CLOSE-UP

At Ira Kaufman Chapel,
death is recognized
as a part
of life.

THE

Jou

22

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1991

•■•■■•■

- ELIZABETH APPLEBAUM

Assistant Editor

II) avid rIbchner's
day begins at 4
a.m. with a
suicide.
Her name
was Sarah. She was 46.
"Please come now," the
husband said when he called
Mr. Techner. He had just
found Sarah, shot through
the head. Mr. Techner went
to the family home to com-
fort the husband and ar-
range for a cleanup crew.
Later that morning he ar-
rives at the office. He's wear-
ing a sleek leather jacket
and carries a large cup of
coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.
He's exhausted, but ready
for work.
His first job, at 8:45 a.m.,
is to call the coroner. An au-
topsy is required because
Sarah's death was violent.
Mr. Techner asks that the
body undergo the least
amount of mutilation possi-
ble; autopsies are not per-
mitted under Halachah,
Jewish law.
He also asks the coroner,
"Is the body viewable?" The
family might want to see it
— the vision of what appears
to be a sleeping loved one a
preferable last sight to a
body covered with blood and
a bullet through the brain.
No one wants to come here,
but everyone does: The rich,
the poor, the young and old.
Orthodox, Conservative,
Reform. Men who lead easy
lives and men who struggled
all their days. Babies with
blond curls and old
alcoholics. Beautiful women
and young men who died of
AIDS. Death embraces them
all.
By 9 a.m., the calls are
coming and going nonstop at
Ira Kaufman Chapel in
Southfield. Deaths are like
that — demanding. Mr.
Techner phones the family
rabbi to set a funeral time
for the next day; he has a
direct line to many rabbis'
offices. He speaks to Sarah's
sister-in-law to arrange
Cheaper airline tickets for
relatives coming in from out
of state. They're called
"bereavement fares" and
can cut several hundred
dollars off the price of a
ticket. Proof of death is re-
quired.
Because this is a suicide,
Mr. Techner is especially
kind when he speaks to the
family. Part friend, part psy-
chologist, he warns them not
to try and mask the suicide,
a natural inclination for
most families. He tells the
sister-in-law, "The more you
try to hide it, the more digg-
ing they do. I've never seen a
suicide covered up. It's in-
conceivable. People won't
accept it if you say 'he just
died.' " He pauses, then
adds, "There's no shame
here; Sarah was sick."

Next, Mr. Techner must
ascertain the correct spell-
ing of family members'
names. Because his wife
committed suicide, which is
unacceptable under
Halachah, the husband is
concerned that burial in the
family plot may not be
allowed. But the Conser-
vative rabbi says it is not an
issue. Next question: where
will the deceased be buried,
beside her father or mother?
Those are the easy issues.
When the family comes in
later in the day, they must
face a barrage of much more
difficult decisions: which
coffin to buy, what — if
anything — to bury with the
corpse, who will identify the
body before it is taken to the
cemetery.
Sarah was short with dark
hair and eyes. She had a
long history of depression;
suicide ran in the family.
She collected art and was an
outspoken Democrat. She
was generous, private. She
was afraid of heights and
had a good sense of humor.
She was close to her three
children — a daughter and
two sons. She leaves them a
legacy of pain, anger and
uneasy questions. They
cannot understand why
their mother took her life.
As in Sarah's case, Mr.
Techner, a member of Tem-
ple Israel, often goes to the
residence of the bereaved
family.
"Home is where they're
most comfortable," he ex-
plains. "The funeral home is
enemy territory. Nobody
wants to be here."
Next year and on every
anniversary of her death,
Kaufman Chapel will send
the family notice of Sarah's
yahrtzeit. It is a service pro-
vided for all families with
whom Kaufman works.
"We're still sending
notices from 1941," when
the funeral home opened,
Mr. Techner says. "As long
as we know where you are
and that you want to receive
it, we'll send it to you."
Kaufman mails some
44,000 yahrtzeit notices
every year.
By 10 a.m., yesterday's
crisis is resolved. The body of
an elderly woman had been
missing. The senior citizen's
home where she had lived
said the last time they saw
Mrs. Green was when she
was taken to the hospital.
The hospital said they didn't
have her. At last, the corpse
has been found in the
hospital's morgue. Now it's
time to retrieve her.
Tony Martin and Edward
Bruinsma, both licensed
morticians, go to pick up the
body. Their first stop is ad-
mitting, where they receive
a pink slip giving them per-
mission to take the corpse.

