Lethargic Man (anag.)

It may seem a little morbid to be discussing mourning practices whilst my mother is still alive, but better to be prepared than to be taken aback by what's required of me. (She herself is discussing details of her tahara, etc, with my father; I've also been thinking ahead as to which clothes I wish to be written off for the קְרִיעָה, for example.)

So I opened my copy of the קִיצוּר שׁוּלְחָן עָרוּךְ to see what would be required of me as a mourner. My gut response, delivered with great vehemence, was, in words which betray spending too much time communicating with rysmiel, "non f——king serviam!" (though, to be fair, I didn't react so strongly on going over the text again in order to make this post).

Ganzfried's work betrays, to me, a higher respect for the dead than for the living. For example (210.7):

Since a mourner is forbidden to greet anyone, he is certainly not allowed to laugh or rejoice. Therefore during the seven days of mourning, he must not take a child in his arms, in order that he may not be led to laughter. He is likewise forbidden to hold much conversation with people, unless it is to show his respect to a number of people, as when many come to console him, he may say when they leave: "Go to your homes in peace."

However, I remember from the shiva for my grandmother how being able to laugh together was a healing influence for the family. Other examples of the קִיצוּר שׁוּלְחָן עָרוּךְ being extremely strict: it forbids bathing even just the head in warm water during the shloshim. And 209.8 reads: "Sexual intercourse, as well as embracing and kissing, are forbidden [during shiva]". Whilst I can see how sex is inappropriate, forbidding one from receiving hugs during shiva seems way too harsh. It also says that during the whole twelve months one mourns a parent, one is not permitted to either send or receive invitations or gifts.

Now, it is known to me that the קִיצוּר שׁוּלְחָן עָרוּךְ represents an extremely stringent view on Jewish law; the reason it is so prevalent in Jewish households, as liv pointed out to me, is because it has been translated into English. So I went off to consult R. Isaac Klein's A Guide to Jewish Religious Practice instead. This is a Conservative equivalent of the קִיצוּר שׁוּלְחָן עָרוּךְ, but it's lenient rather than stringent, and clearly flags up where it departs from traditional (i.e. Orthodox) halacha; so with Klein and the קִיצוּר שׁוּלְחָן עָרוּךְ open in front of one, one can decide where one wants to place oneself on the spectrum between them.

Not surprisingly, Klein advocates a much more achievable, less stressing, set of mourning practices; however, I'm going to find even those difficult; I don't like being told this is how you will mourn, and you will not deviate from doing it this way. In practice, I think my problem comes down to two things: music, and services.

Reciting the kaddish at services—meaning, all services, i.e. three times a day, seven days a week, for a full year—has emerged as the principal expression of Jewish mourning (even though it was introduced for reasons most Jews today probably aren't even aware of). But getting to any more than evening services would involve a huge disruption on my day. I spoke to my Dad; he said during mourning for his father he got to afternoon and evening services throughout the year. I'm going to try and go to morning and evening services throughout the shloshim (afternoon services will depend on whether I can find a minyan within reach of work), but expect I'll drop to just evening services thereafter.

My other problem is with the ban on listening to music: music is the one thing that picks me up when I'm feeling down, and doing without it for an entire year, including when I'm feeling down because I've been bereaved, will be very difficult for me (though not, I think, as difficult as it would have been when I was younger). Even Klein here forbids listening to radio for the whole year for people mourning parents. (He doesn't mention television, which seems odd for a book published in 1979.) Now, whilst in other situations, I could contemplate raising the issue with my mother and seeing what she would like me to do, I happen to know that in this regard she was strict herself when mourning her parents: she fretted about listening to the theme music of TV programmes until her rabbi reassured her on the subject.

I can manage, I suppose; but I won't be happy. And I suppose that is the point.

(I intend also to raise the subject properly with my rabbi closer to the time.)