Grief at the Graveside, Love in the Kitchen

Yes, there was serious snow still in place on April 5, 2019, at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.

I wanted to do it right: arrange a Jewish funeral for Dave, the way he would have wanted it. With his many physical issues and the colon cancer that finally put us on a timeline of “about two to three years,” there was time for me to think about how to do this.

But I had two big handicaps: One, Dave didn’t want to talk about it. He’d grown up passionately “observant” as a Jew — very willing to make room for fresh experiences of Jewish life brought by knowledgeable people, but also snugly grounded in how the longest, strongest traditions could strengthen people’s commitment to their history and community. On the other hand, my father fought to leave behind Germany and England and the bitter experiences of being Jewish there during the 1940s. As a result, I’d grown up with almost no traditions, and scrambled to keep up with Dave from the moment we became a couple in 2002.

Second, because Dave didn’t want talk about dying or death, I couldn’t pin down exactly what kind of farewell he’d want. I read books and articles, and privately sought the advice of a wise Jewish professor whom Dave respected. She told me, “You do what works for you. Learn all you can, and when the time comes, you calmly tell the community what you’re going to do, and do it.”