Interfaith, and the stories we tell in eulogies
Just over four weeks ago, my dad died. He had been very unwell for a long time so although it was a shock, it was not such a surprise.
For many Jews, the 30 days following the burial, which typically happens very soon after death, is known as the shloshim (meaning literally thirty), and is a period of reflection, prayer, and remembrance. Typically, in Judaism, an activity or period of time is sanctified, or made distinct, by limiting behaviour, or by nudging an individual to choose a certain behaviour.
For me this has meant trying to say Kaddish (the memorial prayer) as frequently as I can, refraining from listening to music, and generally trying to be as muted as I can be with my choices. As a parent of two small children (one of whom had a birthday during this period) that has not been easy, but it’s what I have tried to do.
As I emerge from the shloshim I have been thinking about what mourning and remembrance might mean in the context of interfaith. We had memorial services for my dad for several nights following the funeral. Obviously in an age of Covid these services, the shiva, was done via zoom. As part of the service, we (my mum, sister and I) shared pictures of dad, as well as eulogies about him.
Approaching my eulogy, I couldn’t help but think of the speaker training methodology which we use at the Faith & Belief Forum. Story telling is so critical to this method of interfaith encounter, and in thinking about what I was going to say in the eulogy, I was conscious about the stories which I wanted to tell about his life.
Though he was a storyteller, dad was a quiet man and would rarely talk about his own life and his experiences. We didn’t struggle for stories to tell, but what was interesting looking back after the shiva was how different the stories which we shared were. To some extent they reflected our recollections of him and the times which we had together. However, they also I think reflected the conversations which we had with him, and the questions we asked and the time we took to find out. These are themes which feel familiar as an interfaith practitioner: the need for space and resources to enable dialogue to take place.
Dad died a few weeks after the end of Passover. People may be familiar with the Seder, the ritual meal which many Jews will attend and participate in for the festival of Passover. There is a well-known section of the Seder called ‘The Four Children’ or ‘The Four Sons’; in the text there is a wise child, a wicked child, a simple child and a child who does not know how to ask. One of the key ideas of the Seder is the telling and retelling of the story of the Exodus, of how the Children of Israel escaped slavery in Egypt. The Haggadah, the text of the Seder, is full of references to the idea that each person at the Seder should imagine as if they themselves were leaving Egypt. In that context ‘The Four Children’ becomes another means of opening up the story and themes to encourage reflection. Through the personalities of each of the Children, a different angle to the story and experience emerges.
There are countless readings and re-interpretations of each of the children, enough to fill many pages of this blog, but for me, thinking about dad, thinking about his death, and writing the eulogy, and my work as an interfaith practitioner, I was drawn back to the fourth child, the one who does not know how to ask. In doing so, I came away with a set of questions about my practice as an interfaith practitioner.
Maybe it’s not enough to train people to tell their stories of faith and belief identity. Afterall, such an approach will attract those who feel they have a story to tell and the confidence with which to tell it. But we all have stories, if we only listen and hear the stories of those who are able to speak, just imagine the stories and experiences which we are all missing out on?
Maybe, interfaith spaces and processes need to go further, maybe what we should be aiming for is to enable people to understand how important their own stories are, and how important it is for us all to listen to one another more attentively. Maybe, as interfaith practitioners what we should be focussing on is how to ask better questions so that we can hear the stories of those, for whatever reason, do not know how to speak their stories themselves.
