Shiva Crashers

From Wikipedia:

In Judaism, shiv’ah or shiva (Hebrew: שבעה ; “seven”) is the week-long period of grief and mourning for the seven first-degree relatives: father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, and spouse. (Grandparents and grandchildren are not included). As most regular activity is interrupted, the process of following the shiv’ah ritual is referred to as sitting shiva. Shiva is part of a suite of customs for bereavement in Judaism.

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Last night I ate sponge cake from a stranger’s table.

Let’s back up a bit: I received an email from the administrator of my synagogue’s front office this past Friday which was sent to several leaders of the congregation. There was a death in the family of one of the congregants. The funeral was held on Friday afternoon. As per Jewish tradition, shiva was to be held at the family’s home for the next few days. This usually entails the mourners (in this case, the wife and her grown children) staying at the house and receiving lots of visitors who are there to help comfort them.  The main time to congregate is surrounding a short, nightly prayer service during which time those in mourning recite a prayer called the Mourners’ Kaddish. The clergy of the synagogue both were unavailable to lead the service for Sunday evening; could someone assist and lead that service at their home on Sunday? I answered back and said that I could help out.

So — off I went this evening. To a home a few miles away. Belonging to someone I didn’t know at all.  Who was grieving for her late husband who died less than a week ago. Kind of a potentially awkward situation…

I thought back to the time about 2 1/2 years ago when we sat shiva for my mom at the home in which I grew up. It was a bit different — at that time my parents were not only members of two different synagogues, but also well-established leaders in both communities. And the folks from a third synagogue knew my dad quite well as he would frequent that congregation’s services on Thursday evenings before he went Israeli dancing.  So we had a huge outpouring of visitors throughout shiva. The place was packed every night when it was time for that service. And since all of us — my dad, my brother and me — knew how to lead the service, there wasn’t really any need for someone from the congregation to help out in that capacity.

There were loads of people from many different communities. Some of them I had known for a long time and hadn’t seen since I had graduated high school sixteen years earlier. Some of them I had met once or twice, or perhaps had heard about from my parents. Some were complete strangers to me. Others I was shocked to see there: there was one woman whom I knew through different circles from my parents as volunteers for our youth grop. She happened to stop by — as a stranger who was performing a good deed by being there with the mourners during their time of grief — not even knowing who they were. When she saw me she realized the last name and put two and two together.

And people bring food — lots of it! Or they order it to be delivered. Some would say that it’s a Jewish thing, but it’s really something shared by most ethnic groups. In this case, so many people wanted to send us a platter of food (so we didn’t have to worry about having to make something to eat) from the local Jewish market that one of their employees (who happened to be a former youth group kid of ours) had to field calls to people saying that we already had more than enough food. Yes — she was turning away sales because they were overwhelmed with people who were kind enough to help us. It was truly an amazing feeling during a really tough time for us. It made us feel that my mom — and our family — were loved and cared about by the community.

Back to last night: The door was unlocked and I saw people milling about inside already, so I slowly turned the knob and openedit, not knowing anything about the people inside. Who was Marjorie, the woman who just lost her husband?  Who were all of the other people? What did the husband die of? How old was he? All of these were uncertainties in my head as I crossed the threshhold.

A relatively cheery woman probably saw that I looked a bit lost ad introduced herself to me. She was Marjorie.  I told her my name, thinking that maybe the synagogue would have mentioned something about the service.  She responded very sweetly. “Ah, yes. Jacob’s friend. Jacob is right in there…”

“Actually, I’m hear to lead the service. I’m from the synagogue.”

To which we both had a bit of a laugh. She apologized; I appeared around the same age as her daughter and son-in-law, so she assumed that I was that Mike.  She invited me in. A few minutes later I was passing out prayer books and w got the service started.

And the service literally lasts for about 5 to 10 minutes. Most of it is recited individually in either Hebrew or English. At the end is a responsive reading of Psalm 42, which was led by Marjorie. The living room and foyer were packed with family and friends, many of whom were reciting the Mourners’ Kaddish along with Marjorie.

And then that was it. Marjorie thanked everyone terafully, saying that this has been such a difficult time for her and that it was good to have people around. She invited people to stay, talk, eat.

I didn’t stay too long — just that one piece of sponge cake. But I did see pictures that were displayed of their family — a very happy family through and through to the end when Marjorie’s husband finally succumbed to the cancer he was fighting. There was a picture o them on a beach — dated December 31, 2008. They all looked happy and full of life.

I mentioned this to Marjorie on the way out.  That although I didn’t know them at all before this evening, it was pretty obvious why so many family and friends joined them that evening. And she thanked me again for leading that service — for ten minutes of my time that simply could have been incredibly awkward.

I don’t consider what I did all that special. I know a bit of Hebrew, I know the basics of the service, I have a loud, projected voice and I can carry a tune when needed.  It’s times like these that I feel that it’s nice to have these skills.

If anything, they help me with these situations which often I dread the most.

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Shiny will return with something a hell of a lot funnier tomorrow. Promise.