Laws of Mourning - Rabbi Shlomo Goldfarb shlita

00:02 Speaker 1 You’re listening to “Lema’an Yishme’u,” a podcast of Machon Halacha Chabad.

00:09 Speaker 2 In general, when it comes to what are euphemistically called the laws of “happy occasions”—the laws of mourning, as they’re officially called—there are two sides to the matter. There’s a well-known responsum from Rabbi Zalman Shimon Dworkin, who was the rabbi of Crown Heights and of the Lubavitch shul at 770. He writes: “As for studying the laws of mourning, Heaven forbid, it is accepted throughout Jewish communities that someone whose parents are living does not study them, because ‘one should not open,’ and so on”—one should not open one’s mouth to the Satan. Someone who, thank G-d, has parents and relatives who are all alive generally doesn’t study these laws before, G-d forbid, having to deal with them. “Only,” the rabbi continues, “someone in a community who needs to answer questions on this subject—and then only to study the practical halacha.” So on the one hand, we find that we don’t study these laws. They’re laws we don’t involve ourselves with. On the other hand, there’s an amazing response from the Rebbe to Rabbi Gavriel Zinner. Rabbi Gavriel Zinner is a Torah scholar with a very well-known shul in Boro Park, Brooklyn. He has written many books, an entire series called Nitei Gavriel, gathering the rulings and laws on various subjects. It’s a well-known, extensive, highly respected series. When he wanted to write a volume in the series on the practical laws of mourning—two volumes were eventually published, in fact—he was very concerned about whether one should write a book on such matters. He wrote to the Rebbe, and the Rebbe gave him an amazing answer. The Rebbe told him, “In this city in particular”—meaning New York, though the answer is certainly relevant everywhere—“this actually includes preventing people from transgressing prohibitions.” The Rebbe was telling him: These laws—yes, on the one hand, we don’t want

02:40 Speaker 2 to deal with them, and only someone who, G-d forbid, needs to deal with them does so. But the Rebbe wrote to him, “This actually prevents people from transgressing prohibitions, especially if you translate it into English.” The Rebbe was saying not only to write it, but to translate and publicize it. Because what can we do? Until, with Hashem’s help, we very soon reach the promised time when “I will remove the spirit of impurity from the earth,” when death will no longer exist, this is something we live with and have to deal with. For every Jewish man and woman, after 120 years, it’s the next chapter. Now, if a person lives in a community with rabbis who answer halachic questions, with dayanim and halachic authorities, then he doesn’t need to deal with it himself. But on this particular point, I’d like to share an interesting story that’s very relevant to us as chassidim, Chabad chassidim, rabbis, and shluchim. The story is about the Taz, Rabbi Dovid HaLevi Segal, who wrote the Turei Zahav. The Taz tells the following story. He was the chief rabbi of Krakow, a large, famous city full of rabbis and great Torah scholars. One day, on one of his journeys, he came to a small town. The town had a rabbi, a nice, pleasant man, but the Taz realized he wasn’t such a great Torah scholar. The Taz went up to him and, without a trace of sarcasm, asked, “Would you like to switch jobs with me? Would you like us to trade places?” The rabbi asked, “What do you mean, trade places?” He replied, “You’ll become the rabbi of Krakow, and I’ll become the rabbi of this small town.” At first, the rabbi thought he was making fun of him. The Taz’s students asked him, “What is this?” The Taz explained to them. Again, quite seriously, he said, “I’ll

04:40 Speaker 2 explain. Here in this small town, one rabbi needs to know the entire Torah, because there’s only one authority. There’s only one rabbi. He needs to know the laws of bris milah and pidyon haben, and he needs to know how to read from the Torah. He needs to know how to officiate at weddings and write kesubos, and he also needs to know the laws of gittin and agunos. He needs to know the laws of mourning and everything else. He needs to know eruvin and mikvaos. A rabbi who is the only rabbi in a city or town truly needs to know everything. In Krakow, although I’m considered the chief rabbi, if we need an expert in gittin, there are two hundred experts in gittin. If we need an expert in eruvin, there are three hundred experts in eruvin. Need an expert in mourning? There’s a well-organized chevra kadisha that knows the laws of mourning. In a sense,” the Taz told him, “when we put one rabbi in a small town, we place so many duties and so much responsibility on shoulders far too narrow to bear them. I think the right thing would be for him to be the rabbi in Krakow, with so many assistants and Torah scholars. If I were the rabbi here, on the other hand, I could handle more or less every situation.” That was the story with the Taz. But the truth is, every one of us who has merited to live in the seventh generation knows that there’s no such thing as just an ordinary Torah-observant Jew. There’s no such thing as just an ordinary Chabad chossid, an ordinary shliach, or an ordinary rabbi. Each of us has to deal with everything. Ultimately, that’s how the Rebbe educated us: each of us, in our building, on our street, in our neighborhood or city, becomes an authority. When a neighbor comes and asks

06:18 Speaker 2 you a question, he doesn’t realize you’re not such a great expert in the laws of agunos. He doesn’t realize you’re not the person who knows how to write gittin. But he does expect us to have at least a general understanding, so we can guide him in the right direction, explain things to him, and connect him with rabbis and authorities. Because ultimately, we become some kind of rabbinic figure. All the more so when it comes to a shliach. As everyone knows, the great slogan of Chabad Houses, which the Rebbe was very pleased with, is “the address for every Jewish matter.” Ultimately, a person who comes to a Chabad House doesn’t only come to put on tefillin—of course he comes to put on tefillin, and he comes to put up mezuzos. But sometimes, unfortunately, someone will come with a question about the laws of mourning. As far as he’s concerned, the rabbi, the shliach, the Chabad chossid, is supposed to be the authority. He’s supposed to know everything, including matters of mourning and other things we generally prefer not to deal with. So it’s only right that we have some general understanding. We won’t issue halachic rulings, certainly not in matters where so many details can change the answer. But we’ll try at least to give a general picture, so that if someone comes and asks us—or if, G-d forbid, we ourselves need to deal with it—we’ll at least know the general picture and know that these laws exist. We’ll know the framework. For the details, we can always call a rabbi, a halachic authority, or the chevra kadisha. We can ask about each matter as it arises. At least we should have a general understanding. With Hashem’s help, the things we’re discussing will remain theoretical halachos, for study and not for practice. And surely, very soon, we’ll merit what we mentioned at the beginning: “I will remove the spirit of impurity from the earth,” and “Hashem Elokim will wipe away tears from”

08:12 Speaker 2 In any case, may it be in the complete Geulah, speedily in our days, amen and amen. In general, there are a great many laws of mourning. Some of them go back to the Gemara and are set out as clear laws in the Shulchan Aruch: for example, tearing one’s garment, sitting shivah, and the laws of aninus, the period before burial. These are clearly defined laws, as we said, already found in the Gemara and later in the Shulchan Aruch. At the same time, in the laws of mourning more than in almost any other area, there are a great many customs. These aren’t just differences between Ashkenazim and Sephardim, or between Litvaks and chassidim. Sometimes the custom differs from one community to another, and sometimes even from one family to another. The differences are almost hard to grasp—how far apart the practices can be. Just one small example: some, mainly among Sephardim and some of the mekubalim, have the custom of always serving refreshments when people come to visit a house of mourning. People recite blessings; among chassidim, too, this is called a tikkun for the soul. By reciting blessings, they elevate the soul. This is a very widespread custom among some Sephardi communities, and even among many mekubalim and chassidim. By contrast, the Ashkenazi custom is not to eat anything in a house of mourning. Not only do they not eat there; they will not even eat food taken from the house of mourning, because it is seen as a kind of sign of the opposite of blessing. That is how far the custom goes. You can see how different the customs are: in some communities people eat and drink, constantly reciting blessings and eating for the elevation of the soul, while in other communities they eat nothing, and will not even eat or use food taken from the house of mourning.

10:20 Speaker 2 That is one example. A second example: among many Sephardim, on the last night of shivah or the last night of the sheloshim, the custom is to hold a meal—a full meal. Again, presumably this is based on the same idea of a tikkun and the elevation of the soul. That is the Sephardi custom. Among Ashkenazim, absolutely not. Among chassidim, there is a custom on the last day to put out a little mezonos, perhaps a piece of herring, and say l’chaim, yes—but certainly not a meal. Again, the customs are worlds apart. So what are we supposed to do? How are we, as chassidim, supposed to act? As Chabad chassidim, boruch Hashem, we have very orderly, well-established practices, and the customs are fairly clear. Many things are even in print, much of it in writing. Certainly the local rabbis know the customs. But although on the individual level—by which I mean in a shul, a community, a family—we have established customs, very often we are dealing with something beyond our own Chabad custom. When someone is involved in matters of mourning and burial, they are often not dealing only with their own community. The chevra kadisha is often not a chassidic chevra kadisha, or a Chabad chevra kadisha. More than that, even if there is a Chabad chevra kadisha, the chevra kadisha in one city may follow that city’s customs, which differ from those in another city. Let me explain why. The reason appears in the book Maavar Yabok. Maavar Yabok is a very fundamental work on the laws, customs, and practices observed during a period of mourning, may we be spared. It says there—and this has even been established as halachah—that one does not make distinctions between the deceased. In other words, when a particular custom is followed in a cemetery by its chevra kadisha, one does not make distinctions between those buried there or depart from the local custom.

12:21 Speaker 2 This is something chevra kadishas are very, very careful about, and it varies by location. That is to say, a chevra kadisha—even one called a chassidic chevra kadisha—in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, is not the same as one in the holy city of Tzfas, the holy city of Jerusalem, or any other city. Each chevra kadisha has its own customs. Even as Chabad chassidim, who are very particular about customs, when we come to a particular chevra kadisha or cemetery with its own custom, we follow that custom. How do we know this? I personally had the privilege of hearing this from Rabbi Leibel Groner, and many others heard it from him as well. Rabbi Leibel Groner, the Rebbe’s personal secretary for many years, told of when his mother passed away and was buried on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. Before he left for the funeral—before he left for Eretz Yisroel for the funeral—he asked the Rebbe exactly which customs he needed to observe, what he should do, and what was especially important. The Rebbe answered him, “Zolst folgen di chevra kadisha”—follow the chevra kadisha. Listen to them and do exactly as they say. “Zolst folgen di chevra kadisha”—do what the chevra kadisha does. The Jerusalem chevra kadisha has customs going back many hundreds of years, customs very particular to Jerusalem. For example, they have a custom of making circuits around a deceased man before burial. They have many, many customs. Regarding all these customs, the Rebbe said, “Zolst folgen di chevra kadisha”: listen to and follow what the local chevra kadisha tells you. From this we can learn that if a particular chevra kadisha has a custom—again, not so much concerning what is said, but mainly the manner of burial, how the burial is carried out, the burial place, and things like that—we must listen to the chevra kadisha and not change it.

14:19 Speaker 2 That includes the fact, as we said, that even a chassidic or Chabad chevra kadisha may have different customs from another one. The custom in Tzfas is not the same as the custom in Jerusalem; the custom in Petach Tikvah is not the same as the custom in Tel Aviv. Each has a tradition going back decades, sometimes even centuries. We listen to the chevra kadisha. One example is at the time of burial. It is known that outside Eretz Yisroel generally, and in Crown Heights in particular, the custom is to bury a deceased man wrapped in a tallis. Preferably it is the tallis he used for davening during his lifetime. They wrap him in it, and he is buried wrapped in the tallis. The tallis itself is rendered unfit for use, because it says, “Free among the dead,” and he is not buried with a mitzvah to perform. The tallis is rendered unfit in one way or another, and every Jew has the merit of being buried in a tallis. That is indeed how they do it, as we said, in the Crown Heights chevra kadisha; that is their burial custom. I remember that when I was a young married man learning in kollel in Crown Heights, the kollel members would volunteer—they were asked to come volunteer with the chevra kadisha. During the time I learned there, I had the opportunity a few times to be there, take part a little in burials, and learn some of the customs of the chevra kadisha of Agudas Chassidei Chabad in Crown Heights. There, they make a point of burying a man in a tallis. When someone passes away, a member of the chevra kadisha approaches the family and asks, “Do you have a tallis in which you would like the deceased to be buried?” Some choose a Shabbos tallis, some a Yom Tov tallis, and some a weekday tallis—whichever tallis they prefer. If not, there are talleisim

16:14 Speaker 2 There are places where they bury people with a tallis; that is the custom. What is the reason? It is very interesting. According to Kabbalah, there are forces called mazikin, harmful forces, associated with the level of makif, a surrounding light. The purpose of the tallis, especially a tallis gadol, is to blind the eyes of those forces. Being surrounded by a mitzvah is meant to help the deceased, and especially his soul, so that it is surrounded by a mitzvah and, with Hashem’s help, he can truly rest in peace. By contrast, in Eretz Yisroel in general, and in Jerusalem in particular, they do not bury someone in a tallis. They bring the deceased out of the room where the body is prepared for burial wrapped in a tallis. Throughout the funeral procession and the recitation of the psalms, he remains wrapped in it. Before they lower him into the grave, they remove the tallis. Why? We said that the whole point is for him to be wrapped in a mitzvah, in the surrounding light that blinds the eyes of the negative forces. But when we have the earth of the Holy Land—“And His land will atone for His people”—there is no greater merit than to be wrapped in its earth. There is no need for a tallis. On the contrary, the tallis even detracts from the value of being surrounded by the earth of the Holy Land. That is why, in Eretz Yisroel in general, and as we said, in Jerusalem in particular, they do not bury someone in a tallis. They carry him in a tallis and remove it before burial, and the deceased merits to be wrapped in the mitzvah of the earth of the Holy Land. That is just one example of a difference in customs. So a Jew might come to Jerusalem and say, “No, no, we specifically want him buried in a tallis. That’s the Chabad custom.” Listen: the Chabad custom is to listen to what the chevra kadisha says. That is the Chabad custom. There is no greater Chabad custom than what the Rebbe told his personal secretary, Rabbi Groner, as we mentioned. The Chabad custom is to listen to what the chevra kadisha says. If they tell you

18:25 Speaker 2 that the custom here is to bury without a tallis, then you bury without a tallis. In Kfar Vradim, I had a case—and there are many stories like this—of a Jew who, for example, had inherited a tallis, or had davened in it, and very much wanted to be buried with it. You can take the tallis, since we do not want to change the custom. You can put it beside him, preferably even outside the grave covering, outside the structure of the grave. You can put the tallis beside him or underneath him. There are different ways. You need to ask a rabbi about each such case, because, again, we do not want to make distinctions between the deceased, G-d forbid. You can place the tallis there, but not wrap him in it, because that would be a departure from the custom. People ask, “What is the Chabad custom?” The Chabad custom is to listen to what the chevra kadisha says—certainly when it is a chevra kadisha with an established tradition and customs. Those are just two examples. So, to sum up what we have said so far: in matters of mourning there are very, very many customs, as well as many halachos. We need to distinguish between them. If someone comes and says, “Our custom is not to tear our clothing,” you smile at him understandingly and say: There is no such thing. We tear our clothing because it is required by Talmudic law, in Tractate Moed Katan. It is based even on the words of the Prophets concerning King David, where our source for tearing clothing comes from. The source for tearing clothing comes from the Book of Yechezkel. So there is no such thing as “We don’t have a custom to tear our clothing.” Tearing clothing is halachah. By contrast, as we said, whether to serve herring or a meal, whether to hold a meal at the end of shivah or during shivah, whether to bury with a tallis or without one—those are matters of custom, and about those things you need to ask. One more very

19:59 Speaker 2 important tip on this subject. Again, when we deal with families, with people, there are often family customs. For many people, their family customs touch them very deeply. If it is a Chabad custom, you ask and do what the Chabad rabbi says—certainly if he has the authority and understands the subject. That is what we do. But if it is a family that does not follow Chabad customs, but has other customs, a good tip is always to ask the family, “Who among you knows about your customs?” Very often there is an elderly grandfather or uncle who knows the customs. It is very important to listen to that uncle or grandfather about them, because families can be deeply hurt. It can leave them feeling that, in a way, we did not tell them the truth. I’ll give you an example. I remember that many years ago, in Kfar Vradim, there was a Jew from a very, very traditional family. He passed away on the night before the night of bedikas chametz. Right? If bedikas chametz is on the night of the 14th, he passed away on the night of the 13th, in the middle of the night. The funeral was on the 13th. Now, remember that after the 13th, on the night of the 14th, there is bedikas chametz. And the next day, Erev Pesach, they already get up from shivah. We know that shivah ends when Yom Tov begins; for Pesach, shivah ends at midday. So the funeral was at about two or three in the afternoon. They came home and sat shivah that night, the night of bedikas chametz. The next day they would already get up from shivah. Their shivah was very,

21:54 Speaker 2 very short. One of the brothers came to me and said, “Rabbi, I want to ask you a very, very important question. When should we hold the meal?” You have to understand: for some Jews, certainly among Sephardic communities, the meal is part of honoring the deceased. Now, what were the two sides of the question? They always hold the meal on the last night of shivah. This night was actually the first night of shivah, but it was also the last, because they would get up from shivah the next day. On the other hand, it seemed a little strange to hold it on that last night. Honestly, I did not know what to answer. I called the office of the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel at the time, Rabbi Shlomo Amar shlita. I spoke to one of the aides I knew then and said, “Please go in and ask the rabbi.” Now, he was not only the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel; he also came from Morocco. And one of his leading students wrote a book called Chen Vachesed about customs, specifically Sephardic customs. I said, “Ask the rabbi what people do in a case like this.” He got back to me within a few minutes and said, “The rabbi said that when the funeral has ended and they are sitting shivah for only one day, they do not hold the meal on the first night, even though it is effectively the last night. Instead, the custom is to hold the meal in the middle of Chol Hamoed, when seven days have passed since the passing.” In other words, although they were not sitting shivah, for the purpose of the meal they treated it as the seventh day. And when did they hold it? Specifically on the night of the seventh day, as though they had been sitting shivah, as though they had not gotten up on Erev Pesach. I went back to their home that morning and told them, “Listen”—this was still before the funeral—“Listen, everyone, I spoke with Rabbi Amar’s office,

23:36 Speaker 2 The Chief Rabbi of Israel, who came from Morocco. “The custom is that we don’t hold the meal marking the end of shiva today, at the beginning of shiva, right? We wait a week, and on Chol Hamoed we hold a large meal in honor of the deceased.” That’s what I told them. They said, “Thank you very much, thank you very much.” When I arrived after the funeral, I could see them looking at me very, very critically. They weren’t happy at all. I took one of the brothers aside and said, “Tell me, what’s going on? Why are you looking at me so critically?” He said, “Rabbi, you almost led us astray.” I led you astray? You asked me a question, and I called the most senior rabbi. How did I lead you astray? He said, “We asked our uncle. Our uncle heads the chevra kadisha in a very well-known city.” Actually, he wasn’t their uncle but their great-uncle, their grandfather’s brother, a very elderly Jew. “And he told us firmly that the meal is held on the last night of shiva—in other words, tonight.” Now, notice what happened. We returned from the funeral at three or four in the afternoon; at six in the evening they davened Mincha and Maariv and sat down to the meal. They sat down to the meal. That’s their practice. Now, I’m not saying one person was right and the other was wrong. It’s not a case of the rabbi versus the great-uncle. The rabbi ruled according to what he knew, according to the practice he was familiar with, his family custom or the custom of Jews from Morocco. That was his ruling, and their great-uncle told them what their practice was. Since then, I’ve learned that with certain things—again, customs, not halachos; with halachos we have to be very, very clear. There may be differences between Ashkenazim and Sephardim, but with halachos it has to be

25:09 Speaker 2 very, very, very, very clear. But with customs, always ask: Do you have an uncle? Do you have a grandfather? When it comes to customs, you can rely on uncles and grandfathers, and even on grandmothers, because they often know how to preserve the practices. The custom of righteous women and the custom of elderly women come up many times as something followed in practice. You find this often in the Shulchan Aruch: “Do not forsake your mother’s teaching.” That’s the distinction between customs and halachos. For customs, you can ask your grandmother, your grandfather, your uncles. For halachos, you ask a rabbi. So, to sum up, there are halachos and there are customs. It is always important and right to ask a rabbi who deals with these matters. No one really prepares for such things, G-d forbid, but that is the basic distinction between custom and halachah. For halachah, you need to ask a rabbi who issues practical halachic rulings. If the customs are local, ask the local chevra kadisha. They can tell us what their practice is. For specific family customs, ask a family member who remembers. If he doesn’t remember, you can tell him, but it’s always worth checking into the family customs. Personally, from a bit of reflection, it seems to me that the reason there are so many customs specifically around mourning probably comes down to one of two things. One reason: every family that, G-d forbid, experiences something like this deals with it differently. Families and communities differ in how they approach mourning—whether it’s the meals or being together. Some had a custom to eat. The Gemara itself says, in Kesubos, that after every funeral they used to give each mourner ten cups of wine.

27:09 Speaker 2 Why ten cups of wine? “Give strong drink to one who is perishing, and wine to the bitter of soul.” They wanted to dull the mourners’ pain a little, so they gave them ten cups of wine to drink. In other words, in the time of Rabban Gamliel, or before his time, they would give each mourner ten cups of wine. Apparently that was how they coped with the pain and the loss. The Gemara there relates that after Rabban Gamliel instituted the special practice we’ll discuss later, with Hashem’s help, they began adding another three cups of wine. Then people started getting drunk, so they stopped serving wine altogether. It’s interesting that ten cups didn’t get them drunk; only with thirteen did they start getting drunk. In any case, we see that this was their way of coping. So it seems that mourning in particular has many customs because each family, community and society adopted its own ways of coping with that loss and that pain. That’s one reason. A second reason: in mourning, people sit together and talk for a whole week. They sit shiva; everyone shares memories, everyone shares thoughts, and people take things on. Apparently, of all areas of halachah, this is the one that accumulated so many customs, discussions about customs and conversations. People come to comfort mourners. What do they talk about? They talk about the halachos of mourning and the customs of mourning. Everyone talks, everyone gets involved, and so it is precisely in this area that so many special customs developed over time. Now let’s begin discussing some of the practical matters. What happens when, rachmana litzlan, a situation arises in which mourning is about to begin? When a Jewish man or woman is

29:10 Speaker 2 in the last moments of life. In truth, you can never really know when a person’s last moments are. You can’t know. It’s astonishing how advanced our world is. We know how to reach the moon, how to observe stars, how to build things and computers. But ask any doctor, any professor: what is the precise moment when a person is, G-d forbid, about to pass away? Nobody knows. They have an approximate idea; they can make an estimate, but they don’t know. Still, there are certain indications that can tell us the end is approaching. It is proper to say the vidui, the confession, with the person. The vidui can be found, if G-d forbid it is needed, in the Torah Or siddur. It appears in a number of places. In hospitals and medical centers, may Hashem protect us, some wards even have a laminated sheet ready with the vidui on it. The person who is dying should say this vidui while still able to speak—to confess, pray to Hakadosh Boruch Hu and acknowledge what they have done. It goes more or less like this: “I acknowledge before You, Hashem my G-d and the G-d of my fathers, that my healing is in Your hands and my death is in Your hands. May it be Your will to heal me completely; and if I die, may my death atone for all the sins, transgressions and wrongs I have committed before You. Grant me a place in Gan Eden and make me worthy of the World to Come, reserved for the righteous.” That is one version; as we said, it appears in the siddur. If the person cannot say it, there is a shorter version beginning, “Master of the Universe, may it be Your will…” There are various versions. In truth, it is very, very difficult to approach a person and say, “Listen, it looks like the time has come to say vidui.” It’s a…

31:02 Speaker 2 It isn’t simple, on the one hand. On the other hand, there are many G-d-fearing, observant Jews who specifically want to be able to speak and say something until the very last moment. Again, one must ask a rabbi very, very carefully whether this really is the time to approach them. Often, a person needs all their emotional strength to cope with their illness. Coming up to them and saying, “Listen, I think it’s time to say vidui,” could have a very harmful effect—physically, spiritually, and even emotionally. So it’s essential to consult a rabbi carefully. Is it really right to approach someone and say, “Listen, let’s do this together. I want to strengthen you; let’s say vidui together”? It isn’t always a good idea. On the other hand, it is the right thing for certain people. It’s important to ask a rabbi about this, and to know that there is something called vidui. After vidui, if, G-d forbid, it becomes clear that these are the final moments—the doctors or nurses say so, or experienced people tell us—there are certain prayers customarily said as the soul departs. It’s preferable to have a minyan, if possible; having a minyan is a very significant thing. But again, that isn’t exactly the point. If a person is partly conscious and partly unconscious, and suddenly hears people making a point of reciting verses for the departure of their soul—well, most people wouldn’t really appreciate that gesture. So with these things, it’s very important, above all, to be wise. Above all, be wise. Yes, it’s very important to recite verses and prayers, but we also want to give emotional strength to the person, who is in a very difficult condition. So there are certain passages that are customarily said: part of Shir Hamaalos, Adon Olam,

32:38 Speaker 2 Ana B’choach, and Al Kein Nekaveh. There are many things. Again, in a situation like this, ask a rabbi. Ask a rabbi exactly which verses should be said as a person passes away, so that they leave this world while reciting—or at least hearing—verses, including verses declaring Hashem’s oneness, such as “Shema Yisroel, Hashem is our G-d,” and the other verses customarily said. Again, it’s very, very hard to find the right moment. But if someone is at the person’s side, it is certainly proper to say those verses, which are available in print. You can get a sheet with the verses on it and say them from there. Before we get to the stage of the passing itself, I want to touch on two very, very important points. Often, family members beside a loved one in their final moments have to face two of the hardest, most complicated questions in halachic decision-making. Who does this fall on? Someone who has never thought about it or dealt with it, and suddenly has to face two difficult questions that I want to raise. Of course, we can’t give a definitive answer right now, but let’s become familiar with the questions. The first question concerns prolonging life. Do we artificially prolong the life of someone who is about to pass away? On the one hand, every moment a person lives is precious. The chance to give someone even one more minute in this world to fulfill their purpose here is beyond price. The Rebbe writes that even a Kohen Gadol—a kohen who is not supposed to become ritually impure at all—stops his service on Yom Kippur, leaving the Holy of Holies, to save a Jewish man or woman even for a single moment.

34:42 Speaker 2 That is how great the value of saving a life is. So if we can prolong a person’s life even for a moment, that is beyond price. Of course we will try. That’s one side. That is why saving a life overrides the entire Torah. Just think: it could be Shabbos, Yom Kippur, a Yom Tov; the person could be a kohen or a Levi. Whatever the circumstances, saving a life overrides the entire Torah. So saving and preserving life is certainly a great mitzvah. That’s one side. On the other hand, sometimes, G-d forbid, there is a situation where the doctors—and it is very important that this be a G-d-fearing doctor, someone we can truly rely on—say that there is nothing to be done. The person can be connected to various machines, and we can try to prolong life artificially, but there is not much that can be done. Again, this is one of the most complicated, most difficult questions. You have to seek advice and ask. Today there are many organizations and hotlines. One is the Puah Institute. The Puah Institute deals extensively with fertility and reproduction according to halachah, but it also has a department that deals with precisely these matters: preserving life and respecting life. What do we do, and at what stage? People sometimes feel utterly helpless and don’t know what to do. Should we try to preserve life, or is there really no way to save a life here? Would it only mean connecting the person to various artificial devices and giving them various medications? At one point, this question came up for us, and I called to ask someone who truly is a leading authority of our generation on these issues, someone who does so much to

36:22 Speaker 2 help rabbis—whether in the army, in everyday life, or shluchim and rabbis around the world. His name is Rabbi Yaakov Roza. May Hashem grant Rabbi Roza shlita long and good years. He helps in an extraordinary way, at any time, at any hour, wherever he is needed. Perhaps later I’ll give a few more examples. He is always available. He chairs ZAKA’s rabbinical council, is the rabbi of the Tel Aviv Chevra Kadisha and of the Institute of Forensic Medicine in Abu Kabir, and advises the IDF Chief Rabbi on identification and burial. He is involved in so many areas and has tremendously broad knowledge. I remember that several questions like this came up in Kfar Vradim. We called to ask him, and he told me, based on many halachic authorities—including Rabbi Wosner, of blessed memory, and Rabbi Zilberstein, may he live a long and good life—that there are several principles here. If the doctors say there truly is no chance, of course, “Even if a sharp sword rests upon a person’s neck, they should not refrain from praying for mercy.” But eventually there comes a point when the doctors say, “There isn’t much we can do.” In these situations, three things must be provided. First, we must make sure that the patient, who is in a very serious condition, has oxygen. We must provide as much oxygen as needed. We must make sure they have fluids and nourishment. Usually, in that condition, they cannot actually eat, so nourishment is generally given through fluids. But we must make sure they have nourishment, oxygen, and pain relief. There is no obligation—again, primarily—only after a G-d-fearing doctor tells us this,

38:03 Speaker 2 There is no obligation to prolong his life artificially, to connect him to all sorts of machines and other things. But there is an obligation to provide oxygen, food and drink, and pain medication so that he does not suffer. But again, it depends very, very much on the circumstances. That is the general rule; the rest must be worked out from there. Many lessons and conclusions still have to be drawn from that rule, and no two situations are alike. But as long as we provide oxygen, food and drink, and pain medication, we have done our part. If, G-d forbid, we knowingly withhold food, drink, or oxygen, that is tantamount to murder—literally killing a person. You cannot, you cannot prevent a person from eating and drinking, even if his condition is grave. And you cannot withhold oxygen from a person, G-d forbid. These must be given to every sick person. But regarding artificial life extension with machines and medications, one must consult a doctor. Certainly, if something is being withheld, our role is to provide whatever we can; regarding everything else, consult a G-d-fearing doctor, together with a rabbi, of course. A second issue that comes up very often, especially in medical centers—and may Hashem protect us, sometimes in tragic circumstances—is that doctors approach the family and say, “Listen, there is, G-d forbid, brain death.” I won’t go into all the details right now: Which part of the brain determines what is called brain death? Is it the brain? The brain stem? What exactly are their tests? The doctors may then suggest to the family, “Would you be interested in organ donation?” It is a very, very complex issue, but again, someone may face it, so we will mention it. We certainly won’t deal with it in depth. What is involved in organ donation? Let us begin

39:52 Speaker 2 by saying that there are certain organs that can be removed from a deceased person and transplanted into a living person, and that can truly save the recipient’s life. For example, a cornea can be transplanted, enabling a person to see. That is a wonderful thing. According to the vast majority of halachic authorities, certainly if it is done under a rabbi’s guidance, not only is it permitted, it is a great mitzvah to enable a Jew to see again. What could be wrong with that? On the contrary, it is a wonderful, good thing. There are certain organs, though, that can only be removed while the body is still alive. In plain language, that is called murder, and one life cannot be sacrificed to save another. So we cannot, G-d forbid, end one person’s life in order to save someone else’s. But what? There is an intermediate state. What is that state? Sometimes there is a particular stage—and again, we won’t go into the details—called brain death. That means the body still appears to be breathing. The heart is still beating, but this is not independent breathing. The person is not breathing on his own, but with the help of various medications and machines. Whether we are talking about the heart, breathing, or various other measures, the fact is that the person’s brain is no longer alive. Again, we won’t get into which part of the brain; there is a major dispute among the halachic authorities. We won’t go into that. The bottom line is that there can be a situation in which a person, G-d forbid, is lying there and appears to be alive, but by many measures is no longer alive. What is the regulation in Israel? The regulation in Israel—and again, this is only in consultation with

41:39 Speaker 2 a rabbi who is a halachic authority of the highest caliber—says that if seventy-two minutes have passed... It even appears in the Israeli Ministry of Health regulations: if seventy-two hours have passed, seventy-two hours during which the person has been in this condition, and there are three doctors, independent doctors, not doctors from that department—and some even say they should not be from the same medical center, but specifically from another one. There is a concern about their reliability, because some medical centers and some departments are rewarded according to the number of organ donations they obtain. That is why the doctors must be unaffiliated, not from the department, and perhaps not even from the same medical center. If we can bring in three such doctors after seventy-two hours, on that basis we can present a halachic question and ask a rabbi about donating certain organs under certain conditions and with certain oversight. Indeed, it may even be possible to save many, many Jews. Again, I say that with a great many qualifications. It may be possible. I remember that we once had a case, may Hashem protect us, of someone injured in an accident who was in such a condition. He lay for many days without signs of life, connected to various machines. We called Rabbi Rozeh at the time. Three doctors—it had been more than seventy-two hours—and that young man merited to save seven people with his organs. Seven people. The operation itself was under Rabbi Rozeh’s supervision; he sent someone to oversee the entire operation to ensure it was truly done in accordance with halachah. And they succeeded. As far as I remember, they transplanted the corneas, a lung, the heart, and the kidneys. It truly was a kiddush Hashem as well. That young man who was killed in the accident merited to save seven people, to actually save their lives in this way. But

43:43 Speaker 2 it does not work as an off-the-cuff decision: “There’s no hope; let’s donate the organs.” As we said, on the one hand, saving Jewish lives is an extraordinary, wonderful thing. On the other hand, we do not want to enter a situation that would, G-d forbid, simply be murder. The Rambam tells us that a goses, a person in the final stages of dying, is like a candle about to go out, and any touch could cause it to go out. So much so that even when a person is in his final moments, we do not touch him. There is even a discussion about whether one may move his hand back onto the bed. That is how careful we are not to touch a dying person, because of his condition. He is like a candle; we do not want to touch him. On the one hand, we do not want to touch him; on the other hand, we are considering donating his organs. We have to find the middle path. That middle path, as we said, involves three independent doctors after seventy-two hours and consultation with a rabbi. Under those circumstances, there may be grounds to permit it, but not as a blanket rule. So we have touched on these two points. The first, as we said, concerns prolonging life; we explained that issue. The second concerns organ donation: Under what circumstances would we donate organs? The laws of aninus. What are the laws of aninus? When one of a person’s seven close relatives passes away, G-d forbid—his father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, or spouse, whether husband or wife—from the moment of death until the burial, that person is called an onen. He is in a state of aninus. What is the idea behind aninus? The idea is that a person is so preoccupied at that time. After all, it is his responsibility, his task, to bring his relative to burial.

45:40 Speaker 2 When a person is so preoccupied, the Torah relieves him of every other responsibility. His only concern is to bring that relative to a Jewish burial. He has no other obligation—not to daven, not to say blessings, and nothing else—only to bring that relative to a Jewish burial. That is the concept of aninus, the period before burial. That is one reason. A second reason is that aninus is also a matter of respect and proper conduct. If someone were to say, “All right, I’ll manage; meanwhile, I want to daven,” it would look disrespectful, especially if it is his father or mother. Is there something more important to you than attending to your parents’ burial? There is nothing more important. So much so that if an onen—a person in this period—wants to perform a mitzvah, he is not allowed to. He is not allowed to perform the mitzvah because, in this situation, it would show a lack of respect and a lack of honor for his parents. So first, he is preoccupied; second, it would be disrespectful. Although an onen is exempt from all the mitzvos, he is still obligated in every prohibition. He cannot, G-d forbid, eat non-kosher food, and he cannot, G-d forbid, look where he should not look or listen to what he should not hear. He is bound by all the prohibitions but exempt from all the positive mitzvos. Anything that requires him to get up and do something, he is exempt from. And an onen is not merely exempt; he is even forbidden to do these things. Tefillin, blessings, davening, bentching—an onen is exempt from all of these and does not do them. A person eats without saying a blessing. He does not daven Shacharis, Minchah, or Maariv, and he does not put on tefillin. That remains true even if, G-d forbid, the aninus continues. Sometimes aninus lasts only a few hours; sometimes, as we will see in a moment, it can last even a day or two. Throughout that time, an onen does not perform any of the positive mitzvos.

47:37 Speaker 2 But aninus applies only when the onen is able to arrange the burial. In other words, burial is possible, yet at a time when he could be attending to it, he starts davening Shacharis. That is not appropriate. He goes to put on tefillin. That is not appropriate. But if he cannot arrange the burial—for example, on Shabbos—then the situation is different. He cannot bury on Shabbos. It is not that he is davening Shacharis instead of attending to his father’s or mother’s burial; burial simply cannot take place on Shabbos. There is no burial on Shabbos, and there is no burial on Yom Tov. When halachah does not permit burial, aninus does not apply. So there is no aninus on Shabbos or on Yom Tov. There is an interesting issue concerning burial on Yom Tov; we will just mention it. As is known, on the first day of Yom Tov, burial is not carried out. It can be done through a non-Jew, but as a rule, burial is not carried out on the first day. On the second day of Yom Tov, burial is carried out. In this respect, the difference between the first and second days of Yom Tov is burial: it is permitted on the second day. Outside Eretz Yisroel, where a second day of Yom Tov is observed, there are chevra kadishas that do this. The Crown Heights chevra kadisha—the Lubavitch chevra kadisha—specifically does not. But there are quite a few chevra kadishas, by the way, that conduct burials on the second day of Yom Tov, with Jews performing the burial. They try to involve non-Jews as much as possible, but Jews themselves carry out the actual burial and everything involved in it. With regard to burial, the second day of Yom Tov is like a weekday. In Eretz Yisroel this is almost never relevant, except when? On the second day of Rosh Hashanah. There are chevra kadishas in Eretz Yisroel whose practice is to bury on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. There is a chevra kadisha in Jerusalem with a whole system for how they notify one

49:17 Speaker 2 another on Yom Tov, and how they walk the entire way. There is a Chassidic chevra kadisha in Haifa that buries on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. This can create a very interesting situation. Suppose someone’s relative passes away, and then—just like that—Rosh Hashanah begins. He did not manage to bury the relative before Yom Tov. Had the burial taken place beforehand, it would have canceled the entire shivah. But the relative passed away before Rosh Hashanah and was not buried before Yom Tov, and this person is the baal tokeia, the one who blows the shofar. On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, he is permitted to blow the shofar. But isn’t an onen exempt from all the mitzvos? It does not matter, because right now he is not an onen: burial is impossible on the first day of Rosh Hashanah. So in that situation, he may blow the shofar for the entire shul and fulfill their obligation for them. Generally, it is better for him to avoid doing so for various reasons, but if there is no one else as qualified as he is, he can be the baal tokeia. What happens on the second day? That is another story. On the second day of Yom Tov, burial is possible. So here it depends very much on the local practice. If, for example, he is in Jerusalem, where they bury on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, he cannot be the baal tokeia. He cannot blow the shofar because the laws of aninus apply to him. In Haifa, as we mentioned—I know Haifa personally—there is a Seret-Vizhnitz chevra kadisha that buries on the second day. The head of that chevra kadisha told me that an ambulance is always parked at the entrance to the Seret-Vizhnitz Rebbe’s beis midrash. A non-Jew is available to respond when called. He says it does not happen every year,

50:50 Speaker 2 but in some years they do bury on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. Now, if burial is possible on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, the laws of aninus apply as well. So one has to be very careful about this. With regard to Rosh Hashanah, there are all sorts of practical ramifications. There are also various laws concerning the second day of Yom Tov outside Eretz Yisroel and the Seder night. In any case, an onen is exempt from all the mitzvos for the two reasons we have discussed. Beyond being exempt from all the mitzvos, from the moment aninus begins, some of the laws of mourning also apply to him—not as an avel, a mourner, but as an onen. For example, he does not bathe, get a haircut, or cut his nails, and he does not study Torah. An avel does not study Torah throughout the week of shivah either. An onen likewise does not study Torah. There is one further restriction that applies to an onen: he may not have meat or wine. An avel, on the other hand, may have meat and wine. Some people have the practice of not eating meat or drinking wine. There are such customs. Among Moroccan Jews, for example, there is a custom not to eat meat or drink wine throughout the thirty days. Presumably, it is based on the idea that joy is associated with meat and wine, and the period of mourning is not a time for joy. Some following Moroccan customs do not eat meat or drink wine even on Shabbos during the month of mourning. That is what I have seen. Again, these are customs, but as a matter of halachah, an avel is permitted meat and wine. An avel is permitted meat and wine.

52:27 Speaker 2 In fact, among Georgian and Yemenite Jews, during shivah you see two or three meals a day, all day long, with meat and wine—meat and wine, meat and wine. That was the practice among the Jews of Georgia—what is called Georgia today—and Yemen. But in any case, everyone agrees that according to the law—and again, I mean halachah, not custom—an onen is forbidden to have meat and wine. Perhaps that is because meat and wine are things a person enjoys at leisure, while an onen should eat what he needs to eat and then get on with what he has to do that day. By contrast, as we said, an avel may eat meat and drink wine unless his practice is otherwise. But an onen is forbidden meat and wine. He is also subject to all the restrictions that apply to an avel, such as haircuts, bathing, and cutting nails. And, of course, he must maintain a solemn frame of mind. No meat, no wine, and none of the mitzvos. He must be very, very focused on one specific task: bringing his relative—one of the seven close relatives—to burial as quickly and respectfully as possible. What is an onen permitted to do, apart from observing the prohibitions? First, an onen washes his hands before eating bread. He washes his hands before eating bread because that washing removes impurity. He may remove impurity, but without saying a blessing. So the onen comes, washes his hands, and goes to eat bread. He says no blessing over the bread or over washing his hands, but he does wash them. An onen wears a tallis katan. Why does he wear a tallis katan? Because he is already wearing it. It is not an active step, not something he goes and does. Therefore

54:00 Speaker 2 He wears tzitzis, and an onen also wears regular shoes, unlike a mourner, who goes without shoes. So a mourner may eat meat and drink wine, while an onen may not; a mourner goes without shoes, while an onen wears shoes because he needs to go out and take care of everything. But as for a haircut, washing, and all those things, an onen does not do them. He does wash his hands. Something very interesting appears in the halachic authorities: if a person knows that someone is going to be told that a relative of theirs has passed away, until they have actually been told, they do not enter a state of aninus or mourning. They have to be informed. There is a tip mentioned in the halachic authorities: if you are going to break the news to someone, Hashem protect us, it is worth saying, “Listen, the situation is serious,” without yet telling them that the person has passed away. “The situation is serious. Go take a shower. Go take a shower.” Because that may well be their last shower for who knows how long. “Go take a shower, and afterward we’ll go visit him.” Once they come out of the shower, you tell them the news. But at least they have showered; sometimes that is simply an act of kindness. Especially in the summer, a shower means a great deal. So this is something that is mentioned as worth saying, because until they have been told that they are a mourner, they are not a mourner. Until they know, they are not a mourner. Until they have been told that they are an onen, they are not an onen. So you say, “Go take a shower. I think the situation is serious; you should take a shower.” After they come out, Hashem protect us, you can tell them. Another very interesting point: one says the bedtime Shema

55:27 Speaker 2 or at least its first paragraph. One says the first paragraph of the bedtime Shema not as an onen fulfilling the mitzvah of reciting Shema, but for protection from harmful forces. We do say things intended for protection from harmful forces, but not Shema for the sake of its mitzvah. Some have the practice—and this is indeed the Chabad custom, and how the Rebbe conducted himself—of saying Kaddish before the burial. That is, if the onen has time and is able to, he comes to shul. He does not daven or put on tefillin. Incidentally, he is not counted toward a minyan either, because he is not obligated, unless it is Shabbos, when aninus does not apply. But he does say Kaddish. That is how the Rebbe conducted himself, and we see it as a Chabad custom: particularly if someone else is already handling the burial—we will discuss that in a moment—one does say Kaddish. One says Kaddish, without davening; just Kaddish. One very important point, and here it really depends on a dispute among the halachic authorities, so the conclusion is not entirely clear to us. Again, you should ask a rabbi. Let me explain. What is the situation of an onen? Why can’t an onen perform mitzvos? Because he needs to attend to the burial, and one who is occupied with one mitzvah is exempt from another. That is the principle. What happens if an onen has entrusted the burial to someone else? He has handed it over to the chevra kadisha. Once the onen has finished all the paperwork, decided where the burial will be, set

57:05 Speaker 2 the time and place, and the notices have already gone out, from that moment he has nothing to do. Really, there is not much left for him to do. Perhaps he will need to make one decision or another, but he has nothing concrete to attend to. This is called “handing the deceased over to the bearers”—to those who carry the deceased on their shoulders. He has handed the deceased over to them, and at that point, seemingly, the onen has finished his role. He has no further involvement. Many halachic authorities hold that even after he has handed the deceased over to the bearers, the laws of aninus still apply to him, and that is what most authorities say. Something very interesting happened with the Rebbe in 5725. On 6 Tishrei, the Rebbe’s mother passed away on Shabbos afternoon, “as Minchah approached,” as the Rebbe asked to have written on her headstone. Before her passing, the Rebbe accompanied her in an ambulance to the hospital on Shabbos, and she passed away there. After Shabbos, several chassidim, mainly from the chevra kadisha, came to the room where the Rebbe’s mother was. The Rebbe looked at the chevra kadisha representatives and told them, “I appoint you on my behalf to take care of all matters concerning the burial and the funeral.” Then the Rebbe asked someone for a siddur for Minchah and Maariv. There was a minyan for Minchah, and there was a Maariv minyan in the corridor—not in the room where she was. The Rebbe davened Maariv with the minyan that Motzaei Shabbos. The reason was that the Rebbe had told the bearers, the chevra kadisha, “You are taking care of everything.” At that moment, the Rebbe had, as it were, removed the responsibility for the burial from himself, and he davened. That is what happened. Is this a practice appropriate only for the Rebbe? Is it a practice for everyone? The question is how involved the chevra kadisha really is,

58:56 Speaker 2 and how many decisions still need to be made along the way. In these matters, it is very, very important to ask a rabbi. I know of a case involving a very dear Jewish man who passed away abroad, and they wanted to bring him back for burial. His sons traveled abroad especially to handle all the paperwork. As it turned out, several days passed between his death and the burial. During those days, the sons dealt with all the arrangements—the burial plot, permits, flights, and transfers. There was a great deal of work. Of course, during those days the sons did not put on tefillin or daven. Then they boarded a plane; the burial was to take place in Israel. At that time, planes did not yet have internet or phone service. So while they were on the plane, there was nothing more they could do. It was a long flight, lasting many hours, and during the flight they could not influence any decision or speak to anyone. They were cut off. Their rabbi ruled that during the flight they were obligated to put on tefillin and daven. Why? Because at that point it was like Shabbos: on Shabbos, since one cannot attend to the burial, aninus does not apply. Since they could not do so during the flight, they had to put on tefillin, say all the brachos, and so on. Today the situation is probably a little different, because even on a flight you can manage everything. You can manage things from the plane with internet and phone calls. So it would seem that today the situation is different from what it was then. But again, if there is a situation in which it is impossible to attend to the burial in any way, you need to ask a rabbi. There may be grounds to permit performing mitzvos at that time, but again, even to do more

1:00:32 Speaker 2 From mitzvos. That is a kind of disrespect to his father, his mother, and the whole family, so it is worth dealing with any such matter an hour before Shabbos. In any case, there is no aninus, because burial is not possible. There is no aninus—what aninus could there be? None. There is no public display of aninus, just as there is no public display of mourning. We will discuss that in the laws of mourning. Just as there is no public display of mourning, there is no public display of aninus an hour before Shabbos, exactly as with a mourner an hour and a quarter before Shabbos. So that is very, very important. The point is that after the funeral, after the funeral, after the funeral, the onen is supposed to make up everything he missed and can still make up. For example, with prayer: if he can still pray, he should pray. Say he was an onen in the morning, and it was Rosh Chodesh, with Shacharis and Musaf. The time for Shacharis has passed, so he cannot pray it. If the funeral was in the afternoon, he cannot pray Shacharis then. But Musaf can be prayed throughout the day, so he is obligated to pray Musaf, and he is obligated to pray Minchah. Tefillin—we will talk about tefillin later, about whether one puts on tefillin on the first day. But in any case, there are the morning blessings. Certain blessings can be said throughout the day. Another example: he came home on Motzaei Shabbos, when it was time for Havdalah. Then, before he made Havdalah, he suddenly learned that something had happened and a close relative had passed away. If the relative passed away after he had already become obligated in Havdalah, he is obligated to make Havdalah. Havdalah can be made until Tuesday, and therefore in that situation he needs to make Havdalah. So he comes home. Anything he can still make up afterward—Havdalah, if he was obligated in it. If the person passed away on Shabbos,

1:02:13 Speaker 2 he was not yet obligated in Havdalah when Shabbos ended. But if he is in a situation where he can still pray Shacharis, can still pray Minchah or Musaf, or can say some of the morning blessings, he must make up all those things when the aninus ends—that is, after the funeral, when he returns home. What about the time of the funeral? May we never need to know of it. A person passes away. All the licenses and permits have already been obtained, and people ask when the funeral should be. The rule is that every rule has an exception. The rule is to hold the funeral as soon as possible. In Jerusalem they used to say that if a person knew how much anguish there is between the time of passing and the time of burial, he would place his bed next to his burial plot, so that the moment he passed away—there, they could put him straight into the grave. That was a saying in Jerusalem. We try to bury as soon as possible. That is the rule. Burial should take place as soon as possible, whether by day or by night. If someone passes away on Friday, it is preferable to bury him before Shabbos. If he can be brought to rest before Shabbos, that is a very great merit. For someone who passes away on Erev Shabbos and merits to be buried before Shabbos, it truly is a very great merit. Better still, if possible, is before sunset, so that both the passing and the burial take place before sunset. Certainly, it is right and proper to try to do that. We know that leaving the deceased unburied overnight means going into the night, or passing the night, without burying him. So the best thing is burial as soon as possible—even before sunset on Erev Shabbos, as we said, if possible. In practice, though, it is not always possible to bury immediately, for various reasons. First, because of local laws. For example, in the United

1:04:11 Speaker 2 States, burial cannot take place after four in the afternoon. That is the rule. There is something called a union, a very powerful labor union. They will not agree to open the cemetery after four in the afternoon. It is very rare to manage it. These are complicated rules, and they will not agree to bury after four. So if a Jew passes away in the United States, especially in New York, after a certain hour, the burial will not be until the next day. Nothing can be done about it. That is how it is; that is the rule. In Israel, thank G-d, things are much simpler in that respect. Many chevra kadishas—not all, but many—will agree to bury in the evening, even at night. In Jerusalem, burials take place around the clock, twenty-four hours a day, six days a week. They make a great effort to bury. Thank G-d, in Kfar Vradim we managed to arrange for anyone who wants a nighttime burial to be buried at night. We have a wonderful team of volunteers, first of all, and a lighting system. Sometimes a person passes away, the family and others are asked, and burial can take place at night. Many chevra kadishas will agree to a nighttime burial. Certainly, when they are asked and see that the family is Torah-observant and that this matters to them, very often they bury at night. But it does not always work out, for several reasons. First, it is written that for the deceased’s honor, it is permissible to delay burial overnight. What does “for his honor” mean? One of the greatest honors is for his descendants to be at his bier. Some have tried to say that this means only the sons, who are obligated to say Kaddish. Others say the sons and daughters. In any case, his descendants should be at his bier during the funeral—certainly for the recitation of Kaddish, when the sons say Kaddish. And certainly if there are

1:05:52 Speaker 2 grandchildren or great-grandchildren: there is no greater merit than for a person to leave behind in this world a name and a legacy, descendants and children. Therefore, for his honor, so that his children can come—again, some say specifically his sons, while others say all his descendants—even if it takes another few hours, or more than a few hours, for the sons to arrive, we wait before burying him. That itself is considered honoring the deceased. Second, sometimes the deceased had made a particular request to be buried in a certain place. For example, if he passed away abroad and asked specifically to be brought for burial in Eretz Yisroel, certainly if he already has a plot that he bought during his lifetime, near his family’s plots or the graves of his ancestors, then of course we wait. A person passes away abroad—what, should we just bury him anywhere? The main thing is to do it before sunset, without his family, without Kaddish, without a minyan, and not near his ancestors’ graves? That would be a real disgrace. So if it is for his honor—for his descendants to be there, to bring him to his ancestors’ burial place, or to give him a more honorable burial—we may wait. Sometimes the person may have been highly respected, perhaps a rabbi, the rabbi of a community, or someone who influenced many people. Having many people come to the funeral would itself honor him. More than that, at the funeral itself, words of inspiration may be spoken that prompt many people to continue and strengthen themselves in the things that person taught or sought to instill. Certainly, that is for his honor. In such a situation, of course, one asks a rabbi; one asks a rabbi about each particular case. But in such a situation, the funeral is postponed. So it is preferable to hold it as soon as possible, preferably on the same day. If not, we try—we may postpone it for his honor, or so that more people can come

1:07:41 Speaker 2 Having people at the funeral, or having his descendants there, is certainly an honor to him. There is one very, very important point about the timing of the funeral. Sometimes there is a very big dilemma for those of us who have to make these decisions. A person passes away, and we want to make sure he is brought to burial before Shabbos. As we said, it is a great merit for a person to be buried before Shabbos. A very, very great merit. On the other hand, bringing him to burial before Shabbos could cause a great deal of Shabbos desecration. It takes no great wisdom to bury someone half an hour before Shabbos. Not everyone who comes is Shabbos-observant, and because we scheduled the funeral half an hour before Shabbos in honor of the deceased, wanting to bury him early, many people end up desecrating Shabbos. That must not happen under any circumstances. Some chevra kadishas have a cutoff time, after which they will not agree to a burial under any circumstances. Our practice is this: as long as people can get back to the central part of the country—roughly two and a half to three hours from Kfar Vradim—we allow the burial to take place, even if it is a little later. In the summer, for instance, a funeral can be held in the afternoon, up to around four o’clock, if there will be enough time both to finish the funeral and for the average person to get home before Shabbos—not at the very last second, but without rushing. Someone once suggested allowing twice the travel time. In other words, if the drive takes two hours, the funeral should end four hours before Shabbos begins.

1:09:21 Speaker 2 It depends on the time of day, the location, and the people involved. But certainly, holding a funeral at the last minute and, G-d forbid, causing Shabbos desecration does not honor the deceased. It honors the deceased to have the family there, to have many people accompany him, and for many people to be strengthened and inspired through it. But it does not honor the deceased to insist on burying him before Shabbos if that would, G-d forbid, cause Shabbos desecration. Kohanim. We all know that kohanim may not become ritually impure through contact with the deceased. What does that mean? It means being within four cubits of the deceased, under the same roof, or near a grave. A kohen may not become impure through any of these. When may a kohen become impure? Not only may he do so, but he is commanded to do so, for one of seven close relatives: his father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, or spouse—his wife, in the case of a kohen. Just as an onen is obligated to arrange the burial of that close relative, the kohen is obligated to become impure for the deceased. But that applies only up to and during the funeral, until the burial. That is why it is very important to tell the chevra kadisha if the family are kohanim, so they can arrange burial in what is called the kohanim’s section. Every cemetery has, or should have, such a section. The idea is that it is in the outermost row. In some cemeteries that is an outer row; in others it is the row closest to the fence, so that a kohen can come there. The reason is that those kohanim will want to come

1:11:33 Speaker 2 and visit the grave. They or their family members will want to visit it, but the kohanim may not go up to the grave or pass by other graves. They may do so at the funeral, but not at other times. So we make sure to tell the chevra kadisha that the deceased is a kohen—or even the wife of a kohen, since her sons may want to visit. The chevra kadisha will arrange a designated section so those kohanim can come and visit the grave later. All this about a kohen not becoming impure through contact with the deceased applies to an ordinary case, whether a relative or someone he knows. But there is also a meis mitzvah—a person who, G-d forbid, has no one to bury him, no one to attend to his burial. We have seen this often in the army. G-d protect us, soldiers are killed, and the only person there may be a kohen. He may be the only one who knows how to take care of it, or the only one willing to do so. In the case of a meis mitzvah, that kohen is permitted—and indeed has a great mitzvah—to become impure, as long as there is no one else. As soon as someone else arrives, he must, of course, move away. A kohen may become impure only for a close relative up to the burial, or for a meis mitzvah. We now come to the part called the taharah, the ritual purification. The taharah itself is really the chevra kadisha’s responsibility. What happens in the taharah room is their concern. In fact, even if someone asks them, they may not tell. Members of the chevra kadisha take an oath—or, in some places, make a commitment without an oath—never to tell what happens in the taharah room. What happens there stays there, among the volunteers and those carrying out the taharah. Every chevra kadisha has its own very particular customs.

1:13:34 Speaker 2 There are different kinds of taharah, a particular order for the taharah, and an order for dressing the deceased. All of that is in the hands of the chevra kadisha. There is not much point in interfering, either, because they follow their established practice. No one else enters during the taharah—not the students and not the descendants—only the members of the chevra kadisha, including its women members when the deceased is a woman. Some chevra kadishas will ask beforehand whether you have a tallis, as we discussed at the beginning—a particular tallis belonging to the deceased. You can bring them that tallis. In some chevra kadishas, if the deceased is a kohen, the custom is to put white gloves on his hands because he used to recite Birchas Kohanim. So they will ask whether he was a kohen. Sometimes the chevra kadisha will ask the family for the full name of the deceased and the names of his or her parents, for prayers they customarily say during the taharah. But as we said, that is more or less what they will ask: about a tallis, about gloves for a kohen, and about the names. There is an important custom to bury someone specifically in simple linen shrouds. The Gemara in Kesubos relates that in the past, people would bury the deceased in very, very elaborate clothing and very elaborate coffins. Then Rabban Gamliel came and instituted a practice. He asked that he himself be buried in the simplest linen shrouds. He was the leader of the Jewish people; he certainly lacked neither money nor honor nor status. Yet that was what he asked for. And once people saw that

1:15:30 Speaker 2 With Rabban Gamliel, he lowered the standard, and ever since, there has been no distinction among the Jewish people: everyone is buried in the same kind of shrouds. But even within that equality, some are a little more equal than others, and there are two kinds of shrouds. There are cotton shrouds, which are fairly similar to linen shrouds, but made of cotton. They must be made of a material that decomposes. These are plain cotton shrouds. Sometimes a chevra kadisha will offer the family linen shrouds instead, for an additional charge, of course. It should not be a very large additional charge. Some have the custom of being particular about linen shrouds. So if that is the request and the amount is small, there is something to it, in keeping with Rabban Gamliel’s original enactment. On the other hand, the plain shrouds are also completely acceptable shrouds. Shrouds in general are sewn by very special women using a very special method. Standard shrouds come in one size for everyone and have one form. As we said, the only difference the family might be asked about is whether they want linen shrouds, and the difference in price is not large. There are chevra kadishas—and to their credit, it should be said—where all the shrouds are linen as standard practice. As for payments, this is less a halachic matter and more a very practical one. I’m speaking now about the general rule in Israel; elsewhere in the world it works differently. If there is a payment, it is very important to pay it before the burial. The Rebbe was very particular about this. It is not obligatory, but the Rebbe said it brings comfort to the soul. It is known that when the Rebbe’s mother passed away in 5725, and when the Rebbetzin passed away in 5748, the Rebbe made sure to pay the chevra kadisha in advance, before the burial, and the Rebbe

1:17:20 Speaker 2 said that it brings great comfort to the soul. You do not have to be particular about this, but if someone can do it, they certainly may. It should be noted that in Israel—and I’m speaking about the general rule in Israel; elsewhere it depends very much on the country, the place and its laws—there is a National Insurance law providing for free burial. Anyone who lived in Israel is entitled to free burial, even if they did not pay National Insurance. But we need to clarify a few things about what “free” means. First, some cemeteries have different types of burial: burial in the ground, burial in a wall, burial on multiple levels, burial in niches or double-depth burial. There are various methods. If it is a halachically supervised chevra kadisha and the method has been approved, there is a halachic approach that permits it. We will not get into the halachic discussions now. Whether it is this type of burial or that type, there are burials of all these kinds. If it is a halachically supervised chevra kadisha with a rabbi overseeing it, they have authorization. Is it the most preferable form? I did not say that. There are different opinions. In any case, one should check that they are in contact with Rabbi Roza or another rabbi who permits those types of burial. Double-depth burial is certainly permitted if it is burial in the ground. Burial in niches, too, is a valid burial in many, or most, circumstances. There are cemeteries, particularly very large ones in major cities such as Haifa, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, where burial is free, but only for the less preferable type of burial—that is, in niches or double-depth burial. There are also places designated “closed cemeteries.” A closed cemetery means a cemetery in which

1:19:04 Speaker 2 more than ninety percent of its capacity has been used. For the remaining ten percent, a fee may be charged. The chevra kadisha can charge because that money is used to develop the cemetery. In most cemeteries, the money received from National Insurance for burials is also meant for the cemetery’s development and upkeep. Once a cemetery is eighty or ninety percent full, that regular income is no longer there, so they charge a sum—and not a small one—for its development. So when we are dealing with a family, whether our own or people around us, the general rule is this: burial is always free unless the free option is burial in niches and the family chooses burial in the ground, which will cost money, or the burial is in a closed cemetery, in which case the family will have to pay, sometimes quite a lot. In other words, if someone close to you or a relative comes and says, “What? They charged me a lot of money! Isn’t burial free by law?” tell him, “Yes, it’s free, but free under the conditions set by National Insurance, not the conditions you chose.” You cannot choose to be buried in the Prophets’ section high up on the Mount of Olives and ask for that to be free, because it is not the same as another burial. Each place has its own circumstances, but that is the general rule. Burial is free according to what the chevra kadisha provides in that location. In a small village, a moshav or a town, it will most likely be ordinary burial in the ground, because they have the space for that. Other charges the chevra kadisha might impose, as we said, are for linen shrouds, sometimes for a sound system, and sometimes if you want the chevra kadisha’s vehicle to stop

1:20:48 Speaker 2 at several places along the way. But as a rule, if you want what is called a standard burial—in an ordinary cemetery, not a closed cemetery; using the type of burial the chevra kadisha provides; and with plain shrouds rather than linen shrouds—it will be free. All the other additions cost money. If a family wants the chevra kadisha’s vehicle to stop at fifteen places so Kaddish can be said at each one, that will cost money. Want a sound system? That may cost money. Want burial in a very particular section of a closed cemetery? That will cost money. Otherwise, it should not cost anything. After the taharah is finished, some have the custom for the sons to come in. Some also have the daughters come in. Again, it depends very much on custom. In principle, someone comes in. There are two reasons for this. The first is simply a legal one. If the deceased was moved from one place to another, it is important, right and proper for someone from the immediate family—a first-degree relative—to see and identify that the deceased person is indeed the person we are talking about and planning to bury. Hashem protect us, but it happens more than once. After all, most deceased people do not volunteer their names. It is not common, but mix-ups between people being buried do happen. Someone is brought in, even at a small cemetery; sometimes an ambulance is carrying two deceased people, one meant for one cemetery and the other for another, and they are brought in by mistake. The distress this causes is extraordinary. It is very hard even to speak about it. That is why, from a legal standpoint, a relative—preferably a first-degree relative—is brought in to identify the

1:22:42 Speaker 2 The deceased man or woman—to say, “Yes, this is the person.” Some chevra kadishas even have someone sign a form, a specific form that says: “Yes, this is indeed the deceased,” which a family member signs so they know they have the right person. It is also the right thing to do emotionally. I was once at the military rabbinate’s offices in the Northern Command, and someone came in asking to see his father’s burial file. His father had been killed in the Yom Kippur War, forty years earlier. He said, “I want to know who identified my father and can testify to me that my father really was killed and really was buried in the place they told us.” It goes that far. Sometimes, emotionally, a person needs to know that this matter has truly been settled. We have to bear in mind that even ten, fifteen, or twenty years after the funeral, someone may go back to the chevra kadisha’s office and say, “Here, I know that someone signed to confirm that this really was the person who passed away.” So the first thing is to go into the room, look, and identify the person. That is something that needs to be done simply for legal reasons, and also for emotional reasons, to establish the truth: someone goes in and identifies the person. That is the first thing. Second, there are certain customs in which the son—or usually it is the son—places earth over the eyes. Usually this is a son with his father. With a mother it was less customary, except that in Jerusalem it was customary for the sons to go in and place a little earth. Sometimes they place bletlekh, little pieces of earthenware, over the eyes of the deceased man or woman. And some have the custom—again, the chevra kadisha follows its own customs—to say, “And Yosef will place his hand upon your eyes”; some say, “For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” Again, each according to their customs,

1:24:25 Speaker 2 there is no one specific custom for this. It is a chevra kadisha custom to place earth or a piece of earthenware over the eyes and say the verse; some do it that way. The chevra kadisha of Agudas Chasidei Chabad in Crown Heights does not do this, and they do not do an identification either. In fact, one reason is that it is all within one neighborhood, and more or less everyone knows everyone. So the family does not always—in fact, with the chevra kadisha of Agudas Chasidei Chabad in Crown Heights, as I said, the family does not see the deceased at all. There is no identification, and the family does not place earth, bletlekh, or earthenware. The chevra kadisha does that. They do it and say all the verses. The sons go in only, only to tie the gartel, the sash. It is one of the garments in which the deceased is dressed: pants, a shirt, a kittel, an outer garment, and a head covering that covers the face. And they tie a gartel around the deceased. This gartel is tied with a kind of knot involving thirteen wraps. That is the custom, at least in Crown Heights: they bring the sons in, and they make the final tie under the chevra kadisha’s direction. Again, it depends very much on the customs. In some places they identify the deceased, in some they place the earth, and in some they tie the gartel. In any case, this is the point at which the family goes in before the funeral procession sets out. If the deceased is a man, it is customary to place his tallis on him, as we discussed at the beginning, and some also dress the deceased in a kittel. The kittel

1:26:23 Speaker 2 worn on Yom Kippur is essentially a garment for the deceased; it is part of the burial shrouds. Some chevra kadishas ask, just as they ask about the tallis, whether he has a kittel in which he used to daven on Yom Kippur, and whether the family wants him buried in it. If the family says yes, the deceased will be buried in his own kittel. In some places, it is customary to break a piece of earthenware before the funeral procession sets out. They simply take a plate and—crash—break it, and say, “The snare is broken, and we have escaped.” It has to do with kelipos and various accusations in the Heavenly Court. The custom is to break it just before leaving. Again, it depends very much on the customs. It is a chevra kadisha custom; it is not a question of whether or not it is a Chabad custom. It is the custom of that chevra kadisha. And something very, very important is asking forgiveness. We ask forgiveness. In general, it is customary to ask forgiveness many times: when the person passes away and is moved onto a stretcher, when the person is brought to the room for taharah, and before the funeral procession sets out. We ask the deceased for forgiveness. It is very important: throughout the process we ask forgiveness, whether we are family, friends, or relatives. We say that we are sorry and ask forgiveness. One last point before the funeral procession sets out, something I skipped over and will discuss now. We talked about what happens after the passing: removing the tubes, removing the needles, and dealing with all the blood. We discussed a great many details. If the deceased is not immediately taken to the chevra kadisha’s room for taharah, the person is placed on the floor. They ask forgiveness, and after the doctor has examined the person and all the tubes have been removed, they move the deceased onto the floor with the feet toward the door. That is the custom,

1:28:15 Speaker 2 with the feet toward the door. At the head of the deceased, they light five candles, five memorial candles. They place a little straw beneath the deceased. For example, when they wanted to move the Frierdiker Rebbe onto the floor, they looked for straw. The righteous Rebbetzin said, “Where am I going to get straw?” The Rebbe said, “There is a broom. Just pull a little off it and make some straw.” They put straw between the deceased and the floor, with five candles, and throughout this time the deceased is covered. Of course the deceased is covered. It says, “He will remove the disgrace of His people.” We do not look at the face of the deceased, both because of the concern about forgetfulness and because of the lack of respect. With some people who have passed away, it is not respectful to look at them. And as we said, it is also a matter of common decency to cover the deceased. They place the person on the floor with five candles until the chevra kadisha comes and takes the deceased to wherever they carry out all the necessary preparations. And as I said, every time they move the deceased, every time they touch the person, every time they attend to anything, they ask forgiveness. That includes when the family goes in before the funeral begins and asks forgiveness. There is no need to uncover the face, no need to uncover the deceased. They simply stand beside the stretcher or the coffin and ask forgiveness. It is very important. In principle, according to the law stated in the Gemara, anyone present when a person passes away must tear their garment at that moment. That is the law stated in the Gemara. Just as one must tear one’s garment when a Torah scroll is burned, so too, when a soul leaves the body, everyone present must tear their garments. Although that is the law, in practice this has not been the custom. The reason is what would happen, for example, to a doctor on an internal medicine ward, who may see approximately,

1:30:10 Speaker 2 In large hospital wards, someone passes away twice a day. Would a person need a contract for a percentage of the profits with a clothing store—or a shirt factory? What, tear a shirt twice a day? Sometimes they would have to tear a suit. And the nurses—would they tear their clothes every time? That’s not how it works. So, to keep people from running out of the room when the person who is passing away truly needs them in those final moments, that wasn’t the practice. The practice was not to make a tear at the moment of a person’s passing. There’s another reason: people don’t always know the laws of tearing a garment. Even if it’s a close relative who is required by law to do it, he may not know exactly whether to stand or sit, how long the tear must be, who should start it for him, or whether he tears it himself. So in practice, the custom everyone follows is to make the tear at the funeral. According to most customs, including Chabad custom, the tear is made before the funeral procession sets out. In other words, they bring out the deceased on the stretcher or bier, and at that point the emotion wells up; there is great emotion and deep sorrow, so that is when the tear is made. There are also people there who can guide them and tell them how to do it. If someone already made a tear—say he heard the news and made a tear—he does not do it again. You make the tear once. That’s the principle behind tearing a garment. By the strict letter of the law, the tear is made when one hears the bad news, or by someone who is there at the time. In practice, when is it customarily done? At the funeral itself, at the beginning of the funeral, though some Sephardic communities have the custom of making the tear at the end. That is why some chevra kadisha groups, particularly those run by Jews from Middle Eastern communities, make the tear specifically at the end of the funeral. Either way is fine. In any case, our custom, and

1:31:54 Speaker 2 the custom of most communities—Ashkenazim, and even many Jews from Morocco and North Africa—is to make the tear at the beginning of the funeral, as we said, when the deceased is brought out. The tear is made while standing; that is, the mourner stands. A member of the chevra kadisha begins the tear—a man for a man and a woman for a woman—using scissors or a knife. The mourner then holds both sides of the tear, recites the blessing, “Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, King of the universe, the True Judge,” accepting the judgment upon himself, and tears at least a tefach. A tefach is at least four fingerbreadths; he tears a tefach. So the mourner stands, a representative of the chevra kadisha comes and makes a small cut, and the mourner takes hold of it, recites the blessing of Dayan Ha’emes, and tears at least a tefach. When Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka passed away, the Rebbe asked to enter the room in the house where the Rebbetzin was. The Rebbe stood there for a few minutes, and before the funeral procession set out, before the bier was brought outside, representatives of the chevra kadisha came in, and there the Rebbe made the tear. When it comes to children—sons and daughters mourning a father or mother—they tear all their garments. “All their garments” means that if someone is wearing a suit jacket and a shirt, our custom is to tear both the jacket and the shirt. There is no need to tear a sweater, because a sweater is worn for warmth. There is no need to tear an undershirt, because it is considered a garment worn to absorb sweat. It is not really a garment in this context; it is only there to absorb sweat. And there is no need to tear

1:33:53 Speaker 2 the tallis katan, the tzitzis, because it is a garment worn for a mitzvah, not for personal comfort. But the suit jacket, if he wears one, and the shirt are torn. As for a coat, there is a difference of opinion. It is best not to wear the coat at the time, and then he will not have to tear it. Is a coat really an outer garment, or is it only meant to keep a person warm? So it is better not to be wearing a coat when making the tear. In any case, the jacket and shirt are torn—all the garments. For other relatives, there is no need to tear all the garments, only the outer garment. That is one difference: for a father or mother, one tears all the garments, down to exposing the chest. Again, that excludes an undershirt, tzitzis, and a garment intended for warmth, such as a sweater; but one tears all the garments down to exposing the chest. For other relatives, by contrast, one tears only the outer garment. For a father or mother, one tears on the left side, near the heart, while for other relatives one tears on the right side. There is another practical difference regarding whether it is permissible to loosely stitch or sew the tear after the mourning period. In any case, that is somewhat less relevant today, because most people throw away the torn garment rather than try to sew it. That, too, is a difference between mourning a father or mother and mourning other relatives. In any case, let’s leave it at this: for a father or mother, all the garments are torn; for other relatives, only the outer garment. For a father or mother, the tear is on the left; for other relatives, specifically on the right. If the tear was mistakenly made on the wrong side—amid all the emotion, people don’t always know or understand—the obligation to make a tear has still been fulfilled. But ideally,

1:35:27 Speaker 2 that is the law concerning the tear. The torn garment is worn until the end of shiva. So, as part of the preparations a person can make, it is a good idea to come to the funeral wearing a garment he can tear, rather than his finest garment. Just a few days ago, I was at a funeral where one of the sons arrived dressed festively. He wanted to honor his father by dressing up. When they came to make the tear for him, he was a little alarmed that they were going to tear his festive clothes, you know? That wasn’t such a wise choice. So it is best to come in something suitable for tearing—a garment he will wear throughout shiva and preferably throw away afterward. Although, strictly speaking, it can be sewn up; it depends on whether he is mourning a father or mother or another relative. In any case, it is advisable and preferable to discard the garment afterward. Again, it is not required. Strictly speaking, a garment torn for another relative can certainly be sewn up; for a father or mother, only loose stitching is permitted. In any case, we won’t get into that. Burial on Chol Hamoed is a whole subject of its own. After all, there is no mourning during a festival. If the burial took place before the festival, even a short period of mourning before it begins brings the mourning period to an end; there is no need to continue mourning. If the burial takes place during the festival, the mourning is postponed and begins only after the festival. On Chol Hamoed, a tear is made—that is the custom—but immediately after the funeral, the mourner changes out of the torn garment and resumes the routine of the festival. Some observant Sephardic communities have the custom not to make a tear on Chol Hamoed, but only after Chol Hamoed

1:37:00 Speaker 2 Before the mourning begins. In any case, there are different customs. The tearing of the garment is done before the mourning begins, unless someone already did it when he heard the bad news. In that case, he does not need to say “Blessed is the True Judge” again or tear his garment again. The garment is torn only once. As for the funeral, after the tearing of the garment, the funeral begins. I want to say something about funerals. In the Holy Land, in Eretz Yisroel, the custom is to bury without a coffin. The deceased is buried directly in the earth—“and He will atone for His land, His people.” The deceased is wrapped in shrouds and placed on a stretcher, and that is how he is brought to the grave, covered with a tallis, as we said, if he is a man. At the grave, he is lowered in. Inside the grave itself is a structure called the grave structure. Inside the pit, this structure is built of bricks. The deceased is placed directly on the earth, the sides are covered with bricks, slabs are placed on top, and the remaining earth is filled in over them. That is the grave structure, and that is how the custom has been to bury in Eretz Yisroel. There are a few exceptions in Eretz Yisroel; afterward we will talk about outside Eretz Yisroel. One exception in Eretz Yisroel is soldiers. The custom has been to bury soldiers who were killed in a coffin. There is a special coffin developed by the Chief Military Rabbinate. Holes are made in it in a very particular way. That is how the custom developed, because they did not want to distinguish between different types of fallen soldiers. Sadly, not all fallen soldiers are in a condition that allows them to be buried in the usual way on a stretcher. So, right when the army and its rabbinate were established, Rabbi Goren sat down and wrote a whole responsum about it.

1:38:46 Speaker 2 He wrote part of that responsum in consultation with Rabbi Tzvi Pesach Frank, who was the Rabbi of Jerusalem, and that is how burials are conducted in the army. Now, what about what we said at the beginning—that we do not distinguish between deceased people? That is why there are special military sections. Once there is a military section, it has the status of a cemetery of its own, generally at a distance from the other graves. A military cemetery has its own particular customs, and so they bury there as we said, because they do not want to distinguish between different types of fallen soldiers. That is one exception. The usual practice is burial without a coffin. There are cemeteries, mainly ones established by Jews who were not observant of Torah and mitzvos—various kibbutz and moshav cemeteries—where burial in a coffin is very important to the families. If it is a cemetery where that is the established practice, then the opposite is true: burial without a coffin could raise questions, because we do not distinguish between deceased people. What is our role as people who have some influence? To try, first, to ensure that the coffin contains as little metal or iron as possible, and that there are as many holes as possible in the bottom. Ideally, there should be openings large enough for a pomegranate to pass through. That means a handbreadth by a handbreadth. In Kfar Vradim, the old section of the cemetery was originally established by people from kibbutzim, and they specifically wanted burial in coffins. When we arrived in Kfar Vradim, there really was a major problem. There was a dilemma: would the cemetery operate according to halachah, or would it, G-d forbid, be divided into a civil cemetery and a cemetery run according to Jewish halachah? There were very extensive discussions about it. In the end,

1:40:25 Speaker 2 we managed to develop a type of coffin. Without going into too much detail, from the outside the coffin looks complete. The bottom is supported, but it is largely open. So when the coffin is lowered into the earth—“and He will atone for His land, His people”—the deceased is actually right on the ground, and there is no problem. It looks like a coffin; people are sure there is a coffin, but it is open underneath. That was the solution. Thanks to that solution, boruch Hashem, we were privileged to have all burials conducted according to halachah. Otherwise, we would have had to make one section like this and another like that. After all, it does not end with the coffin; there are many other details concerning the burial of Jews and matters like that. So, boruch Hashem, this development made it possible. We could also do it because this is our own cemetery. We do not distinguish between deceased people. It is a cemetery where everyone is buried in the same way; you cannot change that. In any case, that is the point. Rabbi Grush[unclear] said that at the end we ask the deceased for forgiveness, saying, “We ask forgiveness, pardon and atonement. Everything we did was according to the laws and customs of Eretz Yisroel as practiced here in Kfar Vradim.” In other words, this is a particular place. So if it is a particular section, or, as we said, a kibbutz or a moshav, or sections of that kind, one must be very, very careful not to breach the boundaries of the usual burial practice. But even if it has been decided to bury in a coffin there because of the local custom, our role and responsibility is to make sure there are openings that provide a direct connection to the earth. Ideally, that opening should be a handbreadth by a handbreadth. The more contact with the earth at the bottom, and the less wood, the better.

1:41:57 Speaker 2 That provides more contact. If an opening can be a handbreadth by a handbreadth, large enough for a pomegranate to pass through, that is preferable. If not, an opening the width of a wineskin’s spout is also possible. But it is best to consult and ask, because there are very fine distinctions here that can make the difference between burial according to Jewish halachah and the practice in Eretz Yisroel, and, G-d forbid, all sorts of deviations from it. Outside Eretz Yisroel, the situation is more complicated. In some places, the law requires burial in a coffin, so the situation is more complicated. In Crown Heights, they have a method where the bottom of the coffin opens, creating direct contact with the earth. There are places outside Eretz Yisroel where even that is not permitted. There, anyone who is a shliach, a rabbi, or simply someone with a voice and the ability to act, must see to it that there are holes in the coffin. Sometimes there are very ornate, very expensive coffins, and people are somewhat less appreciative when the rabbi comes in with a drill and starts drilling into one. But that is our role. Our role is to ensure that “you are dust, and to dust you shall return”—that there is a connection to the earth, to the natural ground. So in Eretz Yisroel, if possible, burial on a stretcher is certainly best. If people in Eretz Yisroel want a coffin, and that is the local custom of that section or community, one must ensure that the coffin has very large openings. Better still, rather than just openings, there should be only slats along the bottom. That is certainly best. Outside Eretz Yisroel, if a coffin is required, one can make it the way they do in Crown Heights. You can ask there exactly how they do it. That is certainly good. If not, then at least make sure there are holes. The holes are truly significant: they create a connection to the earth, to the natural ground. As for the funeral, the funeral

1:43:29 Speaker 2 itself sets out. Even if they want to travel by car, it is very advisable—returning to the matter of guarding—that a Jew be with it at all times, and better yet, four Jews, who can even hold the bier and the coffin a little, so that the funeral procession, including the drive, is conducted by Jews. Even if they travel by car, the driver should be Jewish, and Jews should sit around the coffin and hold the bier a little, so that the journey, too, is carried out by Jews. Before setting out for the funeral, it is very, very important to give tzedakah. “Tzedakah saves from death.” We try to give tzedakah before the funeral sets out. Another very important matter is women attending. Our custom is for women to attend funerals. There are places where women do not go to the cemetery at all and do not attend funerals, and that can be a very big problem, because it causes a great deal of distress. If a daughter cannot attend her mother’s or father’s funeral, it causes a great deal of distress that she cannot be there. It also depends on the woman’s circumstances. We do not want to embarrass anyone or cause heartache. What do we do in such a situation? First of all, it is very, very, very important—as stated explicitly in the Zohar, in Maavar Yabok, and in many other sefarim—that there be complete separation. Complete separation. This even comes up in the discussion in Maseches Sukkah about a partition at the Simchas Beis Hashoeivah. The proof that there was a partition at the Simchas Beis Hashoeivah is that there was separation at funerals. At a funeral, it is very, very, very important to separate men and women, and to announce it and speak about it. Again, there are places where this is difficult or impossible. Where it is possible, and people will listen to and respect the family, the request should be that the men stand in one place and the women in another. That is what is written, and the Gemara says there that the families mourned separately. What does

1:45:13 Speaker 2 “the families separately” mean? It means the men’s side and the women’s side: there should be separation between the men and the women. Regarding pregnant women and various other circumstances, it is worth asking a rav, because if, for example, a woman stands at a distance, beyond four amos and not under the shelter, there is considerable room to be lenient. We know that with regard to davening, too, we have seen leniency in certain circumstances allowing women to come to shul; there have been various forms of leniency. Consult a rav, but make sure to request, if it is possible to do so, that there be separation between men and women. One more very important point: with their father’s coffin, the sons certainly do not carry it. Although Minhagei Maharil records that at his wife’s funeral, the Maharil told his son, “Make sure to hold the coffin; make sure to hold the bier.” That is what Minhagei Maharil says: the Maharil explicitly told his son, at the burial of the son’s mother, to go and hold the coffin. So there is a source for sons being present and even taking an active part in their mother’s burial. In practice, the custom has been that descendants do not take part in the burial at all—not in carrying the coffin and not in covering the grave. Ideally, descendants, neither sons nor daughters, should take part in the burial itself. What about walking behind the bier? We know the practice that descendants do not walk behind the bier. In fact, the source for this specifically concerns a father’s descendants: none of the descendants should walk behind the bier. In some places, as part of certain Jerusalem customs, they would even blow a shofar and announce, under a ban or excommunication, that none of the descendants should follow it. This was intended to apply to spiritual matters as well, and that was the practice in some Jerusalem communities. In any case, we do not follow that practice of blowing the shofar, or of declaring a ban or excommunication,

1:47:09 Speaker 2 but we still announce that the descendants should not walk behind the bier. So what do descendants do if they want to attend their father’s funeral and burial? In that case, the descendants walk ahead of the bier. That is indeed the Chabad custom: the descendants walk in front of the bier. In other words, there are the descendants, then the bier, and then the rest of the mourners accompanying it. The general Jerusalem custom is that descendants do not go along at all. After the chapter of Tehillim and Kaddish are recited, the descendants go home. Today there is a chevra kadisha called Kehillas Yerushalayim whose practice is for the descendants to go ahead and wait at the gravesite. They do not walk behind the bier, but they do go to the grave. In Chabad custom, too, it is stated that descendants do not walk behind it. So even if there are vehicles, they arrange them so that the family’s car is always first, then the chevra kadisha’s vehicle, and only then the rest of those accompanying the funeral. Descendants do not follow the bier; that is the Chabad custom as well. That is the Chabad custom, but there is no need for shofar-blowing or anything of that sort. They simply announce that the descendants should not follow, and they walk in front. Although the original custom concerned not walking behind one’s father’s bier, the practice became—and the Rebbe also mentions this—that one does not walk behind one’s mother’s bier either. Although in 5725, when Rebbetzin Chana, the Rebbe’s mother, passed away, the Rebbe did walk behind Rebbetzin Chana’s bier, nevertheless, the usual custom is not to walk behind it but specifically to walk in front. Regarding the recitation of Kaddish, the custom of the Chevra Kadisha of Agudas Chasidei Chabad in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, is that the sons do not say any Kaddish until after the burial. That is the custom. In Eretz Yisroel, however, the custom is somewhat different, as was the custom in Jerusalem. That is also the custom even in Kfar Chabad: during the funeral the sons say Kaddish. They say

1:48:51 Speaker 2 Kaddish before the funeral begins, and they recite a chapter of Tehillim, usually chapter 16. After the chapter of Tehillim, the sons say Kaddish before the funeral sets out. That has been the custom in Eretz Yisroel. Again, in the United States the custom is to say Kaddish only at the end of the burial. There is another custom, apparently based on customs in Eretz Yisroel, to make stops along the way—stops at places that were significant in the life of the person who passed away. Some places may be less important, but, for example, it is customary to stop at the shul where he davened. Certainly, if he had a special connection to the shul—if he was its rav, one of its founders, or a gabbai—they stop there. Some also have the custom to stop at an institution he founded or was involved with. At each of these stops, the custom is to recite a chapter of Tehillim and then say Kaddish. Again, the custom of Agudas Chasidei Chabad in the United States is to say Kaddish only at the end. In Eretz Yisroel, however, if there are stops, the sons certainly say Kaddish at the beginning and at the other stops. The Sephardic custom—and so this may happen with a Sephardic chevra kadisha—is that the sons do not say Kaddish until the end, similar to the Chabad custom in the United States. The reason is that the son is an onen. If he is an onen, he does not say Kaddish. Why does he not say Kaddish? Because he says it only at the end, after the burial; that is when the sons say Kaddish. Kaddish is said at the beginning, but someone else says it, not one of the sons. As we said, this is part of the way the different customs are followed, so regarding the recitation of Kaddish, one follows what the chevra kadisha says. If the custom is to say Kaddish at the beginning, they say it at the beginning and at each of the stops. If

1:50:30 Speaker 2 it is at the end, they say it then. We follow whichever of these customs applies. In any case, to summarize this section: if traveling by car, Jews should accompany the coffin. Descendants do not walk behind the bier but in front of it. They do not take part in carrying the bier. Tzedakah is given. Some have the custom that the sons say Kaddish only at the end of the funeral, while others have the custom to say it at the beginning or at each stop, if stops are made. As for women, the custom is certainly for women to be separate from the men. Do they attend the funeral? There are places where women do not attend funerals. If that would cause them distress and sorrow and the like, they should ask a rav exactly how to handle it—whether they should stand at a distance or stand separately. We do not want to cause anyone sorrow, and that is how we would rule and what we would say regarding women at a funeral.