Today I Am Jewish

In memory of an in-law Uncle passed away. I found out today that yes, your were as quirky as I thought you were…but a funnier and deeper man than I ever realized. Rest in peace, kind sir. And try not to give God the Queen...he hates when that happens.

I consider myself and my family a pretty progressive Catholic family. Especially for a culture that embraces Catholicism as tightly as it does. In the Philippines, there is no separation of Church and State. Our religion is pretty much a part of our culture. However, we have an openly gay relative who’s been living with his life partner for over thirty years. This may be no big shakes now, but back in the seventies and eighties, our family was taking some big risks here in the U.S.

As accepting as my family is about other religions and beliefs, one of the first questions I ever asked Lenny was what faith did he practice? It probably wouldn’t have made a difference what he was, in my mind, it would have just made everything easier. Yes, he was Roman Catholic (whew!). But how it came to be was the interesting part.

Lenny’s parents met on the East Coast when they were young. My mother-in-law was the second of three kids from Scranton, PA. Blue collar, Catholic stock. My father-in-law is the third of four kids from Albany, NY. An accounting family, tightly knit by the Jewish faith. You can imagine the waves that caused. It was rough, but the Whites made it work. They had Lenny and his sister after moving from the east coast to the southwest. When Lenny was younger, his father made the decision to convert from Judaism to Catholicism. Lenny once said, “Dad just felt more accepted by our Church.”

Of course, now the Whites were split into “the Catholic side” and “the Jewish side.” Many life lessons were learned and struggles were had. But I suspect that would have been the same regardless of the religion. When I came into the picture, the line between the two sides wasn’t so deep anymore. Happily, I think, everyone had finally overcome the issues of the dual faiths. In fact, we’d make jokes about it.

A few years ago, I went to my first Bris (Right of Circumcision) for the youngest son of one of Lenny’s cousins. I’m always eager for a cultural experience, but imagine my surprise when I found Lenny and I front and center witnesses to the action. I always tell Lenny’s cousin, “I always wondered how the heck the Catholics got the front row!” But no matter however accepting everyone was, I always felt that the line was still there.

A line that I still felt existed until we laid Uncle Myron to rest today.

We had gotten the call on Thursday that Uncle Myron, who had been ailing since December, was being taken off of life support. The funeral was scheduled for the following Monday. Lenny and I drove the two hours down to his hometown. Uncle Myron was the husband of my father-in-law’s oldest sister. Having been with Lenny for quite a few years now, I’d gotten used to taking a backseat view whenever we went to a Jewish religious ceremony. This wasn’t my show…I was there as an observer.

However, today was different. We were asked to arrive an hour before the ceremony. After greeting family members and extending our condolences to Lenny’s Aunt, all of the family was ushered into the Temple Chapel. I have experienced Catholic funeral rights before, but never a Jewish one. So I pretty much decided that I would just follow everyone else. Once in the chapel, I looked around at the various family members. They seemed to be taking the grief in stride.

The young Rabbi in charge of the ceremony then began. He explained that we were performing the right of K’riah, or the rendering of the garments. In the ancient times, the mourners showed their grief by tearing their garments. In today’s faith, this is symbolized by a black ribbon, which is torn and then pinned to the mourner. Ribbons were passed out to Uncle Myron’s wife and children as the Rabbi said a prayer in Hebrew. I held onto Lenny’s hand as the prayer was said, trying to decipher anything from it. While I didn’t get anything literal, this feeling came over me. Like I was part of something bigger than faith. At some point during the prayer, I was no longer her to observe the funeral; I was there to celebrate a man’s life.

The Rabbi then turned to the remaining family and invited anyone who wished to wear a ribbon to take one and perform K’riah. I let go of Lenny’s hand, but stopped myself from moving forward. Lenny’s father had taken a ribbon, but Lenny and his sister had not made a move to do so. I felt a bit pigeon-holed by it, but I regrettably let the moment pass. After the distribution, we walked into the main area of the Temple and the funeral began.

Honestly, there wasn’t anything much different about a Jewish funeral than a Catholic funeral. The basic premise was there. A casket, covered by a blue cloth embroidered with a Hebrew scripture was the omnipresent reminder of loss and life. People came up to eulogize Uncle Myron. The cantor sang beautifully in a language that is older than some civilizations. I didn’t understand a single word she said, but I felt what she meant. And I was moved.

We got to the burial site after a long and winding car procession through the streets. When we got to the cemetery, Lenny and I stood near the family under the canopy. While waiting for the Rabbi to begin, Lenny whispered, “Lisa and Joe (his sister and brother-in-law) are hanging in the back of the crowd.” I didn’t know if that meant Lenny wanted to move back, but I wasn’t budging. After the whole ribbon thing, I felt like I owed his family the respect of being close by.

The prayers were short, but heartfelt. The one thing I did recognize was the recitation of Psalm 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”). After that, came the K’vurah. K’vurah is the tradition of placing a shovelful/handful of dirt on the lowered casket as a sign of respect. The family once again lined up. Without a cue forthcoming, I stood where I was next to my husband. It wasn’t until Lenny’s Uncle David came up and said, “You know, you can go up there too. You’re family as well.”

That’s all I needed to hear. I took two steps forward and Lenny followed. I was compelled to participate knowing that we were family. The lines between Catholic and Jewish were erased. Even if it was for one moment, the line was gone. As I turned over a small amount of soil, I silently said goodbye to Uncle Myron and thanked him for the experience.

I did not understand 75% of what was said. But I felt and understood it that way. I was moved by emotion. I think anyone who was there probably would have felt the same way. It didn’t matter if you didn’t believe. It didn’t matter that you called your deity God, Adoni, Buddha, Allah, or what not. Today, death was a unifier. It brought together a family to celebrate a life that was heartily lived.

I wasn’t a Catholic for that moment in time. Today, I was Jewish.