Barukh Dayan Emet -- Blessed be the True Judge
עקביה בן מהללאל אומר, הסתכל בשלושה דברים, ואין אתה בא לידי עבירה--דע מאיין באת, ולאיין אתה הולך, ולפני מי אתה עתיד ליתן דין וחשבון: מאיין באת, מליחה סרוחה. ולאיין אתה הולך, למקום רימה ותולעה. ולפני מי אתה עתיד ליתן דין וחשבון, לפני מלך מלכי המלכים הקדוש ברוך הוא.Akaviah b. Mahalalel says, consider three things and you will not come to sin: Know from where you came, and to where you are going, and before Whom you are destined to stand in judgment. From where you came -- from a putrid drop. And to where youa re going -- to a place of worms and insects. And before Whom you are destined to stand in judgment -- before the King of Kings of Kings, the Holy One, Blessed be He.Ethics of our Fathers, 3:1אבות ג, א
לע"נ הרה"ג ר' בנימין עזריאל ב"ר שלום חיים נדב, ז"ל.
I went to a funeral today, the funeral of my rabbi from Vancouver's father-in-law.
Thought: Far too many people make aliyah horizontally.
Funerals in Israel are a lot more real than Jewish funerals in North America. In Israel, the body is placed directly in the ground with no coffin. It is carried to the gravesite wrapped in white shrouds and (if a man) draped in his tallit. This is placed on a two-poled stretcher, carried by the attendees. Usually the funeral will begin in a eulogy hall. The body will be placed on a table, and eulogies will be said. The funeral I went to was being done according to the Yemenite tradition, so ten people walked around the body ten times reciting certain prayers, and then a hattarat nedarim (nullification of vows) was said. After the service in the eulogy hall, the stretcher is carried to a van and driven to the cemetary -- in this case, the burial was on the Mount of Olives, in the Yemenite section.
When the body reaches the grave, the tallit is removed. One of the members of the Chevra Kadisha jumps into the grave, and the other members lift the body off the stretcher and pass it to him and carefully lay it down on the floor of the grave. Slabs of concrete are placed on the sides and above the body so that when the grave is filled, earth won't be falling directly on the deceased. Once the slabs are in place, the grave-digger person climbs out of the grave, and all present take part in filling the grave. Once it's filled, Kaddish is recited.
This funeral was not too big. I ended up helping carry the stretcher from the van to the graveside, and stood right above the grave as the body was laid down inside it. Customarily, bodies are buried without any knots, so the ropes that had been holding the shrouds together were untied once the body was down in the grave. As this happened, one of the sheets moved a bit and I saw a hand for a moment. I remembered that hand. I remembered, as a child, shaking it on Shabbat morning in shul.
Since I was standing there, I was asked to fold and hold onto the Tallit. (In the diaspora, men are usually buried in their tallit. In Israel, the Tallit is draped over the body until it reaches the grave, and then it is removed and given back to the family.) After I held onto it for a while, I passed it to the deceased's daughters, who clinged to it while crying. I bent down and threw some dirt into the grave with my hands, not waiting for a shovel. I got dirty and dusty. Who cares.
Standing there, looking around at the graves and the mourners, I thought about what a nice man the deceased was. I met him only a few times when he came to Vancouver to visit his daughter. But he was a really special man.
And I felt sad, because especially in the last year since I separated, very often I've felt that life is too difficult and I'd prefer to just die. But being there at the funeral, watching it, I felt sad that I'd actually willed that on myself. Did I want that to happen to me?
What worries me more is that I have no doubt that when it's time for my funeral, hardly anyone will show up. It will probably be difficult for them to get a minyan, even. And what's more -- what will I leave behind? What kind of legacy will I have for people to remember me by? Nothing! I'll be just another poor unfortunate soul who didn't accomplish anything in his life who will be quickly forgotten by all. And I'm so screwed up in my head, and in my life, and everything, that I really don't deserve to be remembered. And when I stand in judgment before the True Judge, I doubt I'll have any merits. Such is my life. Such am I.
Rabbi Nadoff ז"ל was a special man. His beloved wife died only a few months ago, and he was heartbroken. Apparently, he was in the middle of writing a book on some topic in Judaism. When his wife died, he told his sons that he just wanted to finish writing his book, and then he'll be ready to go join his wife in the World of Truth. Well, he just finished his book, and discussed it with his sons and sons-in-law this past Thursday. Then, the next day -- Friday -- as he was showering and getting ready for Shabbat, he had a sudden heart attack and died instantly.
הנאהבים והנעימים בחייהם, ובמותם לא נפרדו.
"Those who are loved and pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths they were not separated."
תהא נשמתו צרורה בצרור החיים
לך בשלום ותנוח בשלום, ותעמוד לגורלך לקץ הימין.
בלע המוות לנצח, ומחה ה' א-להים דמעה מעל כל פנים...
אמן.
לע"נ הרה"ג ר' בנימין עזריאל ב"ר שלום חיים נדב, ז"ל.
I went to a funeral today, the funeral of my rabbi from Vancouver's father-in-law.
Thought: Far too many people make aliyah horizontally.
Funerals in Israel are a lot more real than Jewish funerals in North America. In Israel, the body is placed directly in the ground with no coffin. It is carried to the gravesite wrapped in white shrouds and (if a man) draped in his tallit. This is placed on a two-poled stretcher, carried by the attendees. Usually the funeral will begin in a eulogy hall. The body will be placed on a table, and eulogies will be said. The funeral I went to was being done according to the Yemenite tradition, so ten people walked around the body ten times reciting certain prayers, and then a hattarat nedarim (nullification of vows) was said. After the service in the eulogy hall, the stretcher is carried to a van and driven to the cemetary -- in this case, the burial was on the Mount of Olives, in the Yemenite section.
When the body reaches the grave, the tallit is removed. One of the members of the Chevra Kadisha jumps into the grave, and the other members lift the body off the stretcher and pass it to him and carefully lay it down on the floor of the grave. Slabs of concrete are placed on the sides and above the body so that when the grave is filled, earth won't be falling directly on the deceased. Once the slabs are in place, the grave-digger person climbs out of the grave, and all present take part in filling the grave. Once it's filled, Kaddish is recited.
This funeral was not too big. I ended up helping carry the stretcher from the van to the graveside, and stood right above the grave as the body was laid down inside it. Customarily, bodies are buried without any knots, so the ropes that had been holding the shrouds together were untied once the body was down in the grave. As this happened, one of the sheets moved a bit and I saw a hand for a moment. I remembered that hand. I remembered, as a child, shaking it on Shabbat morning in shul.
Since I was standing there, I was asked to fold and hold onto the Tallit. (In the diaspora, men are usually buried in their tallit. In Israel, the Tallit is draped over the body until it reaches the grave, and then it is removed and given back to the family.) After I held onto it for a while, I passed it to the deceased's daughters, who clinged to it while crying. I bent down and threw some dirt into the grave with my hands, not waiting for a shovel. I got dirty and dusty. Who cares.
Standing there, looking around at the graves and the mourners, I thought about what a nice man the deceased was. I met him only a few times when he came to Vancouver to visit his daughter. But he was a really special man.
And I felt sad, because especially in the last year since I separated, very often I've felt that life is too difficult and I'd prefer to just die. But being there at the funeral, watching it, I felt sad that I'd actually willed that on myself. Did I want that to happen to me?
What worries me more is that I have no doubt that when it's time for my funeral, hardly anyone will show up. It will probably be difficult for them to get a minyan, even. And what's more -- what will I leave behind? What kind of legacy will I have for people to remember me by? Nothing! I'll be just another poor unfortunate soul who didn't accomplish anything in his life who will be quickly forgotten by all. And I'm so screwed up in my head, and in my life, and everything, that I really don't deserve to be remembered. And when I stand in judgment before the True Judge, I doubt I'll have any merits. Such is my life. Such am I.
Rabbi Nadoff ז"ל was a special man. His beloved wife died only a few months ago, and he was heartbroken. Apparently, he was in the middle of writing a book on some topic in Judaism. When his wife died, he told his sons that he just wanted to finish writing his book, and then he'll be ready to go join his wife in the World of Truth. Well, he just finished his book, and discussed it with his sons and sons-in-law this past Thursday. Then, the next day -- Friday -- as he was showering and getting ready for Shabbat, he had a sudden heart attack and died instantly.
הנאהבים והנעימים בחייהם, ובמותם לא נפרדו.
"Those who are loved and pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths they were not separated."
תהא נשמתו צרורה בצרור החיים
לך בשלום ותנוח בשלום, ותעמוד לגורלך לקץ הימין.
בלע המוות לנצח, ומחה ה' א-להים דמעה מעל כל פנים...
אמן.