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Sunday June 9, 2013

Tahara: Dignity for a Corpse

In preparation for my role as Chief Rabbi, one of the tasks I undertook was that of performing a Tahara, the ritual cleansing of the recently deceased. Many years ago, when I lived in the US, I was volunteered to join the local Hevrah Kadisha, the organization that deals with the cleansing and burial of the dead as per Jewish tradition. To remind myself of the process and the nuances I participated in a Tahara in my community of Gush Etzion in Israel. Today I participated in a Tahara in Montevideo with a most professional team. Due to the personal nature of the Tahara process I delayed sharing the Gush Etzion experience so there would not be any identification of who I was describing.

Below is what I wrote that day (warning: queasy people should not read today’s post):

I didn’t want to know its name. There was a certain protection in anonymity. It wasn’t a human after all. It was the remaining husk of a once mortal body now devoid of any life. I was told after the fact that this was a harder Tahara than usual.

I was grateful for the thin separation the gloves and plastic smock provided. I gagged on the smell of the body and had to consciously hold myself back from vomiting from the reek.

The body-bag containing the corpse was still cold from the refrigeration unit that had kept the decay at bay for three days. I knew it would be trouble from the misshapen contour of the bag. The trouble was confirmed when we opened the bag. The elderly man must have died either on a wheelchair or curled in a near-fetal position and left that way. The rigor mortis had frozen his limbs in a bent position and his hands clutched in a true death grip.

He must have been in tremendous pain. There were bed sores on his body that were black remains of dead flesh that still oozed pus.

Then I watched a transformation that was close to miraculous. First we removed the various bandages off his body hiding old dirty blood that caked over his skin. Then we scrubbed him clean from head to toe. The other attendant lifted the man’s head tenderly as we washed his face. It was almost like washing a newborn. The dead dry face of the deceased seemed to take on some vibrancy as it was washed clean and rinsed. Throughout the process we attempted to straighten out the stiff hands and legs. We massaged the fingers and stretched the knees. We met with limited success, but he left us straighter than when he arrived.

Two attendants, one on the right and the other on the left, each with a ladle of water poured the water over the deceased’s hands three times, in an all too human experience. They did the same to his feet. Then gallons of water were poured liberally over the entire body. For a moment he was a man again, enjoying a cleansing bath.

We dried the body gently and covered up the open wounds. We then started the process of dressing the body. I don’t know the source of all the customs, and I know different communities have different traditions, but in this case there were multiple simple white garments for the dead. The head is covered. Then there is a type of underwear, followed by pants with no exit for the feet. There’s a shirt that we place as we carefully lift the head and then a fuller gown. Finally, the entire body is wrapped in white linen and the linen is tied to the body securely.

Throughout the process, my relationship to the body changed. It went from outright physical disgust of the human remains, contorted, wounded, oozing and reeking to a respect of the cleaner version of the human body, the body that housed an eternal soul for a lifetime. The human visage seemed to return to his face and was no longer a discarded husk. The dirt, grime and blood of death, suffering and disease were replaced by the cleansed skin of a newborn. The disgusting, filthy bandages of the end of his life were replaced with the pristine white garments of dignity and accompaniment to the next life.

Here lay a man transformed even in death. This was no longer a body discarded. It was a body given tenderness, honor and sanctity in its last moments.

When we finished the Tahara I looked for the name tag. After all he is a man. He has a name.

Wednesday June 5, 2013

The 26.5 million Euro Suárez Difference

As the Chief Rabbi of a country, there are some responsibilities I have, that on the surface would appear to have nothing to do with Judaism or religion.

Today I had the distinct honor of attending the football (soccer, for Americans) match between Uruguay’s national team and the French. To my American friends whose brains are shutting down at the mere mention of this sport, I will take this opportunity to educate you a bit regarding the “beautiful game” as it is rightly called.

On the job, as usual…

First of all, there is something pure, perhaps even sacred about watching a match in the stadium, in person. Removed is the subjective focus of the cameramen and editors. Removed is the chaotic excitement of the announcers. Removed are the annoying ads on the screen. Instead you have pure football.

Now, it has been argued that football is boring because it is a low scoring game. Such arguments are merely representative of an “instant gratification” mentality. The beauty of the game is not merely in the scoring. It is the struggle. It is the effort. It is the process. It is the journey. It is the dance of the players on the field. It is their reflexes, speed and work. It is not the violent battle of American Football (which I also like, and if duty called I would attend such matches as well). It is not the easy multiplicity of scoring in basketball. It is not the summer picnic of a baseball game. It is only the most popular sport on Earth. And it is captivating.

Now, yes, some have argued against organized sports in general and grown men, wearing pajamas, chasing a ball. I myself have argued as to the disturbing similarity such pastimes have to Idol Worship of old, the players who are worshipped, the stadium as temple, the games as service, the costumes and flags as holy garb, the fans whose lives revolve around the team, with little meaning beyond the paraphernalia and vicarious experiences of the team that at the end of the day is cynically trying to make money out of its fan base.

France fans: High priests or clergymen?

Nonetheless. Nonetheless, there is some value there, perhaps even much, especially in a world that has so many other ailments, so many other negative, violent and degrading forms of entertainment – we should not be so quick to put down this relatively benign form.

But back to the game. France is a serious team and they show their strength in the first half of the game. They dominate the field, cruising through the Uruguayan defense only to be stopped by the excellent goalie. They make multiple significant threats upon the Uruguayan goal. When Uruguay takes possession they make a valiant effort, but the French defense is stronger. By the end of the first half, I’m convinced France is the stronger team and it is a matter of time before they score.

In the meantime, I ask my host, the President of the Comunidad Israelita del Uruguay, as to the whereabouts of the world-famous Uruguayan player, Luis Suárez. He is a striker for the famed Liverpool club who acquired him in a 26.5 million Euro deal a number of years ago.

Luis Suárez

My host tells me that Suárez had been suspended from playing in a number of games in Europe and perhaps for that reason he wasn’t on the field. But, in the beginning of the second half we were pleasantly surprised to see Suárez on the field.

What followed was pure artistry and made me understand his high price tag. He weaved and moved with a speed and dexterity that threw his opponents off balance. He would suddenly appear and then disappear again. Touching the ball strategically, setting up his teammates with dangerous passes and threatening the French side. Within five minutes he scored a goal which he made look easy. The rest of the game Uruguay dominated. France was on the defensive. They barely got possession of the ball. Uruguay on the other hand kept hammering away at the French defense, with multiple close calls that got the crowd on its feet.

Speaking of the crowd, it is simply much more fun to watch a game together with 50,000 other people. The reactions of the crowd are truer and better than any announcers soliloquy, no matter how excited the announcer may pretend to be. The gasps, the boos, the cat-calls, the whistling, the chanting (yes, again idol worship parallels), the sudden, instantaneous standing of the entire stadium in anticipation of a goal – these all convey the action in a significantly amplified and emotional way. It is just much more fun.

But now back to Suárez. The difference between the first half of the game and the second were considerable. The Uruguayan national team is blessed with numerous high-level, international caliber and better behaved players. I imagine that economically Suárez is worth the price he was paid (I understand that Liverpool may put him up for sale for an even larger amount), and he certainly seems to deliver on the field. However, for me, for those few moments, between the despair for Uruguay engendered in the first half of the game, and the hope, surprise, optimism and confidence that was introduced five minutes into the second half, represented by the efforts of one man, albeit with the strenuous support of the entire team – was actually inspiring.

My job is to report that. My job is to transmit that. My job is to take that element that is common, appreciated, understood, interesting and unifying to a large swath of Jews of Uruguay and highlight the values, the importance, the meaning that may be just below the surface. Suárez demonstrates and reminds us of something that we all know. Even if the outlook is bleak, even if the odds are against us – one person can make a difference. In fact, it is usually one person who makes the difference.

Tuesday June 5, 2013

Electronic Limbs

For better or worse, almost all of us have grown electronic limbs. I am referring, of course, to smartphones that give us access to not only the “ancient” phone technology, but also to SMS, Twitter, Facebook and email.

But I have harnessed this limb, and I keep referring to it as a limb, because it is mostly grafted on to our bodies. Some of us sleep with it. Most eat with it. Many cannot bear to be parted from it. And for good reason. It is an extension of our bodies and minds. It gives us access to all four corners of the world, to almost infinite reservoirs of wisdom, information and entertainment. It is no wonder it is the fastest growing addiction in the world. Some people can no longer function without it. It is as if they’ve gone blind, losing one of their most essential senses. Observant Jews are perhaps fortunate in the enforced weekly disconnection from this vital organ. We recall how early humans lived. We give existence back to our other senses. We release our mind from the constant bombardment of electrons, from the ever present access to the entire world. But that is not what I want to talk about.

Months ago, (seems like years) when I was a private citizen in Israel, my wife and I went to a percussion performance in Yaffo. As a warm-up act, one of the players solicited text messages from the audience that were immediately posted on a Facebook page that was projected onto an enormous screen. The effect was immediate and powerful. (Female) members of the audience shrieked with glee. They loved seeing the text they had typed on the big screen for all to see. I have adapted a simplified version of this trick in three lectures in the past week.

The first was to a group of what were presented as 20 quiet, uninterested and almost indifferent Jewish college students. I asked them to text me their names and what they were studying. They all perked up and responded, starting off a more lively engagement.

The second was to a group of 38 twelve year old girls preparing for their big Bat Mitzvah event. I asked them to text me what blessings they would like to receive for this event. They texted back at the speed of thought. A torrent of requests filled my phone.

Tonight I had the opportunity to give a lecture to their parents on the Jewish view of blessings. I asked them too to submit what blessings they would wish to convey to their children. It was interesting to note the parents were much slower typers than their daughters.

However, in all cases, it seemed to create a more powerful, concrete “connection” than simply stating what you would otherwise say to a person across the room. Now they all have my number, and I have theirs (though in most cases I don’t have their names nor know who they are). One person already corresponded with me about my thoughts on moving to Israel. For a growing number of people, it is more comfortable to communicate via this specialized electronic limb.

I have one hundred new friends on Facebook. People inquire and follow updates on lectures I’m giving. Dozens of members of the community have been in contact with me exclusively via email. I receive text messages throughout the day. The phone, it turns out, is probably my least used medium.

So here is to our electronic limbs. May we use them well. May we use them wisely. May they ever be at our service and not the other way around.

Tuesday May 29, 2013

Rapid-Fire Existential Roller Coaster

I can barely remember how the morning started. I’m taking out my calendar to see what I had scheduled. Yes. Now I remember. My weekly study session with Rav Shemtov. I got to talk to his son about the challenges of Rabbinic life and services. Insightful.

Then I visited the local Jewish old age home for their event featuring the Kabbalist Rabbi Pinto. I was given an in-depth tour of the facility. Impressive, professional, well-run, nice-looking facility. However, we were running on Uruguay time and I had another meeting I needed to catch so I left before Rabbi Pinto spoke. Got to see and meet a lot of people, so was worthwhile event for me. I was also introduced to an ironic twist of the old age home’s kitchen, which buys kosher meat, chicken and all other kosher ingredients, but cannot afford the certification costs that would insure that the operation is fully kosher. Another item for my to-do list: Get the home fully certified – perhaps they can get into catering as well? They have a big professional kitchen…

Next: meeting with the cemetery committee. All is not simple. The burial needs of the community are growing and the cemetery needs to expand as well. And the ever-present question hanging over every Jewish community event, decision, policy, expenditure, and yes, burial: “Who is a Jew?” (no, I won’t be answering it in this post – but I am giving the entire subject considerable thought and coming up with new realizations…)

Next: discussion with Executive Director about the High Holidays. Whoah! This one is a doozy. How do you deal with decades of “tradition” that is leading to dwindling numbers? These are the only services that a significant number of Jews come to the entire year. For the older generation, they seem to like it just so. They want the same place, the same cantor, the same seats, the same guys sitting next to them – any change is close to sacrilegious. On the other hand, the younger generation has mostly stopped coming and those that come do so grudgingly out of respect for their seniors. Tough question, no easily solutions.

Next: Family from abroad with grandparents in Montevideo wish to celebrate their son’s Bar-Mitzvah in Montevideo. No problem. But wait, the grandmother, a serious woman of academic pedigree, has an ulterior motive for the meeting. She wishes for me to give a lecture on Talmud and Law at the country’s law school in October. I check my calendar and I’m free. Sure! No problem!

Next: Disturbing employment problems between employer and ex-employee that I’ve been asked to mediate and which is heating up to dangerous levels. Having been on the receiving end of unscrupulous employers I sympathize strongly with the employee. Having been an employer myself, I can understand the disappointment, point-of-view and actions of the employer. I spend two hours trying to get my head around the case. I call a local lawyer to get his perspective and advice on next steps. I need a night to sleep on it before coming to any conclusions or actions – but the parties are continuing their actions and I hope delay won’t prove problematic…

In the background of my day, are all the arrangements of moving, not only my family, but really our lives, our identities and our existence to a different continent. Tickets, lifts, apartment here, apartment there, cars, insurance, phones, accounts, furniture, possessions and probably a number of other things I’ve forgotten. So, if at times I seem distracted to anyone in Montevideo, or if I’m overly obsessed at certain moments with checking messages on my phone, this is probably a reason.

Next: I completely forgot that I was personally invited by the local Keren Hayesod to a gala evening welcoming and celebrating with Gilad Shalit, the Israeli soldier who had been held hostage by Palestinians for five years and was released in a deal with repercussions that have not played themselves out fully yet. Luckily someone in the synagogue reminded me of the event. Just as luckily, I’m always wearing my suit and tie, so there was no need to “change”. The theatre was full. The speeches and performances were reflective of the weight of the event. However, one could not help but feel pity for Gilad. A young man who may have previously led an ordinary life in Israel, and who I expect is still suffering from his years of capture is being exhibited as a symbol of the particular agenda the speaker or organization is espousing. I heard multiple themes tonight. I am happy and celebrate, as does most of the Jewish world, that Gilad is free and safe. I don’t want to even get into the debate as to the price that was paid. However, I do wonder as to the reasons that certain Jewish organizations have latched onto him as a symbol. In any case, I was happy to see him in person, to see first-hand the man who was on my prayer list together with other Israeli captives (curious how different captives have received different attention from different groups over the years…), free, walking about in jeans, keds and an untucked dress shirt, very much an Israeli. It was refreshing to hear Hebrew with an Israeli accent. We should celebrate his freedom, but there is still a price and still many questions.

Next: I get back to my apartment and get the details that someone that I’ve become close to in a short amount of time is in intensive care. I will try to visit the hospital tomorrow, pray, and give whatever support the presence of a Rabbi and a friend may give family members.

Thursday May 23, 2013

Curious and Carefree

These are two traits that have helped my writing. Curious and Carefree. However, it is also a trait that will lead me into trouble, or worse, into positions of authority and responsibility. Let this be a warning (or an inspiration) to those that would explore the world around them. I will explain a bit of the inner workings of my mind with an example from this morning.

I started the morning with my first chavruta (Torah study partnership) with Rabbi Eliezer Shemtov, the Chabad Rav who has been a pillar of the Jewish community for over 28 years. After the thrilling study of Tanya (perhaps the most important text of Chabad Hasidism) I took a bus towards work.

It was a different line than the one I’ve typically taken and I got off close to the office but wasn’t sure if I needed to go a block south or north. I looked south towards the hazy sea in the distance. I looked north and noticed a park I’d never seen before. You guessed it – I went towards the park despite the sense that the office was towards the south.

The park was cute and I quickly realized I was going in the wrong direction, but continued anyway to explore the park. It took me to the main street of 18 de Julio. I then noticed a congregation of police motorcycles in the middle of the intersection with their lights flashing. I walked towards them, getting further and further away from my office.

As I approached the police I heard the constant blasting of a bus horn. I passed the police ensemble and proceeded west on 18 de Julio. Small flyers littered the empty main street. I saw large flags waving in the distance. I finally reached the source of the horn blasting. A line of buses was parked on 18 de Julio while another line of traffic was attempting to cross the main street with limited success and much frustration.

I passed the loud intersection and reached the crowd. I normally have an instinctive distaste for crowds. There are probably a host of reasons. I fear a mob mentality. I fear the danger of being trampled despite the trampeler’s best intentions. I fear that people chanting angry slogans can easily turn into people doing angry things. However, despite the black and red flags and the angry rhetoric shooting from the loudspeakers, my curiosity overcame my mob-phobia.

First of all, how dangerous can a mob be where a significant percentage of its members are carrying tea? Yes. Montevideo must be the biggest Tea-Totting Town in the world and I really want to elaborate on the custom of constant drinking of what they call Matte, to the point that people are regularly walking around with a thermos under their arm and in their hand carry a special mug with the Matte leaves and the special straw that looks like the stem of a smoking pipe.

There was something festive about this demonstration. I discovered afterwards that today was a teacher’s strike, which amounted to a day off. Most people were respectfully facing the speaker’s podium several blocks away, but the majority were talking with their friends, buying food from the many streets vendors that were having a field day and of course, sipping Matte.

I kept moving through the crowd, taking pictures of Matte drinkers (future post) until I came within sight of the podium. Impassioned speeches were delivered that were highlighted with small fireworks from time to time and the jeers, cheers, applause, disinterest and Matte-sipping of the crowd.

For a moment I felt like I was in a scene from Ferris Buller’s Day Off where he takes over the parade. I had a momentary thought of approaching the podium, introducing myself and offering to say a few words about teacher’s rights as the Chief Rabbi of the country. I decided that I didn’t know the political ramifications well enough, nor what they were protesting about and what might have been a fun publicity stunt, could have signaled the support of the Jewish community of the death penalty for truancy or something of the sort.

I turned back and started to make my way to the office, keeping an eye out for interesting pictures. Then I came face to face with a momentarily frightening, yet an exciting modern and poorly known representation of civil disobedience.

I stood in front of “V”. For the few sci-fi geeks out there, you may recall the movie (based on a comic book – all good things come from comic books…) “V” is for Vendetta. So there was “V” with his grinning and thereby scary mask, all in black garb. It’s well enough for strange things and costumes in the movies. I did not expect to see “V” live and so was taken by surprise, despite the thematic appropriateness of the venue. I got over the shock rather quickly, as “V” was about two feet shorter than the movie version and I think she was female, though hard to tell under the black loose garment.

My New York instincts kicked in and I quickly walked past “V”, fearful of the potentially contagious effects of any nutcase walking the streets. By the time I stopped to think what a great picture it would make, she was already out of camera sight.

I finally made it to my office to deal with more mundane issues of Jewish identity, divorce and mediation between Jewish litigants, which as I’ve stated before I will not discuss in any further detail. All in a days work.