SOB (sister of blogger) and HOSOB (husband of SOB) just got back Monday night from Oregon where they were visiting HOSOB’s ill parents. HOSOB’s father, Mr. HOSOB, was in very bad shape. On Tuesday morning, SOB emailed that Mr. HOSOB died during the night.
My first thought was “Thank G-d HOSOB was there over the weekend.” Of course, it is one of those anecdotal truisms, that a person waits for the family to gather. A final blessing from the dying one to his/her loved ones.
My second thought was “Shiva?” HOSOB and Mr. and Mrs. HOSOB are not Jewish, although HOSOB has effectively converted by osmosis. Culturally, that is. HOSOB and Mr. HOSOB were, are, and remain, conscientious objectors when it comes to the existence of G-d. Still, SOB thought it was a fine idea for Blogger family to come over before HOSOB and SOB go back to Oregon for the cremation. POB (partner of blogger) and I went to their house tonight for, let’s say, a Christian Shiva. Or “chriva,” maybe.
So, what to bring to a chriva? Rugelach and a chocolate bobka, of course. You have to be born into the Jewish tribe to stomach an offering of gefilte fish. But I say, “what’s not to like about rugelach and bobka? Chocolate in cake-like creations. Something, any chriva-goer would enjoy.” Even, HOSOB shrugged and threw his head back, in that Jewish way, when he repeated my words in even mimicking a slightly high-pitched voice. So, maybe, he’s Jewish already.
DOB (Dad of blogger) also came. He brought Hebrew prayer books in case we really wanted to have a service. “What’s the big deal about a minyan? [Mr. HOSOB] wasn’t Jewish anyway, so we don’t need ten people to say Kaddish.”
STOP.
Logic? NONE.
But DOB loves HOSOB like a son and wants to comfort him in the only way DOB knows how. And it touched all of us. I bet there were ten yarmulkes in DOB’s pocket, if necessary.
We did the usual things that are done at shiva (even though this was a chriva). We got teary-eyed at times and laughed at other times. We toasted Mr. HOSOB’s life and his memory. We told stories and looked at pictures of SOB’s and HOSOB’s wedding, when Mr. HOSOB was still strong and his eyes twinkled with joy.
Eventually, POB and I had to go home and HOSOB, SOB and DOB had to go out for a bite.
DOB, at his age, usually goes to very sad shivas. This was an upbeat chriva (although all of us are heartbroken for HOSOB). So, he was probably very pleased with his first chriva experience. Which misses the point, in that way that old people do, but every death makes us grateful for each elder that abides among us.
To my dearest HOSOB, may your father rest in peace and his memory be a blessing for us all. We will always remember him.
~ Blogger
