To deny resurrection is to deny G-d's omnipotence. If He can make a seed in the ground grow, or make a seed in a woman's womb give birth to a child, He certainly can bring life to those sleeping in the ground. It may sound simplistic. But every truth is simple - only falsehood is complicated. Therefore, an egg is the symbol of resurrection, and it is mourner's food.  Resurrection gives meaning to life, and comfort in the face of death.

 

 I recently read a complaint in a Jewish weekly from a reader who had suffered a loss in
her family. Some friends did not attend the funeral, some did not visit during the shiva, and some did not even send a letter or note. Later, she met them and they expressed their sympathies. The problem for her was that this was too little, too late. After the mourning period she found the courage to continue her normal life, but these belated acknowledgments disturbed her, bringing back sorrow and pain.

The Torah and the Sages limited the time for mourning in degrees - seven days, thirty
days, twelve months. Did they also set a time for offering tanchumin (solace)? We find that for
the commemoration of the churban - the destruction of the temples and the exile - we have
three weeks of mourning in degrees. But we have seven weeks for comfort.

Perhaps what is missed by those who do not visit during shiva is the chance to comfort
also the soul of the deceased. The Sages teach that the soul hovers in the house of mourning and seeks comfort. Therefore, the formula for expressing comfort to mourners, even if there is only one mourner, is always in the plural - yenachem etchem. It includes the soul of the person who died.

But the true question is: Do we really express comfort, and assuage the pain of the mourners, just by saying this formula? What is true nechum aveilim?

There are condolences and there is consolation.

Condolence is the conveyance of grief and lament for the loss. It is expressing appreciation of the deceased with words of praise and respect. It is giving voice to commiseration, compassion, empathy with the mourners. It may include a ziduk hadin, that G-d in His infinite mercy and wisdom took this precious soul.

Then there are feelings of guilt, sorrow and regret for lost opportunities on the part of the mourner to exhibit more love, concern for the deceased. For this there is no consolation, and the mourner wishes, "If only there were another chance."< BR>
Consolation gives the mourner hope and courage to survive the anguish, as well as assurance that normal life will emerge with time and that the consoler and others are ready to assist in every way possible.

But why do we fail in our desire and effort to bring true nechama to mourners? We recite
or read the words "haMakom yenachem." Some say it clearly, others just mumble. It is a prayer or a blessing, but not consolation. The mourner may respond "amen" or "thank you." No one responds "nechamtoni" - "you comforted me."

It is wonderful that many people come to visit, speak to the mourners, study a Mishna,
conduct services and recite Kaddish. The family surely appreciates knowing that many share in their sorrow. It is balm to hear kind words about the deceased. The tumult is a distraction. But then it gets quiet, and the sorrow and pain return.

What everyone truly yearns for is to have the lost loved one back. A rabbi may, in his eulogy, voice this desire; it is quickly followed, however, by the statement that we all know this is impossible. A rabbi may soften these words by adding something along these lines:

"Perhaps it is possible. It is like you had a 78 r.p.m. record with a melody that you loved
and you played it again and again. Then one day you dropped the record and it broke. The record is gone, but the melody remains. You have yet the wonderful memories, which shall always abide with you."

A hearty, comforting thought - but it is sermonizing. A metaphor.

I read about an Israeli who was asked if he agrees that we should give back Gaza. He
replied, "With one condition - that they give me back my leg that I lost in a terrorist attack."
From a statement like this we realize that true consolation comes only if we know we will get
back what we've lost.

In my community there were many Sephardic Jews, not only from the Middle East, but also from Greece, Turkey, Rhodes and Gibraltar. I officiated once at a funeral of a prominent
man of that origin. As I concluded the service in the overflowing chapel, the entire assemblage
rose and sang "Yigdal." It was my first such experience. They were expressing their faith in
techiat hamaitim - the resurrection of the dead.

This is the true expression of consolation. There will be a revival. We will meet again.
The belief in techiat hamaitim is expressed at every burial service in the recitation of the
Kaddish. Yitgadal veyitkadash shmay rabbah biolmo ditatid leachaya maitaya - His name shall
be praised and hallowed in the world when He shall resurrect the dead.

Upon visiting a cemetery it is customary to recite the mechayeh hamaitim benediction:
"Blessed art thou, O G-d, who resurrects the dead." Every day we recite this bracha in the
shmoneh esray. It is one of the fundamental principles of the Jewish faith as articulated by the
Rambam in his "Ani Maamin."

Ministers and priests publicly pronounce this belief often, especially at funerals. Rabbis,
however, are hesitant even to mention it, ignorantly fearing that belief in the revival of the dead
is Christian theology.

Why are rabbis and teachers reticent about one of the basic tenets of Judaism? Why deprive Jews of an encouraging and powerful source of condolence?

The Talmud in all its divisions - halacha, aggadah, midrash, zohar and kabbalah - speaks about resurrection. The gaonim discusses it extensively. So do all our commentators and
philosophers. They delve into the subject because it is basic Judaism. From the Mishna in
Sanhedrin it is evident that only believers in resurrection shall experience it. It is, therefore,
imperative that Jews know about, speak about, and believe it.

Many eulogists mention resurrection unwittingly when they recite or mumble the verse in
Isaiah 25:8 "Beelah hamovet lonehzach" (He will swallow up death forever, and G-d shall wipe away tears from off all faces, and the rebuke of His people shall be taken away from off all the earth, for the Lord has spoken so). Rashi and the Ibn Ezra say it refers to the time of resurrection. Then shall it happen, at the coming of Messiah.

Resurrection and Messiah are interdependent. This is the source of the formula recited in
a house of mourning, "May the Almighty comfort you with the other mourners of Zion and
Jerusalem." The comfort for the mourners is the assurance of resurrection which is linked to the Messiah and the Final Redemption. The comfort for the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem is the hope and faith in the revival of Jerusalem and the building of the Beit Hamikdash. So we
conclude on Tisha b'Av the megillah of Eichah (Lamentations), "chadesh yomainu kekedem"
(renew our days as of old). So, too, is resurrection the renewal as of old. That is the nechama.

Rabbi Maurice Lamm recently wrote a fine book, Consolation, which teaches transcendence of grief through affirmation of life. Judaism basically holds that one overcomes grief by extension and renewal of life - and the knowledge of eternal life.

Yitgadal veyitkadash shmay rabbah - His name shall be hallowed and aggrandized in the world of renewal and the revival of the dead.  In memory of my precious grandson, Ariel Avrech, z"l.

To deny resurrection is to deny G-d's omnipotence. If He can make a seed in the ground
grow, or make a seed in a woman's womb give birth to a child, He certainly can bring life to
those sleeping in the ground. It may sound simplistic. But every truth is simple - only falsehood
is complicated. Therefore, an egg is the symbol of resurrection, and it is mourner's food.
Resurrection gives meaning to life, and comfort in the face of death.

Biyachaichon uviyamaichon - May it come to pass in your lifetime and in your days. Baagalah uvizman kareev - soon and speedily.

Rabbi Philip Harris Singer is the spiritual leader of the Ave. O Jewish Center in
Brooklyn. He is the president of the Vaad Harabonim of Flatbush, vice president of the Igud Harabonim, and a dayan member of both batei din. His son-in-law, Robert Avrech, wrote the front-page essay "My Heart Unhinged" which appeared in the July 16 issue of The Jewish Press.

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