Eternal Rest

It was a memorial service for the mother of an agnostic Jewish woman. I'd never been to a Jewish service and was eager to see what this would be like. Only about 20 people were seated in a Jewish mortuary waiting for everything to begin. An officiant wearing a black silk yarmulke rushed in and hurriedly drew a gold brocade curtain across the room to partition off a pine casket that appeared to be open. A moment later he burst through the curtains into the seated crowd.

"We're about to close the casket. Before we do, does anyone want to view?" His voice was raspy and monotone, yet full of urgency.

"Anyone?" His eyes darted across the crowd. "No one?"

No one moved. I personally, was shocked by his demeanor, which had the same amount of emotion one would have if asking for directions to the DMV.

"All right," he continued. "We will proceed momentarily." And he disappeared back behind the curtain.

Meanwhile, those sitting around me chatted away about various community news items. There was no meditative music, no hushed whispering or reverence. The family members stepped back through the curtain and seated themselves on the front row facing the officiant.

"Okay," he stated. "Let's begin then. I never had the pleasure of knowing Idilah Steinmetz in life and it is unfortunate to make the family's acquaintance at this difficult time. So I can't speak about her from personal experience. Who better can talk about her life than her family? We will hear from them in a couple minutes." He intoned flatly, "Let us proceed by reading together the selection in the middle section of the program" (which I was not given when I came in).

We flew through Psalm 23, the Shepherd's Psalm. Never have I recited that Psalm so quickly. Two family members stood and spoke at length about their mother and grandmother who had died the day before. One remembered the deceased fondly. The daughter gave a rambling monologue about how one family member with psychic powers, had chosen to cut off from the family and was not there. "But I'm sure he's lurking around the cemetery somewhere. He's probably looking in the windows now." We all instinctively glanced at the windows. She continued by telling us that when her father had died a year earlier, someone told her that her mother would die soon thereafter because their relationship had been so enduring. "Ironically enough," she continued, "Two months after he died Mother started insisting that he was gay! And that he has been gay for years. She hated him and she reminded us of that every visit."

"--She did not!" a woman in the middle of the group said aloud. "She never said that. Don't say that about her! She wouldn't say that."

The daughter forged ahead. "We had a very complicated relationship, and there's a lot I could say, but today I'll only say good things."

Her remarks sort of trailed off. She ended her comments by shrugging her shoulders and sitting down next to her husband. He stepped up to the front of the assembly and read to us something that his father-in-law had read to him at his wedding. It was an obscure passage from an Eastern guru's writing from the middle 16th century. I couldn't follow it because it seemed somewhat circuitous or something.

The son-in-law sat down and the officiant stepped back out from the curtains at the side. He announced that there would be a private burial service later in the day, but that we were all invited to eat over at the Odyssey restaurant. "Take Rinuchio down two blocks. Turn left at the stoplight. You will turn on to SeaBreeze and go for two blocks. Take the next right and half-way down the street, you will see the restaurant." It was all said without any feeling or enthusiasm.

"And now we will tie on the k'riah ribbon." He uttered a monotone description of the symbolism of these ribbons, pinned them on the family members, then shredded them in his hands. "Wear these for 30 days. But on the 30th day do not wear it for more than one hour because our fathers told us not to mourne for longer than 30 days." Without taking more than a catch breath, he continued, "Now we will read together the Kadish found on the last page of the program."

I didn't have the program and couldn't join in the Hebrew reading, although as I listened, I wished I had the opportunity to see if I could keep up with everyone else. I didn't have long to wait til it was over. The officiant tore through the reading, doubletime.

"Now we're finished. May the name of Idilah Steinmetz be a blessing in your mouth every time you say it." The family nodded. "We now commend you to eternal rest. You will live on forever in our hearts." And he turned and walked out.

Everyone just got up and walked out.

I don't know how much of that funeral was typical for Jewish services and how much was due to the unique family situation. But it left me very disturbed, on many accounts. I've described some of the quirkiness. However, what troubled me the most was the lack of anything about the life hereafter. There lay a dead woman in a casket and no one had the belief that they would ever see her again, or that she would ever be alive again. According to the prevailing ideas, Idilah was dead and that was the end of her life--ever. Eternally.

Most of Christendom believes that at death a person's spirit leaves the body and goes up to God. For many, that means that the essence of the individual lives on, though their body remains in the ground. Because of Augustine's ideas of the separation of matter and spirit, it is assumed that a person can exist aside from her physical body. So that the loved one is up above in heaven, watching and sometimes helping those on earth. My beliefs are different than that. I believe in soul sleep and a body-soul connection. If one dies, the other does, too. At the resurrection, the body and soul become immortal and live forever in heaven, in the presence of God.

But whatever the details of the "hereafter belief," Christians have something to look forward to. We know that death is not forever for many people. God, in His mercy, has prepared much greater things for us than we can even dream of. The attendees of the memorial service seemed to take everything in stride. Death, funeral, family. That is how it is. They all went out together and had a meal, sharing their humanity by grieving and sharing stories of the deceased together. I drove home thanking God for the immeasurable Gift we have been given: Eternal life, not eternal rest.