Not what I meant to write

       This post was supposed to be about buying the ketubah, the Jewish marriage contract. But another funeral got in the way. Today we buried my dear friend and mentor Ira. For those of you who do not know, Jewish funerals are meant to help the mourners cry. And they work.
     One of the Ira's sons read a poem about his father being is north and south and east and west from Funeral Blues  by W H Auden. My heart opened and called out to my father with these words, the way the young man before me was calling out in pain to his father. I watched the two brothers acting as pall-bearers and remembered keeping my tears in as I helped carry my father. I remembered transporting my brother home and wrapping his ashes in a tallit.
     We as a community managed to leave the sanctuary and drive to the graveside where mournful prayers are sung as the plain pine casket is lowered into the ground. And then the mourners perform a last act of kindness for the deceased; they shovel dirt into the grave. First the immediate family and then all the mourners. This is not just a ritualistic clod of dirt; we as a community bury our loved one.
     When that first shovelful of dirt hit the flat top of the pine box, my solar plexus imploded. I had to wrap my arms around my body to keep the pain of contained. But the shoveling continued and as the pain grew too big to be held tightly it started to leak out of my eyes. I heard pain spill from the throats of those around me. We all started to weep as we lined up to help bury our friend.
     After the tearing of the mourners clothes, a final act to symbolize their pain and to help them weep, we formed a corridor for the family to walk through so they could feel our love as they returned to the dark black silent limo. I walked back to my car with tears streaming down my face wishing I could call my dad. It has been 25 years since he died, and I will miss him. He was my north and south and east and west. He will still not be at my wedding. 
     After keeping my tears in check at my father's and my brother's graveside, I allowed myself to weep and sob over a man who was larger than life. I am sure he is already telling jokes to G-d. And with this image I am able to laugh and cry for all those we have lost.
     There is one last Jewish custom that I want to mention here. After the death of a loved one a mourner often takes on a pledge to perform a special mitzvah for a year or more in honor of the one who has passed. This is seen as being an "allya for the neshama," a raising of the soul, for the person who has died. Ira's nephew pledged to use Ira's birthday every year and a time to be a bit kinder and wiser. I pledge to honor Ira by living up to his examples and mentoring advice in terms of jobs and my involvement with my spiritual community.
     How symbolic and appropriate that I was once again laying a part of me to rest before I step fully in into my next adventure.
     On to the Ketubah.