The funeral supplement

It’s time to revise the infamously purple Jewish guide to death and mourning. It needs a supplement for those who understand the traditions but remain unsure what to do with an umbrella. 

We could begin with getting to the cemetery. There are two types of Johannesburg Jews: Greenside people and highway people. Both are convinced the other route is ridiculous. “I always go through Greenside” carries the confidence of someone who was an early investor in Microsoft. 

Then comes the call, “Can another four gentlemen come forward to act as pallbearers?” Calculations must be completed in nanoseconds. How far am I from the coffin? How many men are moving? Will there still be a free handle when I get there? Is that man approaching it or merely on his way to a grave inspection? 

Nobody wants to stride forward only to discover all the handles are taken. You cannot pretend you were just passing by. Suddenly, you’re back in Grade 3, being picked second-last for the soccer team. The shame is almost too much to bear. Especially when the mourners glance up and through their own pain, nod empathetically. 

Secure a handle and you must walk in step with men who apparently haven’t walked before. A sergeant major would despair. You don’t want to be the one to trip, and so you concentrate on everyone’s feet while trying to look like someone who can be trusted with this responsibility. All while hoping the phone in your top pocket doesn’t choose this moment to remind you that your ringtone is Stayin’ Alive. 

At the graveside comes the familiar “Will the gentlemen…”, and we take turns placing three shovelfuls of earth into the grave before returning the shovel to the ground for the next gentleman. Some men struggle with the quantity. Three modest scoops feel inadequate. They aren’t bare-minimum people. They’ve never done half a job and aren’t starting now. 

Then there are those whose years of training appears to have been leading to this moment. It isn’t Hyrox. Strava probably has no grave-filling category. But for a Discovery member, a point is a point. 

Umbrellas require guidance. How many people must you accommodate? Once someone shelters beneath yours, may you move? And are the obligations different for rain and sun? 

Sandy shoes create difficulties. You want to clean them or empty them, but hopping beside your car feels insufficiently solemn. 

The anxiety doesn’t fully dissipate when safely back in the car. I seriously never can decide, when driving out, when it is respectable to turn the radio back on? The parking area? The gate? Does talk radio qualify sooner than music? I work in radio and would appreciate a ruling. 

But the most urgent chapter concerns the walk back from the grave. 

Fall into step with a random someone and you’ve entered an arrangement with no termination clause. How long must you remain together? Can you accelerate? What if they accelerate too? I have escaped many an unintended post-grave liaison with the excuse that I have a grave to visit nearby, only to find myself standing at the tombstone of a stranger who died in 1982 leaving behind a loving and heartbroken family. 

I couldn’t leave immediately. My former walking companion might look back. 

The supplement needs to cover this too. How long must you spend with a man you never knew, only to avoid another five minutes with one you actually do?