Touching Death

Today I helped prepare the body of an old man for his funeral.

I wasn't sure how it would go. I've never been good with doctors. Needles and blood make me feel faint. How would I be able to handle seeing the body of a dead person? Since there was a need, I decided to do it.

I asked a couple of people for advice the day before. "It's just like changing the diaper of someone else's baby." "It's the greatest mitzvah [commandment] because there's a 100% guarantee that this person will never repay you for the favor you are doing them." What confirmed my decision was finding out that I would be the third generation in my family to help with the Hevra Kadisha [burial society].

No discussions, no opportunity to ask questions, and no chance to back out.

I don't know if it was intentional, but I arrived a little late. The receptionist directed me to the room where the body was being prepared and off I went. I found my way, stuck my head in the doorway, and saw people I knew from shul around a draped body on a table. I took a deep breath and walked in. I was told to put on a gown and gloves, shown what blessings to make, and given my job of filling the laver for the person who did the initial washing. No discussions, no opportunity to ask questions, and no chance to back out.

I didn't actually see the body for a few minutes so I just focused my attention on my small job. My mind seemed to grasp that whatever my fears might have been, there was nothing to worry about.

I was initially struck by how much the physical body changes when the soul is gone. It seems to literally shrink, like a balloon the day after a simcha. Slightly shriveled, resting on the floor -- a poor reminder of the floating ball of vibrant color you and your kids played with the previous day.

I started to think how much the man resembled a wax figure or a dummy that might be used in a horror movie. Working with him (and yes, it was work) was more like working with a large, very heavy doll.

Every time I started to think this way, I was careful to remind myself that this was a man -- someone's father, brother, uncle or husband. We did our best to maintain an atmosphere of modesty and kept him covered as much as possible. Conversation during the process was kept to an absolute minimum, mostly just instructions about what to do.

It was so beyond the range of my experience that I didn't know what to expect, and even during the process, I still wasn't sure about my own feelings. I just focused on doing what had to be done. There were only a couple of times where a smell would bother me, or seeing how the body reacted after being moved a certain way caught me off guard. By the end of the hour, I was as involved as everyone else there.

It wasn't until after we had dressed him in a shroud and placed him into the casket that it struck me that the four of us from the Hevra Kadisha (I guess I have to include myself now) were the last to see him in his current state -- a body without a soul.

Oddly enough, yesterday I learned in Talmud that the soul doesn't completely leave the body until the last shovelful of dirt is placed on the grave. I believe that this is the reason we are so careful as we go through the process of preparing the body. If it feels like someone is watching, it's because someone is, and it's very personal to them.

They don't have it easy either. They are experiencing something new and are in a place that they have never been before. In many cases, they may be without pain or physical limitations for the first time in a long time. I'm also sure that it's similar to the feeling you have when you are driving and get lost. There is fear and disorientation. Do I keep going and hope it turns out okay, or try to turn back and get some help? Unfortunately, turning back is not an option in this case.

It was not easy, but I guess it's not supposed to be.

As I walked behind the hearse and focused on fulfilling the mitzvah of escorting the dead, I was struck by what I had done. I have been to a number of funerals and been among the mourners. There, everyone focuses on dealing with the living because that is whom the funeral is truly for. Having been one who focuses on the dead, and after escorting this man as he left the mortuary, I have a new perspective.

I will probably repeat this experience in the future. It was not easy, and I'm sure it won't be next time, but I guess it's not supposed to be. I can't recommend this for everyone. It is mentally, emotionally, and to a lesser degree, physically challenging. At the same time, it is a tremendous mitzvah and one of those things that falls into the category of 'You have to do it once.'

I have more respect than ever for the people of the Hevra Kadisha and other similar organizations. They have no desire for glory, recognition, fame or fortune. They are most likely the people in your town who are most focused on doing as many mitzvoth as possible. I would urge you to recognize their dedication and selflessness by making a contribution to your local Hevra Kadisha, either in their own merit or the merit of someone you may know who has benefited from their services.

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Published: July 7, 2007

Visitor Comments: 18

(18) Leonard, July 22, 2007 10:04 AM

Wonderful Article!

This article captures, in such a beautiful way, the tentative steps that a beginner to ANY mitzvah experience undergoes, with trepidation, feeling, fear, and ultimately joy in stretching oneself in such a poostive manner. All the more so with Hevra Kadisha, the special "Holy Society" that performs this ultimate act of kindness, far beyond the ken of most.

Congratulations on reaching this stage in life and on sharing it with all of us in such a moving way

(17) Anonymous, July 15, 2007 1:32 AM

my first tahara story....

As one who can no longer do taharas (because of my own medical condition), I was deeply moved to read your account of your first tahara. Your description of the air of holiness which surrounds the body during a tahara was right on point. Each time I have done a tahara, I felt in some elusive but palpable way, the neshama of the body hovering above us. It was both humbling and awe-inspiring, not unlike the introduction of a new neshama upon the birth of a child.
The first tahara I did was for a friend of mine. Out of nowhere, I felt this complete and very private communication from her, asking me (no words, remember) to forgive her and to help her child. I was confused by the content, but crystal clear about the clarity of the communication. I just took it in and did nothing about it. Only many months, even years later, her child needed someone to talk to. The child was now an adult, and revealed to me a thing that this woman had done that had caused the daughter tremendous, overwhelming pain. I realized immediately that this is what that unspoken communication had been about. I understood the daughter's need to speak, I understood the meaning of the mother's regret and pain, and I was able to help the daughter come to terms with her mother about this huge betrayal. I have continued in this role of daughter's confidante about this matter. No, I never told the daughter about her mother's communication, nor that I participated in her mom's tahara. I am still not happy to have to deal with this issue (it wasn't pretty), but I feel it is an extension of that tahara, the last gift I can give to this mother, who really did the best she could with what she had at the time. Being able to help the child forgive the parent is another huge zechus. All of this brought home to me the thin cloudy glass barrier between this world and the next. I pray that I shall heal enough to do more taharas, to give this gift to others, and, by extension, myself. Even more, I pray for an end to all our suffering, to the coming of the end of days when all individual suffering will finally end.

(16) Stacy, July 13, 2007 3:20 PM

You can't take it with you

I have been blessed with the opportunity to peform a tahara. The most poignant moment for me was closing the lid of the coffin. A beautiful aspect of Jewish burial is the simplicity- the person is dressed in a simple white shroud, and placed in a simple pine box. After placing the simply dressed body in the plain coffin, I realized- you really don't take anything with you. All the materials things we long for so badly- they all get left behind. I highly recommend doing a tahara if you can- after all, you pray and hope someone will do one for you one day!

(15) Anonymous, July 13, 2007 9:58 AM

In what Talmud and where is this? thanks. Oddly enough, yesterday I learned in Talmud that the soul doesn't completely leave the body until the last shovelful of dirt is placed on the grave.

(14) Anonymous, July 12, 2007 4:37 PM

Thanks For Sharing This.

Thank you for sharing your first experience with this Mitzva. I have often thought of helping with a Tahara at least one time, but I have never followed intention with action. Your article is really vivid and inspiring. I hope to have the courage and make the time to do this Chesed Shel Emes in the near future.

(13) cheryl R. Battice, July 11, 2007 3:42 PM

thank you

being relatively new to Judaism I found this article very touching! It also reminded me of when my mother died in our home how we felt looking at her, since Hospice got the wrong info and left her body in the house until the next day. I was amaxed how the body looks once the soul leaves the body.
Thank you for all of your articles, they bring me joy, comfort and often pain.
Shalom

(12) Adam Greenman, July 10, 2007 10:29 PM

wow

Awesome. A beautiful piece from a beautiful man.

Yasher koach.

(11) Richard M. Cohen, July 10, 2007 2:00 PM

A most profound and sobering gift you can offer a friend.

I truly enjoyed reading Mr. Perrin's article on participating in the Hevra Chadisha. I might try it someday now that I read his story.

(10) Laura, July 10, 2007 11:38 AM

Thank you Jon!

Thank you, Jon, for sharing your experience for helping take care of the deceased.
This line, "...the last to see him in his current state -- a body without a soul." really hit me, never thought of that before now. It is our duty to help bury the dead with respect and dignity.

(9) Dena, July 9, 2007 3:25 PM

Appreciation of the article concerning caring for the deceased person's physical body

I wanted to thank you for the article about your first experience caring for a deceased man's physical body.

My grandmother died last December. Because our synagogue is so small, we have no burial society, so the women who watched with me as my dear grandmother completed her life on this earth, were prepared to help me with the last washing and preparation, though only the Rabbi's wife had any experience doing this mitzvot.

We tenderly cared for my Grandma's last physical needs. This, although I was scared as I had never done this, turned out to be very healing for all of us. I was amazed at the holiness that enveloped the room as we took care of what needed to be done. It even felt like thousands of angels were there.

And through this I learned to never fear death again, at least not the death of one destined to be with HaShem forever. My Grandmother had clearly left her pain-ridden body and was in a much better place. I felt her thanks as we washed and dressed her--I chose to dress her in a beautiful dress because she had not been able to wear pretty things for the last few months of her life. And I believe she appreciated this, as she appreciated having her hair curled and her makeup applied, just has she had liked when she had been well enough to take care of herself. It was a time for saying goodbye to her and loving her in a way that truly showed how much I cared, and how much the other women present cared.

So again, thank you for the article and for giving me the chance to express my own experience and thoughts. Brachot.

(8) Rochel, July 9, 2007 9:11 AM

Thank you for sharing

My mother recently passed away. I was with her as her neshema left her body. I waited with her at the hospital for the Chevra Kadisha to arrive--knowing she will be respectfully cared for. Thank you for sharing your experience. It is truly comforting to know she was in such "good hands".

(7) Annie Lass, July 9, 2007 2:05 AM

touching death

I found this article deeply moving.
I sat at my dear Mother's bedside as she was dying, hugging her hands. When I wanted to leave and disengage my hands from hers, her hands already had the stiffness of death, and it was difficult to release my hands. it was a scary moment. I am grateful to be able to share something of this experience with this person who carried out the mitzvot.

(6) wambui, July 9, 2007 12:22 AM

eerie but comforting.

thank you for this article. am reminded never to forget that this was someone's husband, friend.i have much more respect for those who do this work, some suffer dire consequences, you just reminded me to include them in my prayers.

(5) Andy, July 8, 2007 7:10 PM

need further clarity

"It's the greatest mitzvah [commandment] because there's a 100% guarantee that this person will never repay you for the favor you are doing them."

Not in this world at this time that's for certain.

I have great admiration for those that serve as members of their hevra kadisha however because the person you are burying will not repay you does not mean one is doing the mitzvah without a chance for reward.Is it different when one shakes a lulav or gives charity anonymously?

(4) Anonymous, July 8, 2007 5:52 PM

shared experience

I also recently attended a tahara, having only done this one other time. The following is what I wrote upon my return from the funeral home. "While doing a tahara, my level of concentration was acute. I was keenly aware of the sights around me, the glaring, raw lights, the coldness of the white metal table upon which the body lay and the warmth you are feeling wearing latex gloves and a hospital cover-up, while physically maneuvering the body. I was aware of the dripping water and the dignity given to the body. I was painfully aware that this was someone's mother, someone's grandmother, someone's wife, and in the distant past, someone's daughter. While we were preparing the body with precision and care, someone else, somewhere else, was shedding tears for their personal loss. Afterward, the peace and quiet that enfolded all of us was profound. The body was peaceful, wrapped as a new infant, in a white, pure shroud. It was crystal clear that the neshama was already gone. Perhaps we provided some comfort or dignity to that special neshama. I hope so. Because some day, it will be me, and I will be grateful for the love and quiet dignity of the sisterhood of women who will preside over my body."

(3) Anonymous, July 8, 2007 5:06 PM

This is truly the most generous act.

Thank you for the suggestion of a donation to a Hevra Kadisha. I never thought to do such so, but I will check it out. There are few causes with as much worth.

(2) Jeanette Weinschel, July 8, 2007 10:24 AM

appreciating that we are a neshama not a goof

from this article it shows me that we are actually a neshama/soul and the goof/body is really our exterior and helps confirm that we really have a G-d even though we cannot see him

(1) Rachel Glyn, July 8, 2007 8:32 AM

You Have Made a Great Start!

Many years ago when I joined the Chevra Kadisha, I had pretty much the same reactions as you did. Plus, as I have suffered from panic anxiety at different times of my life, I feared that being near a corpse would make me have a panic attack. The second time I attended a tahara, I began to feel that way, light headed and panicky and too hot. The third time, I dressed a lot more lightly, and davened to Hashem to please not let me freak out - I used those words, and believe it or not, my prayer was instantly answered and I never felt panic anxiety in connection with a tahara again.

Many people demur from joining the Chevra because of our natural fear of death. The brain realizes that doing taharas won't make us die sooner and not doing taharas won't save us from eventually dying. But the greatest distance in the world is the distance from the brain to the heart. But strangely enough, the experience of doing them has removed a little bit of my natural fear of what will happen after death.

But as Jon Perrin points out, the most moving aspect of doing a tahara with the Chevra is the complete respect and the holiness of the task. It is a very inspiring task to do, and it is imbued with kedusha, holiness. The only thing that compares to it is the feeling of awesome holiness and sanctity on Yom Kippur.

I always sense the presence of the soul of the deceased hovering in the room where we do the tahara, and we always say vidui upon the conclusion of the tahara, to beg pardon for anything wrong we may have done. But I always ask the soul of the deceased to petition God to protect the Jewish people from our enemies.

I hope people will read this article and my comment, and elect to join their local Chevra Kadisha. They could always use new volunteers.

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About the Author

Jon Perrin

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Jon Perrin lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife and family. He is a business analyst for a health insurance company.

Touching Death

My first experience helping to prepare the body of a deceased person for his funeral.

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