not (mishpahat av keruyah mishpahah, mishpahat em enah keruyah mishpahah, B. B. 109b; Yeb. 54b; Yad Hil. Nahalot 1.6, etc.).”

“We should also recognize that later rabbinic tradition did not shift to the matrilineal line when conditions did not demand it. Therefore, the rabbinic tradition remained patrilineal in the descent of the priesthood; it was and remains the male kohen who determines the status of his children. The child is a kohen even if the father married a Levite or an Israelite. Thus lineage was and continues to be determined by the male alone whenever the marriage is otherwise proper (M. Kid. 3.12; Kid. 29a; Shulhan Arukh Yoreh Deah 245.1).”

Reprinted with permission from The Jewish Mourner’s Handbook (Behrman House), by an editorial committee chaired by Rabbi William Cutter.

Kriah is a Hebrew word meaning “tearing.” It refers to the act of tearing one’s clothes or cutting a black ribbon worn on one’s clothes. This rending is a striking expression of grief and anger at the loss of a loved one.

Kriah is an ancient tradition. When our patriarch Jacob believed his son Joseph was dead, he tore his garments (Genesis 37:34). Likewise, in II Samuel 1:11 we are told that King David and all the men with him took hold of their clothes and rent them upon hearing of the death of Saul and Jonathan. Job, too, in grieving for his children, stood up and rent his clothes (Job 1:20).

The child, parent, spouse, and sibling of the deceased perform the act of Kriah. It is usually done at the funeral home before the funeral service begins. If a black ribbon is used, the funeral director provides it. Kriah is always performed standing. The act of standing shows strength at a time of grief. A cut is made on the left side of the clothing for parents—over the heart—and on the right side for all other relatives. Sometimes people choose to express deep feelings of grief by cutting on the left side for relatives other than their parents.

As the tear or cut is made, the family recites the following blessing:

Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam dayan ha’emet.

Blessed are You, Adonai Our God, Ruler of the Universe, the True Judge.

The torn garment or ribbon is worn during the seven days of Shiva (but not on Shabbat and festival days). Some people continue the practice for the 30-day period of mourning (Sheloshim).

(c) Behrman House, Inc., reprinted with permission, www.behrmanhouse.com.

The monument is erected to indicate clearly where a person is buried, so that family and friends may visit the gravesite. It is also a way of remembering and honoring the memory of the person who has died.

Today, we refer to the ceremony of formally consecrating a tombstone as an “unveiling”. While this ceremony has no origin in pre-modern Jewish life, this has become an acceptable practice today.

An unveiling takes place during the first year after death. There are no strict guidelines for the timing of an unveiling, and, while families may choose a date at any time after the end of the Shiva, it has become a contemporary practice to schedule this ceremony for some time between the end of Shloshim, the thirty day period of intensive mourning, and the first Yahrzeit, the anniversary of a death.

Psychological Function of the Unveiling

The unveiling is a mourning ritual which serves a very specific function in the healing process of the bereaved. It is not simply a perfunctory ritual, but rather, like the funeral, Shiva, Shloshim and Kaddish, the unveiling provides mourners with the opportunity for emotional and psychological healing.

The physical act of erecting and unveiling a monument allows for the expression of the sad and painful emotions of grief. Family members gather together, often from cities which are miles apart, and continue their mourning as a family, lending each other comfort and support in dealing with their grief.

For individuals who were not able to attend the funeral or Shiva, the unveiling ritual provides yet another opportunity to grieve and to acknowledge one’s loss. Although painful, this realistic experience of grief can, over time, be very healing for mourners.

During the unveiling of a monument, as one sees the name of a beloved family member etched in stone, there is a stark realization of the finality of death. The impact can be quite jarring to some, and yet, at the same time, can provide a further opportunity to accept the reality of the loss. Thus, the unveiling ritual allows mourners to face death and loss realistically, and to affirm a commitment to life and to living.

The unveiling also allows the bereaved family members to honor and to recall the memory of their departed. It is a chance to continue to reflect upon the significance of that person’s life, his or her accomplishments, and the people who were important. In a sense, through the unveiling, the memory of a person’s life is etched permanently into the collective memory of the Jewish community

The Unveiling Service

The service for the unveiling of a monument is a short and simple one. It consists of the recitation of several Psalms; the actual removal of the veil from the memorial; the recitation of the Malei Rachamim (the Memorial Prayer) and the Kaddish. A Minyan (a gathering of 10 Jewish adults) is required for the recitation of Kaddish; however, if there is no Minyan available, the Kaddish is omitted.

At the unveiling it is certainly appropriate for a family member to choose to speak about the person who has died, or to read a supplemental poem or prayer.

Many choose to appoint an officiating rabbi to conduct the unveiling, however, this is not mandatory. The JCAM office has information on how to conduct an unveiling. Please feel free to contact our office and request and unveiling packet to guide you in this important and meaningful ritual.

]]> http://jcam.org/Blog/2009/01/27/the-meaningful-tradition-of-unveiling-a-monument/feed/ http://jcam.org/Blog/2009/01/26/252/ http://jcam.org/Blog/2009/01/26/252/#comments Mon, 26 Jan 2009 15:13:15 +0000 LisaB http://jcam.org/Blog/?p=252

My First Taharah

by Anonymous

Imagine for just one horrible moment that you have died. Your soul is hovering over your body, and you are frightened and confused. “What is going on? Am I dead? What happens now?” You see two strangers come in and start preparing your body for burial. At this point, you realize that in order to meet your Creator in perfect purity your body must be prepared a certain way, and they are doing it all wrong.You want to beg them to send you to your destination prepared correctly, but no one hears your pleas.

This is not a nightmare. It is a true story, and I felt that this was what was going to happen to my husband’s beloved aunt.

She lived and died in a small town where there was no chevra kadisha (”holy society” that prepares Jews for burial in accordance with Jewish tradition), and due to circumstances beyond our control, there was no way to transport her body to a place where she could be prepared properly. So I was left with a choice: I could either allow her be buried in a state of impurity, or I could perform the taharah (purification process) myself…

Performing a taharah was definitely the most frightening thing I had ever contemplated doing I’m the type of person who can’t look at a dead animal, let alone see a person who has passed on. I always speed up and look the other way when I pass any type of accident, and refuse to watch scary or violent movies. I even faint at the sight of blood. Performing a taharah was definitely the most frightening thing I had ever contemplated doing, but denying her a proper Jewish burial was out of the question.

My husband and I live in Miami, and were scheduled to leave for the town where the funeral was to be held before sunrise. I knew Jews were prepared for burial in a very special way, but had never really wanted to know how this was done. Now, I had to learn how to perform a taharah in the next few hours. I called my rabbi, and he referred me to a woman, who I now think must be part angel.

She took me to a funeral home for a “taharah crash course,” and just walking through that door was torture for me. There, she gave me the ritual instructions, and a video in which a taharah is performed on a dummy, and gave me the supplies I needed. After this, she took me to see a body that was ready for burial, but I found myself unable to enter the room where the dead body was, and all my doubts and fears started haunting me. If I could not see the body of a person I did not know, how in the world was I going to be able to see my sweet aunt’s? I told the woman to just explain the ritual and prayers to me and that I would somehow muster the courage later. Seeing how distraught I was, she offered to help me at the site by guiding me on the telephone every step of the way. What a brilliant idea!

Still shaking I went home, read the ritual instructions and prayers many times, and watched the video with the dummy, until exhaustion.

As soon as I went to bed, my heart and mind start racing. I did not sleep for one second that night, and as soon as my husband woke up I told him I could not do it. Again, we started to look for alternatives. We called more rabbis, more associations and more foundations, to no avail. There was no option, other than letting her be buried impure, than doing it myself.

A person cannot perform a taharah alone. The ideal number of people is four, but in this case, that was not an option either. The only other Jewish woman who could help me was my sister in law, and she was even more fearful than I was. There was no choice and she bravely volunteered. I could see the pain in her eyes. She loved her aunt dearly and having lost her was hard enough. It was a long road trip, so I, the taharah “expert,” had enough time to explain the procedure to her.

We arrived at the funeral home and watched the video for the last time. Before we went inside the prepping room, I took a moment and prayed to G‑d with all my might. I asked for courage, love, light, guidance and every positive thing I could think of. I begged G‑d to help me perform this ritual perfectly so that the deceased could enter her heavenly home in purity. Then, my sister in law and I entered the chamber. At that moment I realized my cellular phone had no service, and I panicked. How was I going to call my “angel-woman”? I found a telephone, connected it, and it worked!

Until that moment I had not even dared to look at the covered body on the other side of the room. I called my support lady, put her on speaker phone, and started the taharah.

It seemed as if my soul had taken over and knew exactly what to do As soon as we started the ritual and the corresponding prayers, I went into a daze and started feeling a special love; peace and serenity encompassed my whole being. Everything flowed perfectly. It seemed as if my soul had taken over and knew exactly what to do. I wasn’t afraid to look, or touch, or do anything. I was doing something beautiful and so very important. The last act of kindness!

When we finally finished and left the room, my husband told us we had been in there an hour and a half. It seemed like only a few minutes, as if we had surpassed time and space.

After the funeral, when I finally had a moment to think, I remembered that I had been taught that preparing a body for burial was the ultimate act of kindness, because you can never expect anything in return from the deceased. But in this case, I felt as if I was the one that benefited most of all. What an opportunity it was for me to learn about our totally awesome religion and what is really important in our life. I am a different person since that day, and I hope that G‑d will help me deserve to stay this way.

When I got home, I felt as if I needed to encourage everyone to do a taharah if necessary, and this is the reason I wrote this true story. Believe me, if my sister in law and I were capable of performing a taharah, anyone can. It is not scary or gory, and our fears are much worse than performing the act itself. It is an incredibly beautiful spiritual experience, and nothing can be more important than sending off a soul to join G‑d with love and caring, and pure again. Every Jew has this right, and we should never allow another Jew to be buried without a proper taharah. If even one Jewish soul is buried with a taharah because of this story, sharing this experience has served its purpose….

The following is an excerpt from Author Maurice Lamm’s highly respected book, The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning.

The subject of proper conduct at the cemetery is generally neglected. The consequence of this neglect is, frequently, gross impropriety and a super-abundance of superstition. There are two basic principles that can serve as a guide to correct Jewish etiquette on a cemetery. These are:

Kalut Rosh (”Levity”)

The holiness of the cemetery is equivalent to the holiness of the sanctuary. Our actions within its confines must be consonant with the high degree of this holiness. Also, because the graves in the cemetery are places from which we may derive no benefit at all, we are restricted from lounging in the area. Kalut rosh is a spirit of levity and undignified behavior. Under the category of the prohibition of kalut rosh, the following points must be observed, and should be followed not only at the gravesite, but within the boundaries of the entire cemetery.

1. Eating and drinking may not take place on the cemetery. This holds true for unveilings as well! The frequent, but unfortunate, frivolity that marks such occasions should certainly be discouraged. It is a violation of every code of honor.

2. Dress should be proper to the occasion and the place. One should not dress to impress relatives who attend. When one visits the cemetery or the grave of a deceased, it is certainly not the time for scant or frivolous-looking dress, athletic attire, or work clothes.

3. One may not step over or sit on the gravestone that directly covers a grave. One may, however, sit on seats near the graves or on roadside railings and gates.

4. Flowers that, perchance, have blossomed on the grave itself may not be picked for use at home. Naturally, trimming the grave is permissible and commendable.

Lo’eg Larash (”Slighting of the Dead”)

As noted previously, indulging in pleasurable activities, even religious observances, that the deceased or any of the other occupants of the graves once enjoyed participating in, but now cannot, represents a “slighting of the dead.” Thus:

1. One should not study Torah, or recite the Psalms, or conduct formal, daily services within approximately six feet of a grave.

2. One should not carry tefillin or a Torah with him into the cemetery.

Memorial Gifts

Those who wish to honor the dead, or their survivors, may do so in a genuinely religious spirit. They may bring a token of their esteem with them during shiva or send it through the mails.It is not in keeping with the traditional spirit for this memorial gift to be flowers or fruits. It is more significant and more useful to contribute a sacred article for synagogue or school use. This might include Bibles, prayer books, scholarly works, Torahs and Torah ornaments, etc. These will usually be acknowledged by the synagogue or school immediately so that the mourners will be notified of the gift during shiva. Donating to charities at the time of the funeral is an ancient Jewish custom. The custom has three roots in our tradition:

• The biblical verse, “Charity saves one from death,” is meant to be taken not only literally, but in the spiritual sense, that one who is evil is not considered to be truly alive. Charity saves from “spiritual death.” The association of charity and death here is a direct one.
• Charity symbolizes the unity of all Israel. Contributions of time and effort and substance for the good of the community are expressions of unity. At the funeral it symbolizes the anguish felt in common by all Jews for the family of the deceased.
• The mystical tradition, embodied in the Chapters of Rabbi Eliezer, says that because of charity will the dead be resurrected in the world to come.

It is in the spirit of dignity, and in keeping with Jewish tradition, to make such contributions as memorials to the dead, rather than to bring outright gifts to the mourners. Naturally, if the deceased felt close to a specific charity, such as a medical research program, it might be wise to contribute to that fund. The memorial gift may be selected by the giver or left to the discretion of the mourners.

As I approached their graves, I felt a deep connection, especially to my great grandmother whom I’m named for.  Having never met them, I only have the stories my mother told me about Hannah and Abram from Austria.

Hannah was orphaned as a small child; living with her mother’s sister who used her as a “scullery maid” in the boarding house she ran. It’s no wonder she married at the age of 16 to Abram, a grocer, so she could escape her living conditions. They lived in Cambridge and they had 13 children! My grandmother, Tillie, was the first born daughter. My grandmother told me that Hannah would say, “See, I’ve given  you lots of brothers and sisters, so you’ll never be alone…”

As I stood there at their gravesite it was clear to me that I needed to introduce myself. I spoke to the beautifully carved monuments, reflective of a life once lived. It was as if I was speaking directly to my great-grandparents. I told them who I was, whose child I was, and how much I knew about them.

I stood there alone on a windy autumn day reciting the ancient words of the Kaddish for two people I had never met, but felt I knew. (I know we’re supposed to have a minyan to recite the Kaddish, but I did it anyway!) It was a wonderful, uplifting moment for me. I felt I did a great mitzvah to their memory. I plan to go back and visit again next year, but this time with my own daughter to introduce her to her ancestors, so she can leave a stone too.

The Origins of Leaving A Visitation Stone

One of the most common Jewish cemetery customs is to leave a small stone at the grave of a loved one after saying Kaddish or visiting.  Its origins are rooted in ancient times and throughout the centuries the tradition of leaving a visitation stone has become part of the act of remembrance.

The origin of this custom began long ago, when the deceased was not placed in a casket, but rather the body was prepared, washed, and wrapped in a burial shroud, or for a male, in his tallis (prayer shawl). Then the body would be placed in the ground, covered with dirt and then large stones would be placed atop the gravesite, preventing wild animals from digging up the remains.

Over time, individuals would go back to the gravesite and continue to place stones, ensuring the security of the site and as a way to build up the “memory” of the loved one.

As time passed on, and carved monuments became the preferred memorial, the custom of leaving a visitation stone became a symbolic gesture–a way for the visitor to say to the  loved one, “I remember you…..”.

JCAM provides for this custom on our cemeteries by filling receptacles with small stones for our visitors to leave, so you too, can continue on with this ancient custom of remembering.

What are some of your stories behind the stones? Or feel free to post a comment here.