Finding Solace
Jewish mourning rituals
offer comfort and
reconnection to those
who've lost loved ones.
DEBRA B. DARVICK
Special to the SourceBook
hen the green-eyed monster of sibling
rivalry perched on Fred Safran's childhood
shoulders, it wasn't born of competing
against sister Sharon or brothers Ken or Jim
for their father's attention. Safran's rival was
the synagogue. It was the many committees
that called away Fred's father, Hy, from the
family.
"The only time I knew my father
would be home was Friday night,"
recalled Safran, 57. "Everything stopped.
No telephone. No interruptions. The
family was together. I loved it. I thought
to myself, 'When I grow up, I want to
be a father. I'm not going to give my
time to different charities.'
"My father was a very giving person
to the community. He was president of
Shaarey Zedek, president of Federation.
I was proud of him and at the
same time, I was alone. I resented
the time his volunteer work took
from [our family].
Safran said he grew to resent the
synagogue, Jewish organizations
and even Israel" because he felt
they were taking his dad away.
"My father and I still had a good
relationship," Safran said. "I don't
think he understood why I didn't
want to follow in his footsteps and
devote myself to Jewish communi-
ty, but we still got along. My
choices didn't interfere with our relation-
ship."
But fate works in strange ways. The
very thing that young Fred Safran
resented as a child returned to give com-
fort to him at a time of great need in
adulthood.
"When my father died (in 1982),"
Safran said, "I remember thinking dur-
ing the week of shiva [when visitors
bring comfort and share prayer at the
CC
Fred Safran found
comfort in the
Jewish mourning
process.
22 •
sourcebook 2000 • in
home of mourners], what a great thing it
was for family. [Shiva] is a terrific way of
remembering someone and at the time I
thought, 'Boy! Dad would have loved to
be here. All of his friends and family
were there. How many times can you
get together with your favorite people?
"Then I found out about the 11
months ritual of going to synagogue
every day to say Kaddish [prayer for the
dead]. I thought, 'Dad, I love you dear-
ly, but it's not gonna happen.
But happen it did. During their child-
hood, Fred easily assumed the role of big
brother, filling in for his father in games
of backyard baseball and pick-up basket-
ball games. When their father died at
age 69, the tables turned — and it was
Fred's younger brothers who led the way.
MAKING THE COMMITMENT
"I knew my brothers were going to say
Kaddish for my father," recalled Fred,
who was then 39. "I didn't want to be
obvious by my absence, so I thought, 'I
can handle this; I'll start going, too.'
"I thought [getting there every day]
was going to be difficult, but I got into
the routine very quickly. You get up. You
shower. You shave, and you go to shul.
By the end of shloshim [the 30 days fol-
lowing burial], going to say Kaddish was
comfortable. It was easy, no chore at all.
`Fun' isn't the right word to use, but it
felt good to be able to go each day.
Safran repeated the 11-month mourn-
ing ritual when his mother, Leah, died
in 1993. He and brother Jim happened
to be in Israel on a mission on their last
day of mourning. They were able to
attend minyan (the 10-member prayer
quorum) at the Western Wall in
Jerusalem.
While mourning his father, Fred
"