Chevra kadisha
It used to startle her, how cold an uninhabited body is.
But she can’t help the wave of tenderness that comes when she passes a warm washcloth over breast and belly. Everyone succumbs to the impulse to whisper a word of comfort as the stream of water pours.
Sand makes it real. These eyes won’t open again, not here.
Wrapped in white, the body looks smaller. She’s always startled that it isn’t weightless when they lift it and place it in its nest of wood curls, like a precious etrog with a long way to travel before the holiday comes.
by Rachel Barenblat of Velveteen Rabbi
Share this:
Related
Welcome
Qarrtsiluni (2005-2013) was a groundbreaking online literary magazine, one of the first to fully exploit blog software. Though we never quite realized our dream of creating a print-on-demand option for each issue, being online does mean that our back issues remain accessible indefinitely, so there's that. And we published some damn fine stuff — check it out.
Copyright Notice
All copyrights are retained by the original authors and artists. We will gladly forward requests for republication, and would appreciate a link back to qarrtsiluni in return.
I love the physicality of these images, the very visceral sense of a untentented body not being something to shun or pump full of poisons (as in modern Christian practice), but something to lay gently away.
(o)
This piece was really hard for me to read right now, but beautiful and powerful – and true.
(I meant “untenanted,” of course, but I actually sort of like “untentented” – shades of the tabernacle and that.)
This is so moving. Thank you for sharing your experience with us.
Thank you for your comments, all.
And Beth, I apologize for not thinking clearly about how my submission might be painful to read. Thank you for making me mindful.