Death Envy

In a far-off city on another continent, I provided consultation for some Jewish community organizations. One topic was on guidelines on how to assist grieving persons. We focused in our discussions on the stresses associated with caring for the bereaved and on looking for ways to develop sensitivity towards the emotional pain and spiritual turmoil that can accompany loss. The large group of attendees sought tools for showing supportive attitudes towards others, and to know what to say and what to avoid saying to those who are mourning.

Someone in the group shared an experience. She had gone to visit the parents of a youngster who had been killed in a crash. Unsure of what to say, she remained quiet, observing the pained look of the father and the tears of the mother. Another person took a seat in front of the couple and said, “I envy you!” in a voice that was somewhat cheerful. The grieving couple looked at the lady, unsure of what she meant.

“I envy you!” continued the lady. “You had one son and he got to be a korban, a sacrifice. I have seven children and not one of them has been a korban. It is clear that Hashem loves your son more than mine, so I envy you. Don’t you feel lucky?”

Apparently, this misguided lady went on, providing the couple with scores of reasons why they should view this time as an occasion of joy and elation, savoring the knowledge that their lost child was a favored new member of the heavenly court, a source of eternal parental pride to his family, and a symbol of that special selection. According to my colleague, the parents broke into fresh tears, at which point the visitor chirped, “Tears of joy, right?”

At such moments, we must take a step back and try to avoid being judgmental. We can say that the visitor had no tact, or that she displayed no sensitivity. On the one hand, she might have been very sincere, viewing her words as a sanctified message, truly believing that their loss was a means of propelling them into the spiritual dimension where all things seem positive and good. It is also possible that she was on a very high spiritual plane herself, from which she could only see the potential good in life, including life’s tragedies. Many things are possible.

For the rest of us, what can we take as a lesson from this encounter? During a visit to a shivah house or to the home of an ailing person, what are our motivations when we speak? Are we there to provide comfort and consolation, to change perspectives, to cheer mourners up, to acquaint them with loftier ideals, or to relieve ourselves of needing to say something meaningful when we really do not know what to say?

When visiting a mourner, the goal is to show support and offer dignity and respect to both the deceased and those mourning them. When trying to honor the deceased by speaking in superlative terms that come at the expense of the bereaved (who may not be ready for such abstract theological musings), we fail to show the proper respect and honor to the living. Respect involves meeting them where they are, not attempting to change them or convince them to dismiss their feelings and replace them with the view of someone who is not grieving this loss and whose perspective might not resonate with others.

Moreover, when the visitor implied that she was envious that none of her children were korbanos, her words suggest a lack of honor to her living children. Does she really wish that her children were korbanos? Does she really seek the pride of believing that her children have been specially chosen by Hashem to relocate to Heaven?

Bottom line: When visiting mourners or those who are sick, measure you words carefully and caringly. And if you do not know what to say, seek guidance, or say nothing. In truth, one’s presence alone is comforting enough and saying the “right thing” is of secondary importance. Before leaving, one should always say the Condolence Declaration (HaMakom Yenechemox…): “May Hashem comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.” If it is impossible to visit the mourner in person, one may send this message via phone, fax, email, etc., or via a messenger. 

Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox is a forensic and clinical psychologist, and director of Chai Lifeline Crisis Services. To contact Chai Lifeline’s 24-hour crisis helpline, call 855-3-CRISIS or email [email protected]. Learn more at ChaiLifeline.org/crisis.