blog0418

Time to Believe

What better time for a stream of consciousness blog than having just attended an orthodox Chasidic funeral at a cemetery in Paramus that covers at least 100 square miles.

Chasidism is a subgroup of Haredi Judaism that arose as a spiritual revival movement in the territory of contemporary Western Ukraine during the 18th century, and spread rapidly throughout Eastern Europe. Chasidism is noted for its religious and social conservatism and social seclusion. Conservatism is an understatement. As of 2016, there were over 130,000 Hasidic households worldwide, about 5 percent of the global Jewish population.

Before he died, my cousin, Jerry, was among the 130,000 Chasidic households. The funeral was to mourn and honor Jerry, who died last week at the age of 88, who flew B52 bombers in the heat of the cold war and after retiring became an orthodox Chasidic Jew. Jerry was a very interesting man who had very strong opinions about anything and everything and, in fact, they couldn’t be defined as opinions because if Jerry said it, it must be fact, end of discussion.

I saw cousins who were all Chasidim, wearing the same curious black suits, the same black hats, the same tallits, and certainly having the same rock solid beliefs but then again they couldn’t be classified as beliefs because to the Chasidim there are not beliefs, but rather there are truths and untruths as described in the Talmud, end of discussion. And all the women had the same brown, shoulder length hair cuts because they all wore wigs covering their heads which many Chasidic women shave as part of the Chasidic tradition.

I met my two cousins, their wives and their children and they were all very warm and inviting to me even though I hadn’t taken the right path as a Jew for if I had I would be living in Brooklyn wearing the same black hats, the same tallits and having the same rock solid beliefs. I can’t say it felt familial as I hadn’t seen my cousins in 40-plus years and obviously I didn’t recognize them and they didn’t recognize me but it didn’t keep them from greeting me warmly as if I was family and even if I looked more than a bit uncomfortable, with my white hair, ponytail and cowboy boots which I wore in place of my less formal motorcycle boots. There were no motorcycles at the funeral.

I felt an outsider is an understatement, like saying that Bill Gates has a few bucks socked away. No surprise because the Chasidim live in a different world than most of the rest of us, they have a community that looks out for all, they reach out when one member of the community is needy and they believe that they are all cut from the same holy, primal, venerable cloth and they recoil without backing off when their way of life is challenged. They see themselves as keepers of a religious flame that dates back to Moses and continues to this day, unbroken. They seem to be genuinely warm, their smiles honest but I couldn’t shake the feeling that just below their surfaces was a world that I could never even imagine, one that excluded all but those who were Chasidic believers. Compared to my Jewish beliefs, I am a relative heathen.

The eulogy for my cousin, Jerry, was offered by the top rabbi of the day, an overweight, white-bearded man in his late 60s who spoke with the authority of a sage and who spoke in glowing terms of Jerry. He called Jerry a superpatriot, always willing to lend a hand whether it was in material support or moral support and as a pillar of the Chasidic community. He didn’t call Jerry a know it all but rather noted that my cousin had strong opinions. All I remember about Jerry was the strong opinions as I never got to know him as a super supportive, self-less member of his Jewish community who believed in tradition above all else, which is pretty much the same definition as patriotic. It was probably my loss that I didn’t get to know Jerry better. There was no such thing as crossing Jerry because he didn’t argue as there was no need for argument about subjects of which Jerry was an expert, of which there were many.

I didn’t want to go to the funeral because I don’t like funerals and because I hardly knew Jerry and less than hardly knew my cousins and absolutely less than knew any of the others at the funeral. I also knew I would be walking on to threatening, alien territory. But I am glad I went for several reasons, including I don’t have to feel guilty about not having gone simply because it made me feel uncomfortable. Also I believe that my presence added a tiny bit of support to the survivors and add up all those present, and it totaled up a whole lot of support and I’m glad I could offer it. And lastly, though I don’t feel close to my cousins or to my late cousin, somehow I felt a closeness that cannot be explained, almost mystical, almost, well, religious, I must admit.

A few observations. I noticed how difficult it must be for a bald-headed man to keep his yarmulke on his head as most people attach the yarmulke with a bobby pin or similar device to their hair but if there’s no hair, I assume it takes an act of God to keep the yarmulke in place.

Then I saw how many of the white bearded rabbis and other Chasidim either wore no face masks or kept their face masks below their noses and I guess they feel that if they wear no face mask and don’t get COVID-19 that it’s a positive nod from God and if they do get COVID-19 it must be because they have sinned before God,forget the science of keeping your face covered to prevent spreading or getting the virus. Forget about social distancing, it didn’t exist.

So what am I left with? I am left with a desire to have what the Chasidim have, that sense of belonging and of believing in a greater good and that is something that I don’t often feel, hard as I try. I envy them for having answers that they can believe in. I envy them for their community, for their belief that they have something worth protecting and defending. More often I feel we are part of a greater bad and how I recoil against beliefs that I cannot prove or understand. I truly do not understand how rationale people can believe in something that they can’t touch but that may be saying more about me than about those who are believers.