As he listens, he sorts
through his mail, tossing out
several catalogs. Then fu-
neral home workers tell Mr.
Techner the hospital where
Mrs. Green died is on the
line: the hospital wants $40
or the body bag in which she
was taken to the chapel.
"Pay the $40," Mr.
Techner says.
Next, he meets with the
family of Sarah, the suicide.
Sarah's children and hus-
band gather in the small
room of tissues and thank-
you cards.
At the same time, morti-
cians Tony Martin and Ed-
ward Bruinsma are in the
back of the chapel. Theirs is
the unenviable task of
preparing the corpses. This
is not part of tahara, but
typical practice at any fu-
neral home.
At 2:45 p.m., the men are
working on Mr. Z.
First, they fix the eyes.
The lids are peeled back and
a plastic cap, about the size
of a quarter but curved, is
placed on top of the eyeballs.
The flesh-colored cap has
small ridges to hold the lid
closed.
Next, a few stitches are
sewn in the mouth, to keep it
from popping open.
About 95 percent of the
families request burials in
accordance with Jewish law.
This means the minimal
amount of handling the
body, usually just gentle
washing and care by mem-
bers of the Chevrah
Kadisha, the volunteer
burial society.
Some Jews do opt for em-
balming, a service Kaufman
Chapel offers but does not
advocate. In fact, visitors are
told repeatedly that em-
balming is not in accordance
with Halachah.
When families do choose
embalming, funeral home
workers must sign detailed
sheets saying they made
clear that the process is con-
trary to Jewish law.
The embalming process
begins on a metal gurney in
the preparation room.
First, a cut — often in the
jugular vein — is made in
the corpse. The blood is
pumped out through a large
rubber tube and drained into
the sewer. It is replaced with
an embalming solution con-
sisting for the most part of
formaldehyde.
The purpose of the solution
is threefold: to preserve the
body, for sanitary reasons
(dead bodies begin rotting
immediately) and because
it's aesthetic. Embalming
can make a corpse look
almost as though it is some-
one asleep.
There's more to the
cosmetic process than for-
maldehyde. Almost all
corpses at Kaufman also are

treated with a lanolin spray
and makeup, to counter the
ashy color skin takes on
after death.
Special cosmetics are
available for funeral homes.
They come as powders in
large, antique-looking jars
and smell something like the
paint used by elementary
school students. Tony Mar-
tin, who has been in the
business for 30 years, prefers
popular name-brand
makeup available at any
drugstore. "It gives them the
natural look," he said.
The cosmetics are contain-
ed in a wooden box in the
white preparation room.
There are lipsticks in every
shade, eye pencils, blush. In
cabinets above are wax, both
a lemon-scented version and
a hard, pink wax — used to
form makeshift ears or build
up mouths destroyed in ac-
cidents.
And for the hair: curlers,
tint or dye. Each corpse is
brought in for a wash before
the burial.
Just about anybody can be
made presentable. Mr.
Bruinsma and Mr. Martin

Members of Blue
Oyster Cult came to a
funeral and sang a
song for the deceased.
The hard-rock group
KISS, notorious for
their dramatic
makeup, came in
business suits and
without the face paint.
An Orthodox rabbi
presided.

say they can handle every-
thing from bullet holes to
plane crash victims. About
the only thing they can't
work with are bodies burned
beyond recognition.
Some might call the whole
process gruesome, but Mr.
Bruinsma and Mr. Martin
find nothing ghoulish about
working with the dead. They
speak openly about their
profession, discussing all
aspects of burial preparation
in a businesslike manner.
Mr. Martin originally
wanted to be a doctor. In-
stead, he went to mortuary
school. After he survived
that first day of class, "when
we took a body apart muscle
by muscle," he knew he
could handle anything.
Mr. Bruinsma started out
washing ambulances for a
quarter each. Married with
five children, he's been with
Kaufman for six years.
"Every time we get kids

through here it tears me
apart," he says.
Of the bodies on which
they work, Mr. Bruinsma
says, "they're like the house
where you were raised.
Nothing is there for you, but
you have many memories."
"Just because they're not
alive doesn't mean they
shouldn't be treated with
respect," Mr. Martin said. "I
work with them the way I
would want someone to do
my mother and father."
One of the questions fu-
neral home workers are
most frequently asked is,
"How do you know the per-
son is really dead?"
"It's pretty obvious," Mr.
Bruinsma says. "The skin
color changes. The eyes are
lifeless!'
Children have hundreds of
such questions, and Mr.
Techner hears them all. He
often gives children tours of
the funeral home and meets
with younger members of
grieving families. He has
appeared on the Joan Rivers,
Geraldo Rivera and other
television talk shows, discuss-
ing his belief that parents
should be honest with their
children when talking about
death and dying.
Today at 3:30 p.m. Mr.
Techner is meeting with four
children, all relatives of the
early morning suicide.
Sarah's sister is also there.
First, Mr. Techner speaks
with them about what it
means to be dead. He ex-
plains: death is irreversible;
it is permanent and the body
stops working.
The memorial service, he
tells the children, "is almost
like a service at your temple.
But instead of being
dedicated to Shabbat, it's for
Sarah. It will be the story of
her life."
Mr. Techner explains why
Sarah will be buried in a
plain, white shroud. It used
to be that Jews were in-
terred in the clothes of
their choice. Some wealthier
men opted to be buried in
ornate gowns. Then first
century C.E. Rabbi Gamliel
asked, "Why does it matter
how rich or poor you are?
Everybody should be buried
the same."
Next, the tour begins. The
family follows Mr. Techner
around the funeral home. He
shows them the caskets, in-
cluding the kind in which
Sarah will be buried, and
lets them touch a shroud. He
takes them to the chapel
where the memorial service
will be held and introduces
them to the shomer, the
guardian who is with the
corpse at all times.
They pass the hearse. For
Sarah's sister, this is the
hardest part.
"We have a tendency to
exclude kids (from funer-

ast
JOURNEY

THE

One of those who
died in Flight 255
was a little boy,
traveling with the
mother who had
recently adopted
him. Kaufman
handled the
funeral. The father
could not bear the
agony, telling Mr.
Techner, "If we
hadn't adopted
him, our boy
would still be
alive."

THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS

25

