Pebbles on the Grave

When I converted to Judaism, something I learned very early on during a marathon of Jewish and Holocaust movies (not to mention the show Dead Like Me) was the tradition of placing stones on the graves or headstones of the deceased. Where I come from (Christian Middle America), flowers are the item of choice for visiting deceased loved ones. It was a ritual that we partook in every Memorial Day when we'd drive to Kansas City and visit the graves of my grandmother, grandfather, and other relatives buried there. We purchased the plastic, tacky memorial flowers and wreaths, and at some point, days or weeks later, someone would be forced to come through and remove the harmful-to-nature plastic concoctions. 

In 2008, on a genealogy roadtrip, I found the grave of my great grandfather and great grandmother.
Not knowing why, and knowing that they weren't Jewish, I placed stones on their graves.

I never asked anyone why Jews don't do flowers at funerals or gravesites; it was something Jews do. It's part of the choreography of death, following the timeline of shiva (the week-long period of mourning) and matzevah (unveiling of the tombstone). Why didn't I inquire? I might have Googled it, or I might have read about it in a book, but it became part of my personal choreography of being Jewish. Sometimes, we just don't think about the things we do. But perhaps we should.

So, when visiting the grave of a Jew, the custom is to place a small stone on the grave using the left hand. According to Wikipedia, "this shows that someone visited the gravesite, and is also a way of participating in the mitzvah of burial." Likewise, Rabbi Simmons of Aish.com says, "we place stones on top of a gravestone whenever we visit to indicate our participation in the mitzvah of erecting a tombstone, even if only in a more symbolic way." According to Talmud Bavli, Masechet Mo'ed Katan, in Biblical times graves were marked with mounds of stones (an example being when Rachel died), so by placing or replacing the stones, one plays a role in perpetuating the existence of the site and the memory of that person buried there.

But the reality is that stones had been used forever for burial. In ancient times, bodies were covered with large boulders or stones to keep animals from picking away the flesh and desecrating the body. It likely didn't play any kind of religious or supernatural role, but more of a practical role. Perhaps our meaningful act of placing a stone on the grave of a Jew threads back to this practical set of origins. But when did that transition in understanding -- of practical to mitzvah-making -- happen? Who can be sure.

Today, to place a stone on a gravestone says, to me, that I was there, I remembered, and I cared. Ultimately, it's more about the visitor than the buried, I think. What do you think?

As an aside, matzevah actually means monument, and although there is no halachic obligation to hold an unveiling ceremony, in the 19th century it became a popular ritual. Some unveil the tombstone a year after the burial, some a week after the burial. (I've seen the former more than the latter.) In Israel, as it turns out, the stone is unveiled after shloshim, or the first 30 days of mourning.

This blog post came out of my beginning to read "Jerusalem, Jerusalem" by the author of "Constantine's Sword" in combination with finding out that a dear family friend, Zitta Weiss, passed away on August 17. Zitta was a survivor of the Holocaust and an amazing and memorable soul. My first shiva call ever was at the home of Zitta when her brother died. And now? I suppose I'm coming back to where my Jewish bereavement experience began. Back to Zitta's home, but to mourn the woman herself. She was born on May 5, 1929. Baruch Dayan ha'Emet. 

Mourning and Minhagim: How to Decide

Yes, I know what everyone is going to say: You should have figured this out before you got married! Come on!

But what do I know? As a convert married to (for all intents and purposes) a ba'al teshuva, I really didn't anticipate all of the issues with "do we do this? do we not do this?" that would come up in our marriage. Technically, before Tuvia and I got hitched, I could have adopted Sephardic customs (although, let's be honest, it would be hard to describe to anyone why I, a fair-skinned, dark-haired Jewess is eating rice on Passover). Likewise, because the customs that Tuvia inherited within his family are few and far between, with very few regarding kashrut or general family minhagim, he, too, could have chosen his path. In the end, we adopted a Yekki style of hand-washing before kiddush and motzi on Shabbos (what!? it streamlines the process!), but that's about it. (Yekki = Jew of German descent)

Right now, then, the question about customs to which I'm referring involve The Three Weeks -- those days weeks that started with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz (on Tuesday) and culminate with Tisha B'Av. There are a lot of customs, a lot of minhagim that many adhere to in public and private, others just in public, and some not at all.

For example, many will not shave, get a haircut, get married, or listen to music during The Three Weeks, and this is standard Ashkenazic custom. When the Nine Days arrive, leading up to Tisha B'Av, many Jews won't eat meat or do laundry, either.

Where does this come from? The first source for a special status of The Three Weeks as Bein ha'Metzarim is found in Eikhah Rabbati 1.29, which glosses Lamentations 1.3's "All Zion's pursuers overtook her between the straits" and understands "straits" as "days of distress." These days of distress are 17 Tammuz through 9 Av, as cited by Rabbi Isaac Tyrnau in his book Minhagim, a record of Austrian customs. His opinion was then cited as halacha by Moses Isserles in Rema on Shulchan Aruch.

And where does the seriously decreased happiness during The Nine Days come from? In Mishnah Ta'anit 4:6, "from the beginning of Av, happiness is decreased." Okay, that makes perfect sense. But what does that mean? I can decrease my happiness while still eating meat and listening to music, right? What if I only listen to Britney Spears, which makes me sad? And I overcook my steak? Well, many refrain from meat and wine, laundry, and warm baths. Sephardim tend to only observe these restrictions from the Sunday prior to 9 Av, and Yeminite Jews don't maintain any of these customs. (And don't we often cite the Yeminite community as being "the closest" thing to "authentic" old-school Judaism?)

Here's my take: Weeks of mourning tend to diminish the impact of an event itself. When something happens suddenly, your body, soul, and mind are assaulted by the event. I imagine that the Israelites of the First Century BCE didn't think it would really come down to the destruction of the Holy Temple, just as the Jews of Europe didn't think that Kristallnacht would lead to the destruction of 6 million Jews. The sudden impact of reality is what shatters the soul into complete mourning. 

Am I a tzaddik? Am I a rabbi? No. I suppose not. But for Tuvia and I to sit down and have a conversation about what we will and will not do during The Three Weeks and The Nine Days, well, I think that we have to be aware of community standards as well as our own expectations and understanding of the meaning of these times.

What do you observe? What don't you observe? Are there any special family minhagim for this period that you've adopted?

A Reader Request: Shiva

One of my readers sent me this and asked that I post it anonymously -- it's sort of a followup to yesterday's Shiva post. Please spread it around and let me know if you have any answers!

My father is not doing well, and as part of preparing for the inevitable, I'm looking for an online guide to "what to expect when your Orthodox Jewish coworker experiences a death in the family." Something geared to non-jewish completely ignorant bosses that explains why we dont do flowers at funerals and not to bring gifts of food to shiva (which they don't have to come to anyway). And that explains why I'm growing a beard for a month and why I have to leave every day for 30 minutes to catch mincha.  

The online resources I've found so far are general introductions to Jewish mourning customs, but arent really geared to a professional situation where I'm trying to save people trouble and/or social faux pas. Thanks!

Thoughts?

Deconstructing Shiva

In my seven to eight years doing Judaism in some form or another, I've experienced many moments when the thoughts "will I ever get used to this?" and "will this ever make sense to me?" crossed my mind.

Initially, the biggest one was anything that had to do with the Shoah (Holocaust). Either being completely disconnected genetically to anyone involved in anything to do with the Holocaust and thus lacking some chain of emotion and memory, or ending up in a situation where I had to consider the horrors as others related them to me. The Shoah was always a distant beast that I never thought would ever mean something to me, outside of the general horror of what humanity is capable. And then I married Tuvia, who comes from a family with survivors of some immense horrors of the Shoah, and through work on genealogy and tracking down stories and facts about where his family came from, I threaded myself into that memory and now, well, the Shoah is not distant, it's part of who I am.

Now, as I watch a generation fade away, as I become more a part of a community, as I understand new responsibilities, I consider the act of sitting shiva, which is the act of mourning over the seven-day period following the death of one's immediate relatives (mom, dad, brother, sister, spouse, and child). I'm blessed to not have had to even consider sitting shiva at this point in my life, but part of this act of mourning is the communal aspect of "paying a shiva visit" to the grieving party.

In my time doing Judaism, I've paid all of two shiva calls. One was to the home of a friend whose mother passed away far too young from an illness and the other was to one of Tuvia's grandmother's friends, who had lost her brother. The two experiences were starkly different, but both left me feeling uncomfortable in a way I can't describe. I don't know that shiva visits are meant to be comfortable, but for those who grew up Jewish, the whole idea of Jewish mourning is old hat.

For instance, Jews bury their dead almost immediately, preferably the next day. Jews don't put up a headstone until 11 months after the burial of the dead, when they do an unveiling. Jews mourn for seven days and then a month and then a year and then recite kaddish every year on the anniversary of the death of the relative. Jews tear their clothing when someone dies.

Where I come from, when someone dies, you wait until the family can get together, then you plan the funeral, which consists of a service at either a church or the funeral home, complete with songs and testimonies, followed by a long schlep to the cemetery with everyone in tow, a further ceremony there with a pastor or preacher saying words from the bible, then the burial. After that, usually people come to your house with food and linger awkwardly and then leave. After that day, all is over and you go back to your normal life.

At my first shiva call, I met my grandmother-in-law's friend for the first time. She, too, was a Shoah survivor, and as we were sitting in her time capsule of a living room, she shifted in her chair and her shirt sleeve lifted to reveal numbers. I'd never in my life actually seen a tattoo on a survivor. Tuvia's grandmother and her sisters got dog tags instead of tattoos, because by the time they ended up in the camps, it wasn't time effective. I froze, Tuvia carried the conversation, and after some awkward silences, we left. For days afterward, and even today, I remember how uncomfortable I felt. Was I supposed to say something? Do something? Sit quietly? Dance around the room and spit nickels? No one prepared me for the acts of death and mourning.

The second shiva call was heartbreaking. I'd attended the service at the funeral home for my friend's mother -- the place was packed, and the emotion was intense. The entire thing allowed me to really put into perspective my relationship with my own parents and how life is fleeting. When Tuvia and I went to their house that week for a shiva call, it was my first visit. Tuvia had been going all week, like the real mensch that he is, to help make minyan (the quorum of 10 men needed for prayer). The room was small and crowded, and I realized that it was in that room that we sat and noshed that my friend's mother had spent her last days. We had plenty of friends there, and I didn't know what to say or do, again. Silence? Comforting words? Is one's presence enough? We davened and some emotional words were shared. Everyone said their goodbyes, and we went off into the night.

More recently, my husband's uncle, Bert, died. It was unexpected and -- for us -- very sudden. The week of mourning went on as normal, but amid a snow and ice storm, which kept me and my tiny car away. I found myself unable to really cope with the death, unable to grasp the reality of it, because I couldn't go to pay a shiva call. I was both relieved that I would not be faced with the foreign and awkward custom and upset that I had no where or way to grieve.

Is it a Catch 22?

Death is never easy. Can you ever really be prepared? Does growing up with the traditions of death and mourning in Judaism make it easier to grasp? More normative? More regular? Or does it have nothing to do with it?

On a related note, for the media lovers out there: One of the best movies out of Israel in recent years, in my opinion, is a film called Shiva, which has the U.S. title of "The Seven Days." I can't seem to find a website for it, but it's about a large Moroccan Jewish family gathering at the death of one of the sons/brothers. It's a really interesting look at mourning, and what family dynamics are like over a seven-day period of enclosure and emotion. (A review of the movie from the Cannes Film Festival is online.) I recommend watching it ... whether shiva is something you're comfortable or familiar with, this movie will definitely give you a new perspective.

Tisha B'av: What happened?

I've spent my afternoon catching up on blogs, Facebook messages, forum postings and the like. My intention for today was to catch completely up after having been computer-free the entire weekend, save for what little connection I could manage through my BlackBerry at home. I want to post about teh entire weekend -- Shabbos to Tisha B'av -- but first I wanted to catch up and see what the rest of the world has been up to. Thus, I wasn't surprised to find so many posts about J-Bloggers about Tisha B'av, spanning the struggle to connect or get through or relate with the day of mourning, or simply just about observing the day. Among them were Frum Satire, Aliza H., the On Chanting blog, Jack, and Ilana-Davita provides some food for thought and links to other interesting posts about Tisha B'av. Then, of course, we have the Haveil Havalim Tisha B'av edition, in case you're looking for some new blogs to check out.

But really, let's talk about my take on the weekend. I hadn't necessarily anticipated an e-free Shomer Shabbos style Shabbat, but it turned out that way. I headed to the Orthodox shul Friday night, not necessarily intending to go for a Shabbos dinner either, but I ran into a girl who I'd met months ago in Skokie and we were catching up after services and she asked me along to the dinner she was heading to. Luckily, they had room and were more than happy to have me. The dinner lasted well into the night, and I didn't make it home until nearly 2 in the morning. There was lots of singing and talking and the host, a rabbi, and I discussed my impending move to Connecticut -- it turns out he spent a year in West Hartford and knows just about everyone there is to know, so he's going to connect me. We talked about academics and grammar, since another fellow at our end of the table was a grammar nut like me. I realized that I would love to emulate this rabbi and his wife -- they are, in my mind, what Orthodoxy is meant to be. After dinner and conversation, I finally headed out with the friend and after leaving her to go her way around Addison/Broadway, I decided to hop on the bus because it was late and I was tired. The interesting thing? I got on the bus and the bus-pass reading machine was BROKEN. Because of this little spark of luck, I went home and left the lights out, didn't turn anything on, and went to bed. I woke up the next day with a migraine and didn't make it to morning services. I spent the day at home, reading and mulling about, and somehow the day managed to flitter away.

I took a nap and woke up for ma'ariv and eicha. I'll admit, I've never been around for a Tisha B'av service before, and I wasn't sure what to expect, especially since the Tisha B'av prayer book wasn't, well, transliterated. I was amazed at how many people were there -- especially on the women's side. You see, I'm guessing that during Shabbos most of the women are at home preparing for the after-shul visitors, so they don't make it in for services. But there were so many women, so many hats, so many hat-toting women! After ma'ariv we all found our places on the floor and listened as each chapter was chanted by a different male -- their voices varied in tone and volume, and it was a very interesting experience that I really actually enjoyed. I would read the English fairly quickly and then follow along in the Hebrew, and it worked out quite well. After services, I walked the whole way home becuase the weather was beautiful, on the way calling my mom to explain the holiday to her. I don't know that she was interested, but I feel like informing them might someday come in handy.

I didn't make it to morning services at shul because I was up so late the night before (my sleep schedule is off), so I slept in till about 11:30, got up, and went to shul for the movie marathon. I came in about half-way through the first film, and, well, the nudity made me a bit shifty in my chair. The second movie "Go for Zucker," was a really good movie, but definitely not appropriate for a holiday of mourning since, well, it was sort of a happy, mend-your-ties kind of film. The only relateable element was perhaps the sitting shiva, but that was a minor part of the film. I left after that movie and walked to the bookshop, but found myself unable to focus on anything, so I went home where I wasted the day away until the fast ended, at which time I ate something, took some tylenol, and then tried to sleep.

So, nu? What did I get out of the fast day? I'll be completely honest with everyone here: I felt completel distant from Tisha B'av. I went through the motions, but for some reason, my mind was fully occupied with moving, school, and changes. I'm usually good with the mourning thing. The Holocaust is still fresh in my mind, despite being utterly removed from it by both familial ties and the fact that it occured dozens of years before I was born. The destruction of the temples and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain and all of those events, perhaps because I'm so attached to academia and history, are very fresh in my mind, too. But yesterday, for some reason, I felt like I was in a daze the entire time. Like, I couldn't even think about the purpose of Tisha B'av. Like it was a mist passing over me. I'm not sure what happened. Maybe I just didn't prepare myself, maybe I didn't really take the nine days to get in the place necessary to really grieve. At any rate, Tisha B'av has passed and now we are preparing for the High Holidays. It's strange how quickly this year has gone by, and it seems that I'm less and less prepared for major Jewish milestones.

What gives? And why did it suddenly get harder? I guess I have a whole year to really figure it out. Let's hope it doesn't creep up on me next year.

Anyhow, for those wondering, that little image there has the translated text of Lamentations in a mosaic of sorts.