
Voices

Excessive flattery – it’s an undying art
It’s unlikely ever to happen. But just once, I would like to attend an honest funeral. One where the rabbi doesn’t articulate what a loving family man the deceased was and instead lets us know that he was a living narcissistic creep who never had a kind word to say to anyone, let alone to his wife and children.
I have heard magnificent eulogies that the deceased themselves wouldn’t have recognised as relatable. And there are others where, if the soul of the dearly departed were present and hovering above the crowd, they might wonder if they were attending the wrong burial.
Just once I would like to shout an objection or at the very least enter a “Community Notes”, as is allowed on social media platform X (formerly Twitter) when a user makes outlandishly and inaccurate statements.
This could be why I have only once been asked to speak at a funeral. And that was because Craig, the deceased’s funeral, took place at a Reform Temple in Staten Island, New York, and his family loved my “British” accent. To be fair to the clergy, having not known him particularly well and seeing him in the open casket beneath the pulpit at which I stood, I, too, kept it pleasant and even remarked how good Craig looked in the shiny blue suit he had last worn 20 years before at his Barmitzvah. He really did.
Barmitzvahs, although more joyous, are equally dishonest. Consider the following, if speeches at these events are to be believed, representation of Jewish soccer players in the first division should be significant. Sporting talent among our 13-year-olds – according to witnesses with a microphone – is impressive, with about 70% of youngsters showing remarkable talent. And yet, the reality is that this doesn’t seem to translate into successful sporting careers. And as it’s unlikely that we’re a community of liars, it must mean that something is going awry somewhere between the ages of 12 and 18. Those years are a deep hole where Jewish sporting talent is lost.
Whereas a funeral speech might need to reflect a lifetime of achievement, Barmitzvah and Batmitzvah addresses don’t. As wonderful as our youth are, anything that they have accomplished by this age belongs to their parents, grandparents, and teachers. They stand without question on the threshold of greatness but to announce that they are one IQ point shy of Einstein, more generous than MrBeast, and more popular than Taylor Swift, is a serious case of premature exaltation.
Which I have heard, leaves everyone disappointed.
Change is never easy. I’m not saying we should air a lifetime of indiscretions at a funeral, but when it comes to coming-of-age celebrations, let’s dial it back. Let’s honour our kids for who they truly are, not who they aren’t. Let’s skip the reminders of all the talents that they lack, and instead focus on celebrating the unique gifts they bring to the world.
Let’s leave hyperbole at the cemetery where it belongs.
