Family — Peaceful Return

But they Won't Visit Anyway…

When a loved one passes, we want to maintain a close connection. But it's a mobile world and we change jobs, careers — and cities — more than at any other time in history. Few people live in the same towns that they grew up in so isn't it easier to cremate and take ashes with us wherever we go?

Let us consider the following scenario - say that a couple chooses cremation. They have two children. Either the children divide the ashes up into mini-urns, or they take turns: First year, the brother. Next year the sister. In more than a few cases, no one really wants the remains in their home — it seems creepy, actually — but they feel guilty and acquiesce.

What will they do with the urn, exactly?
Perhaps it will go over the fireplace or on the shelf near the television. Since not everyone is comfortable with remains of the dead in their living room, the urn often eventually gets "exiled" to a storage closet, the basement, or a corner — out of sight and mind.

How long will the kids keep the urn for? Until they switch jobs and move? Until they retire? And then, in ten or twenty years, when they move to a smaller apartment or a retirement community, will their children want the remains? How many urns will reasonably be passed on, generation to generation?

At some point, urns and ashes are likely to be thrown away in the garbage.

Modern mobility does indeed present a challenge. Cemeteries are farther away and harder to visit. But cremation is not the answer. Cremation decreases reverence for the deceased's remains (1). And cremated remains are eventually, in this generation or the next, thrown out, with no marker or possibility of remembrance or visitation at all. There is something within us that recognizes that cremated remains are a hollow shrine. Whatever spirit or special connection exists at a grave, call it soul, spirit or Neshamah, it just isn't felt with ashes. Cremation's complete destruction of all that was the body, even the DNA, severs that connection in totality.

Visiting the burial site of a relative is a beautiful thing. However, even if you don't plan on visiting, why make it impossible for others to do so – now, or in the future? At some point later in life, it may be emotionally significant for a descendant, relative or friend to visit. This has happened in countless families and many people are tracing their roots. Why not leave the possibility open to the future?

In an article by USA TODAY founder, Al Neuharth, titled "Cremation at death? Kids killed it for me", he states: "15 years ago, as I prepared for my "retirement" at age 65, I revised my will and included cremation instructions. My two adult offspring agreed with that decision. Since then, I not only remarried but we have six adopted children, ages 3 to 11. The four oldest and I discuss everything. School. Church. News, Sports. Movies. TV. The Internet. Money. Life. Death.

Our kids generally believe that if you're good, or if God forgives you when you're a little bit bad, your soul goes to heaven when you die. If you do something so bad that God doesn't forgive you, your soul goes to hell. Soul aside, they don't want any of our bodies burned into ashes. They want mine buried in a cemetery so it can "sleep forever." Also, so they can visit it sometimes and bring flowers, like they have to the graves of their "grandparents" (my parents). The kids' reactions have killed the cremation idea for me, at least for now." (USA TODAY, Dec. 6, 02)

Family feelings, especially those of kids, are far more important than any new fashioned approach to the old inevitability of death. Even in cases where grave site visitation will rarely or never occur, burial and grave site visitation are two separate ideas. Consider the case of Moses. At the end of the Bible, God buried him and hid the location of the grave to make sure it would not become the site of idol worship. Though there have never been any visitors there, and though God could have chosen many other methods of disposal of the dead, He chose burial, indicating that it is the right choice even when there will be no visitors. The body is at rest, returned naturally to the place of its origin, and has found a permanent home.

Debbie's Story

When my mother died, a close family friend presented us with a letter from my mother which she had written for us to read when she died. It was a very moving letter. She told us how much she loved us, how proud she was of us, and shared some personal thoughts. She also mentioned that she didn't want to be a burden, and asked to be cremated with her ashes scattered.

My brother Jon wanted to follow her wishes since we don't have much money.

I was shocked at my mother's request and begged my brother not to do it. I pointed out that my mother only chose cremation to save money and to not be a burden. But I wanted a grave to visit on Mother's Day. I didn't want her cremated! It isn't a burden at all to me. She would certainly have abided by my wishes… if only we had discussed it!

I offered to pay for a burial but, armed with our mom's letter, Jon had mom cremated. So not only did I lose my mother… in a sense I also lost my brother – because our relationship has never been the same since.

I have asked myself many times since: "Would Mom have preferred to "burden" me, had she realized my profound sense of loss or the family rift that continues?"

Sam (and Ellen)'s Story

It has been a few years since we decided to cremate our precious daughter, and we both regret it. At the time, understandably, we weren't thinking so clearly. Since she – and we – were so young, we'd never looked into this kind of stuff. We had no experience with planning for a family member's death and funeral. It was just not something people "talked" about. Who would have thought? Ads we had seen made it seem easier to call the cremation company and have them take care of it. It was also cheaper. There was a voice in the back of my mind somewhere telling me not to do it, but I remember pushing it away. But the truth is that it wasn't easier. It was, and is, much harder even to this day. I can't undo what we did. Cremation can't be undone. I wish we had known differently.

Easier isn't always better.

Just "getting it over with" can produce the exact opposite.

Susan's Story

I didn't really care about what would happen to my body when my time came to die. After all, I would quip, I won't be there to know what is happening to "me" anyways! When you're dead – you're dead – so it didn't really matter to me.

My husband Joey's death changed everything. He was cremated according to his wishes. Suddenly, I felt something. I had a very strong feeling that cremation was a terrible mistake. Call me crazy, lonely, whatever. But the truth is that for the first time in my life, I started to think of the spirit. The soul. I've since read a lot, and thought a lot about the subject. There are many practical reasons to choose burial. For me, I just had - and have - this strong feeling in my gut that the soul wants to be buried. It's too late for my husband Joey, but not for me. I know for sure now.

I figure if I am really dead, burial won't matter anyway. If I choose cremation, and my soul is in pain, eternity is a long time to suffer.

Robin's Story

Many years ago, my father’s sister died suddenly. When I asked my father if I could go to the funeral, he said ‘no’ – there wouldn’t be one. Instead, her ashes were scattered in the Pacific Ocean, as she had requested. Like all my relatives, I grew up without much Jewish knowledge. I didn’t know what a Jewish burial was supposed to be, and knew even less about cremation. Yet, somehow, I was unsettled - especially when my father mentioned he might do the same thing. While I couldn’t explain my uneasiness, something just didn't sit right.

Another aunt, my mother's sister, had had a hard life. She suffered as a child and, despite having a wonderful marriage for nearly fifty years, struggled her entire life to raise a special-needs child. Last year, she became ill and confided in me her plans for cremation. My aunt was very sensitive to the environment. While she never researched the subject, I believe she felt (erroneously) that cremation was a better eco-choice than burial. She was cremated and her ashes were strewn across the Californian Redwood forest. To this day, many of her relatives are saddened that we will never be able to "visit" her place of rest.

Around the same time, another relative of mine passed away. My eighty-year old uncle died alone in his trailer. A broken man financially, his final words to his grandsons were to be good boys. While he sensed it wasn't the Jewish way, my uncle knew little of Judaism, and he had indicated to his children that his body should be cremated in order to save money. His children were not happy about the prospect, but followed his wishes and sent the body to the crematorium. When they realized that the process was neither quick nor clean, they felt uneasy. When they were told that the crematorium intended to cut out his hip and pacemaker so as not to damage the cremation equipment, the family was shocked and distraught. None of them wanted to do a cremation. They knew it wasn't the Jewish way, but didn't know what to do. For more than two weeks his body lay in the cold crematorium.

I realized that I needed to get involved. I knew from experience that cremations can leave some families empty, angry and with a lack of closure. I prayed that the cremation shouldn't happen. I sponsored Mishnah study in his merit. I talked with my cousins, and explained the benefits of a Jewish burial. With a little guidance and a little financial help, they decided to give their father a Jewish burial. His body was carefully brought to a Jewish funeral home. A guardian (shomer) was assigned to pray and watch over him until burial. A sense of peace pervaded the family. He was lovingly buried. A month later, a headstone was put in place. Various members of the family go to visit his resting place from time to time. They continuously express to me how happy they are with their decision. He is at peace - and so are they.