So lately I've been thinking about how we deal with the death of beloved pet. Don't worry, my Tzippi is still in surprisingly good health for a 13 year old blind and deaf pooch. The vet was very impressed with her at her annual check up this week :)
Unfortunately some of our close family friends had to say goodbye to their amazing dog, Pippin, last weekend and it got me thinking. What do you do when your pet dies? I don't know what I'll do when that day comes or how I'll deal with the loss. I did learn from my mother that most employers do not give you any time off to mourn a pet. That's pretty crazy, right? Okay, I could see not giving off time for a goldfish that needs to take a trip down the toilet, but a pet that has been an integral part of your family for years? That's cold.
The one and only time I had to say goodbye to a pet I was a little kid
who didn't understand my mother when she told me that my hamster had
been 'put to sleep'. I thought that meant that he needed a good night's
sleep and we would pick him up at the vet the next day. Clearly, that
was not the case.
As far as memorial options for your pet, there are few possibilities. There's the backyard burial oft portrayed in books and movies, but there are also options for cremation. As I ponder this I find myself faced with a couple of dilemmas. When one day we have to say goodbye to my beautiful pup, what would we do? I could imagine spreading her ashes in some of her favourite parks, but we're Jewish and Jews don't do cremation. Does that extend to pets? Apparently not, (and here appears dilemma number two) since it turns out that burying your pet is illegal....? Yes, according to some family friends burying your pet is illegal. What happened to the pet cemeteries of old? I think I'd need a place that I could visit to remember her or maybe that would prolong the pain and prevent me from moving on. Who knows? I did find a website for pet burial services in Victoria (petmemorialcenter.ca), so I'm a little confused about this and would love to locate more details! Maybe they just meant that you're not allowed to bury them in your backyards anymore...
Friday, 22 February 2013
Friday, 15 February 2013
King Richard III in a parking lot?!
Some crazy stuff in the news lately: King Richard III's skeletal remains were found buried in a parking lot in Leicester. They've even proved his identity beyond a reasonable doubt through mitochondrial DNA testing! Apparently there's a direct descendent of the King's sister living in Canada who they were able to test. They also checked his remains for injuries that King Richard sustained in battle, especially in the battle that killed him.
Who would've thought, the last Plantagenet king's remains found in a parking lot. Seriously. Now that's an amazing find and it'll be fascinating to see what gets published after they finish all of their tests and he's reburied in Leicester Cathedral.
Who would've thought, the last Plantagenet king's remains found in a parking lot. Seriously. Now that's an amazing find and it'll be fascinating to see what gets published after they finish all of their tests and he's reburied in Leicester Cathedral.
Friday, 8 February 2013
Thinking about Grammy
Ok, so a few weeks ago I was talking about my first experiences with death and funerary practices, dealing specifically with those I had experienced in the Anglican tradition. I said that I would soon be ready to talk about my first experience with Jewish funerary practices, so here I go.
When I was 11 years old my great-uncle died. My grandmother and my aunt flew to Winnipeg to represent our side of the family, since we were not able to make the trip. After their return my grandmother started thinking about what would need to be done if and when my grandfather died. He was 10 years older than her and had a history of health problems, so, being as practical as she had ever been, she started talking to people about the roles she hoped they would play. She decided who would give the eulogies and even asked the rabbi if all of the pallbearers had to be Jewish. A few months later she died suddenly. We ended up using all of the plans she had made for my grandfather's funeral for her's instead.
My mother took charge of the whole thing which meant that I had saw firsthand everything that went into planning a Jewish funeral.
My grandparents belonged to a different synagogue than ours, but they never went. They always said that the only reason they still paid their dues was so that one day there would be somebody to preside over their funerals. With that in mind, my mother called our rabbi. Ironically, my grandmother had always said that you haven't really lived until Rabbi Bregman eulogized you.
After calling the rabbi, she called the Chevra Kaddisha. They're volunteers who stay with the bodies and prepare them for burial, because in Jewish tradition the body is never to be left alone until it is in the ground. They're the ones who washed her body and put her in a simple cotton gown before placing her in her coffin.
On the day of the funeral, which was only about three days after my grandmother died (and it was only that long after because she died on Shabbat, otherwise it would have been sooner), we all went to the cemetery and sat in the back room while everyone else entered the sanctuary. We were to enter so that everyone could see us, the mourners. My grandfather, my mother and my aunts, as the closest relatives to the deceased, wore black ribbons instead of partaking in the tradition of your clothing being torn to symbolize your loss.
I suppose that the actual service was quite similar to any funeral service. The rabbi spoke, a close family friend gave a beautiful eulogy, and we all prayed that my grandmother would find peace. We then headed out to the plot that had been dug for my grandmother, and, saying a few more prayers, we lowered her into the ground. We then took turns shovelling dirt onto her grave and began the procession back to the cars, passing through rows of people giving us their condolences along the way. We returned to my grandfather's neighbourhood, where we had invited everyone to come and remember my grandmother with us. And then for the next three days we hosted shiva. Traditionally shiva lasts for a week, but being that our family is not very religious, we decided that three days of having people come to my grandfather's house and pray with us was enough.
Over that week and the weeks following, we spent a lot of time with family and friends. They took amazing care of us, as we were not to lift a finger while mourning. They cooked for us and cleaned and made sure that we were going to be okay. And we were, eventually.
We light a candle every year on the anniversary of her death (based on the Jewish calendar) and say the mourner's kaddish, because there is no world in which it would be okay to forget the amazingness that was my grandmother or to forget everything she taught us.
When I was 11 years old my great-uncle died. My grandmother and my aunt flew to Winnipeg to represent our side of the family, since we were not able to make the trip. After their return my grandmother started thinking about what would need to be done if and when my grandfather died. He was 10 years older than her and had a history of health problems, so, being as practical as she had ever been, she started talking to people about the roles she hoped they would play. She decided who would give the eulogies and even asked the rabbi if all of the pallbearers had to be Jewish. A few months later she died suddenly. We ended up using all of the plans she had made for my grandfather's funeral for her's instead.
My mother took charge of the whole thing which meant that I had saw firsthand everything that went into planning a Jewish funeral.
My grandparents belonged to a different synagogue than ours, but they never went. They always said that the only reason they still paid their dues was so that one day there would be somebody to preside over their funerals. With that in mind, my mother called our rabbi. Ironically, my grandmother had always said that you haven't really lived until Rabbi Bregman eulogized you.
After calling the rabbi, she called the Chevra Kaddisha. They're volunteers who stay with the bodies and prepare them for burial, because in Jewish tradition the body is never to be left alone until it is in the ground. They're the ones who washed her body and put her in a simple cotton gown before placing her in her coffin.
On the day of the funeral, which was only about three days after my grandmother died (and it was only that long after because she died on Shabbat, otherwise it would have been sooner), we all went to the cemetery and sat in the back room while everyone else entered the sanctuary. We were to enter so that everyone could see us, the mourners. My grandfather, my mother and my aunts, as the closest relatives to the deceased, wore black ribbons instead of partaking in the tradition of your clothing being torn to symbolize your loss.
I suppose that the actual service was quite similar to any funeral service. The rabbi spoke, a close family friend gave a beautiful eulogy, and we all prayed that my grandmother would find peace. We then headed out to the plot that had been dug for my grandmother, and, saying a few more prayers, we lowered her into the ground. We then took turns shovelling dirt onto her grave and began the procession back to the cars, passing through rows of people giving us their condolences along the way. We returned to my grandfather's neighbourhood, where we had invited everyone to come and remember my grandmother with us. And then for the next three days we hosted shiva. Traditionally shiva lasts for a week, but being that our family is not very religious, we decided that three days of having people come to my grandfather's house and pray with us was enough.
Over that week and the weeks following, we spent a lot of time with family and friends. They took amazing care of us, as we were not to lift a finger while mourning. They cooked for us and cleaned and made sure that we were going to be okay. And we were, eventually.
We light a candle every year on the anniversary of her death (based on the Jewish calendar) and say the mourner's kaddish, because there is no world in which it would be okay to forget the amazingness that was my grandmother or to forget everything she taught us.
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