Funerals aren’t what they used to be

If there is one event that we attended in abundance in 2020, it has been funerals. Larger and more conventional ones early on in the year, Zoom ones as lockdown became a thing, then “by-invitation-only” ones. Then there were the “come if you are close ones”, and then ultimately “I have no idea if I am expected to go” ones.

Like most people, in 2020, I attended them all, with my least favourite being the Zoom ones. Not because I didn’t appreciate not driving out to Westpark, getting a traffic fine en route, or standing in the unbearable heat or bone-chilling cold (it’s always one of the two). But rather because Zoom funerals always seem to lack the X factor that I need to stay engaged.

The result has always been that my name remains present on the screen, but truthfully, I’m nowhere to be seen. It honestly amazed me when my father died, not only did so many people log on to watch the event, they also actually listened to the speeches. It blew me away. I was there and I found it hard to focus (as brilliant as they were), yet people not only joined to show their respects, but actually paid attention.

Jewish funerals in 2020 simply aren’t what they used to be. Gone are the days when we would arrive early just to catch up with long forgotten friends (maybe that was just me). Or where we would gather on the steps of the Ohel to watch the new arrivals greet each other with a well-heeled and well-practiced air kiss.

Gone are the days of hugs and sad smiles, because why bother when no one can see you with your mask on in any event? So much so, that with a hat and sunglasses for the sun and a mask for the corona, attending a funeral in person is much like being on a Zoom call with the camera switched off. Unless you have a distinct figure or limp, no one is even going to know that you were there.

And then there is hand sanitiser. The gusto with which the wonderful “Chev” cemetery workers have embraced this life-saving liquid is truly impressive. They are hand-sanitiser zealots of the best kind. If hand sanitising was an Olympic sport, the Chev personnel would win gold! Either that or they just don’t have the heart or energy to bury one more person than they actually need to.

Men who attended a funeral back in March this year and who acted as pallbearers are no doubt still trying to get rid of the copious volumes of hand sanitiser that they were showered with. And it’s not the normal stuff. It’s the Dove soap of hand sanitiser, not because it leaves your skin silky smooth, but because no matter what you do, you can simply never wash it off.

There are many things that I miss about 2019. Large gatherings with friends and family, loud weddings where we could scream into a friend’s ear without fearing that you were killing them, and anxiety free shopping. I miss those.

But I also miss the funerals of 2019. Not because I wanted to attend them in person, but really and very simply, because I could.