The Chevra Kadisha
A Personal Viewpoint of the Chevra Kadisha
It seems peculiar that a Chevra Kadisha should have come into being in
East Lansing, of all places. Mid-Michigan had no kosher butcher, no mikveh, not
even a real delicatessen. Yet, when someone in the community approached the
Hillel director to say that his mother-in-law was quite ill and would like to
have a traditional burial, it was not difficult to get several volunteers to
study with the rabbi and to become a kind of ad hoc burial society. Maurice
Lamm's book, The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning, served as our text; Rabbi Danny
Allen [of Hillel] was a resource for questions and suggestions. Having learned enough that
we could offer to perform many of the more traditional rituals, we began to
confront the problem of a cemetery, especially after it became clear that
cooperation between the area's two synagogues was not possible and that a new
Jewish cemetery would be needed. That, too, became the responsibility of the
Chevra Kadisha and a subcommittee explored every possibility from designating a
section of the city cemetery for Jewish use, to purchasing plots in a private
cemetery — one which turned out to have a special section for pets! We
certainly learned a great deal about the funeral industry in the course of our
studies.
Blu Greenberg wrote, "It never ceases to amaze me who serves on the
Chevra Kadisha." The group at Congregation Kehillat Israel was unusual especially
in terms of the educational backgrounds of the participants: three physicians, two
attorneys, assorted M.A.'s and Ph.D.'s from many disciplines, reflecting in large
measure, the skewed academic and professional makeup of the synagogue's membership
but also reflecting the many ways in which the American Jewish experience
is so different from that of Eastern Europe where members of the burial society
were often the ne'er do wells of the shtetl.
To my knowledge, no one in the group could be characterized as Orthodox;
no one was a shomer shabbat and, although we never discussed eschatology, I would
be surprised if any of us believed in the physical resurrection of the dead, an
assumption which seems to underlie many of the rituals which we performed. There
was no question, however, that we would offer as halachically authentic preparation
and burial as a family might request and, to that end, we not only read Lamm
but we also contacted groups in Detroit and Chicago who provided assistance and
encouragement. A Plain Pine Box, the videotape made by the Congregation of Aaron
in Minneapolis, was useful and the members of the Minneapolis group helped us
secure suitable caskets when commercial channels proved ineffective. Other than
purchasing the new cemetery sections which we were just beginning to explore, we
had everything we needed the first time we were called upon.
Kehillat Israel was a young congregation and we anticipated that we
would be called upon to help families who were burying elderly parents before
we would be serving our own members. At least that was what we had hoped,
although we knew, for example, that Arlinda had been operated on for a brain
tumor and the implications of her condition were clear. For those of us who
have grown up in the hygienic milieu of mid-twentieth century America, death is
a phenomenon far removed from our own lives and direct contact with a corpse an
unknown experience. Hence, it was with trepidation that I faced the prospect
that sometime soon I would have to deal with a dead body. More difficult was
the expectation that it might be someone I knew, someone young, someone whose
death would affect me — a friend.
As it turned out, the first family that we served was unknown to most
of us. The woman who had died was an immigrant from Czechoslovakia. When we
learned that she had survived Auschwitz and died peacefully in her new homeland,
we knew that the organizing and studying we had done was worthwhile. To be able
to provide for someone who had endured so much suffering for being a Jew, to be
able to do the preparations that meant so much to her, to attend to the needs of
a Holocaust survivor in the midst of our comfortable, prosperous, secure community
gave us a sense of being involved in something more cosmic than commonplace.
Alas, our first experience with taharah (washing) and shmirah (staying
with the corpse) was not our last. Arlinda was an active participant when we
washed and dressed Mrs. H's body; the next time we met was to prepare Arlinda.
She had faced cancer and, in battling it, helped others to cope; she left behind
a group that she had founded that continues to help cancer patients to manage
their illness and their lives. Because she faced her own demise with honesty and
courage, she taught all of us on the bereavement committee that the care of the
dying and the dead are part of what it means to be a Jewish community and to turn
the tasks over to hospitals and undertakers is to deny our responsibility for one
another and to deprive ourselves of involvement of the most meaningful kind.
It is difficult to serve on a Chevra Kadisha. The Jewish tradition
teaches that contact with a corpse defiles us; it also perplexes us. Dead bodies
look like people; they do not feel nor act like them. How we approach them, and
how we prepare them, and, finally, how we bury them is very significant. Serving
on the burial society also forces us to confront the inevitability of our own
demise, a difficult and painful process.
When you have to die, someone has to take care of your body and the
Chevra Kadisha are the people who do so. Perhaps what motivates the volunteers
is a very keen sense of communal responsibility. But there is more to it. Few
things bind people more closely together than coming together to deal with death
and the members of the burial society do it more frequently than most of us. The
closeness and mutual concern that developed in our group is undoubtedly widespread
in other burial societies. One of our members, born in Germany, remembered that
in his town, the Chevra Kadisha had an annual banquet, a yearly celebration for
people who usually met in less than a celebratory atmosphere. We never did dine
together but we did have much to celebrate: a tradition that deals wisely and
directly with death, a group of people who were always ready when called upon,
a wider Jewish community that helped and encouraged us, and people whose illness
and passing taught us that life should be lived with courage and humor and
compassion and, most of all, with friends. We were touched by all of them, most
profoundly by Arlinda, who served with us and whom ultimately we served. May
her memory be for a blessing. Any may those who are searching for a way to serve
the Jewish community in a most meaningful, committed and rewarding way, join or
establish a Chevra Kadisha.
Rochelle S. Elstein
D'var Torah delivered April 1986
For further information about the Chevra Kadisha including becoming a member, please
contact the Chairperson here.
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