This morning’s Torah reading chronicles the death of Jacob, the son
of Isaac, the grandson of Abraham, and the father of Joseph. Notice I didn’t say ‘Jacob, the
herdsman.’ Or ‘Jacob, the wealthy herdsman.’ Because at the end of the day, we are
defined, not by our professions, or by how much wealth we have amassed. No, we are defined by the chain of
relationships that matter in our lives.
By those who nurtured us and taught us and thereby blessed us. And by those whom we, in turn nurtured,
taught and blessed. This is what defines
us. This is what matters. When we think of our patriarch Jacob, and his
life, this is all that’s important.
Jacob has just
blessed his sons, and now he has breathed his last. And now it is time for Joseph, and his
brothers, and all their households, to lay Jacob to rest in accordance with his
wishes.
Jacob made Joseph
promise that he would lay him to rest in Hebron, in the Cave of Machpelah,
where his foremothers and forefathers were entombed. This was no easy task for Joseph and the
family, seeing that they are living in Egypt.
Special care had to be taken to embalm Jacob’s body to preserve it
during the long and arduous journey.
As you probably know,
it is not the Jewish custom to embalm our dead.
Generally, we see that process as an unnecessary intrusion into the
peace of the body of the departed. But
there are other considerations that override this custom. As in this case, where Jacob’s specific
instructions were to carry his remains back to Canaan. Therefore, embalming was therefore necessary. And the Egyptians, who were experts in the
art of embalming, were there to help. If
the embalming of the body was necessary for fulfilling Jacob’s dying wish, then
it was to be.
It is said, funerals
are for the living, not for the dead. In
truth, they are for both. Because the
time of death is the time when the worlds of the living and the dead, the
worlds of the old and the young, come together.
It is when we have this coming together, that the dead can truly
appreciate the way that they had blessed others, And those others can acknowledge the way that
have been blessed.
I
know what you’re thinking. That last
statement requires a leap of faith, to believe that the dead have some
awareness of their surroundings. It’s
something I choose to believe, although it cannot be proven. Some things in life – as in death – are
simply beyond the sciences and are in the realm of faith. But even if you cannot believe that the dead
have an awareness of what we’re doing, simple ethics require that we take all
reasonable steps to honour the dead.
Perhaps you
remember, a few months ago, my sharing with you how sad I felt when I buried
someone who lived out his last years, and died, alone. A few members of our community joined me to
put him to rest, and I thank them for that.
But the thought that the man had died all alone, with nobody whom he had
touched present for his being laid to rest, was extremely sad. Now after the funeral, it happened that I had
contact with a niece of his in England.
She had found out about his passing, and wanted me to know how much her
uncle meant to her and other members of their family.
Please don’t
take it is criticism of this family that they weren’t there for the man’s
funeral. And no criticism either, for
the man who in coming to Australia, separated himself physically from his
family. My point is only that it was
tragic that the man died alone. And that
we should learn from that tragedy and organise our own lives to be near the
ones who are important to us.
Contrast that
to the recent funeral of Jack Wiseman.
Jack lived his life surrounded by those who mattered to him. And he went to great lengths to make it so. And he clearly touched, deeply, many in this
community who showed up for his funeral.
As such, our laying him to rest was not an occasion for regret. It was a time of celebration. Of celebrating the life of a man who had made
a difference for the many people who came to escort him to the grave, and to
comfort his family left behind.
Today we
celebrate the life of another Wiseman, Jim, who is very much alive. And is completing his 90th year of
life. And is surrounded by those whom he
loves, and those who love him. And this,
of course, teaches us that we need not wait until a death to honour these
connections.
Jim, 90 equals many things in Hebrew. It equals mayim, water. Water is, of course the source of life. But wisdom is also likened to water. Jim, as you begin your 91st year,
may the water of your wisdom, nourish the gardens of the souls of those whom
you touch.
90 also equals yode’ah,
meaning ‘he knows.’ And it also
equals yil’medu, ‘they will learn.’
Because he has lived and experienced, Jim knows many things that, to the
rest of us, are mere conjecture. May Jim
continue to share with us his vast knowledge of so many things. And may we allow ourselves to be blessed as
we consult him on the things that matter, and therefore learn from him.
90 also equals,
melech, king. Today, by virtue of
his long life, Jim is like a king today.
His family and friends have made a special effort to come to shule this
morning to honour him. Even though Jim
is not one to ‘lord’ it over to others, may we be blessed by our lifting him
up, and crowning him king, on this wonderful occasion. Shabbat shalom.
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