Mishneh Torah, Mourning 4

Hook

In the hushed reverence of a Sephardi levaya (funeral procession), the silence is not empty, but filled with the rhythmic footsteps of generations, each shoulder bearing the sacred weight of a soul returning home, each tear a testament to enduring connection. It is a profound act of communal solidarity, a tangible expression of kavod ha'met – honor for the deceased – that links us directly to the wisdom of our Sages and the vibrant pulse of our traditions. This journey, from the moment of passing to the solemn act of burial, is meticulously guided by centuries of Sephardi and Mizrahi custom, imbued with dignity, humility, and a deep understanding of the human spirit's journey. It is a path walked together, supporting both the departed and those who mourn, echoing the very words of our patriarch Avraham, who "rose up from before his dead" to perform the ultimate act of loving-kindness.

Context

Place

Our journey through these sacred customs spans the vast and diverse geography of the Sephardi and Mizrahi world. From the sun-drenched lands of Sefarad (the Iberian Peninsula) where the Rambam himself flourished, these traditions travelled with our ancestors across the North African Maghreb, through the Ottoman Empire's sprawling reach, into the ancient communities of Persia, Yemen, and the Levant. Each locale, while contributing its unique flavor, maintained the core principles of Jewish law, ensuring a continuous thread of practice across continents and cultures. This rich tapestry of regional expressions, whether in the melodies of kinot (elegies) or the specific nuances of burial societies, speaks to a shared heritage deeply rooted in Halakha and communal solidarity.

Era

The practices we explore today are not static relics but living traditions, forged and refined over millennia. They trace their lineage from the Geonic period in Babylonia, through the Golden Age of Spain, and were meticulously codified and commented upon by towering figures like Maimonides in the 12th century. The subsequent expulsions and migrations only served to solidify these customs, as communities, dispersed yet resolute, carried their legal and spiritual frameworks to new lands. This continuous evolution, guided by rabbinic authorities in Cairo, Fez, Salonica, Aleppo, Baghdad, and beyond, allowed for adaptation while preserving the essential reverence for life and death, ensuring that the mesorah (tradition) remained vibrant and relevant through every epoch.

Community

The Sephardi and Mizrahi communities, while incredibly diverse in their particular customs and linguistic heritage (from Haketia and Ladino to Judeo-Arabic and Judeo-Persian), are united by a profound respect for Jewish law, a deep spiritual connection to the Land of Israel, and a rich cultural heritage. Our approach to death and mourning embodies these shared values: an unwavering commitment to halakha, a communal embrace of those in sorrow, and an emphasis on kavod ha'met – the inherent dignity of every human being, even in death. These practices reflect not just legal obligations, but a heartfelt communal ethos of compassion, humility, and an understanding of the cyclical nature of life, death, and remembrance within the Jewish narrative.

Text Snapshot

Maimonides, in his Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Aveilut (Laws of Mourning), Chapter 4, offers a meticulous guide to these customs, underscoring the values that drive them:

"We close the eyes of the deceased. If one's mouth hangs open, we tie the jaw closed. After washing the corpse, we stuff closed the orifices, anoint it with different fragrances, cut its hair, and dress it in shrouds of white linen which are not expensive. Our Sages followed the custom of using a cloak worth a zuz, so as not to embarrass a person who lacks resources. We cover the faces of the deceased so as not to embarrass the poor whose faces turned black because of hunger. It is forbidden to bury the dead, even a nasi among the Jewish people, in silk shrouds or clothes embroidered with gold, for this is an expression of haughtiness, the destruction of useful property, and the emulation of gentile practices."

"We carry the dead on our shoulders to the cemetery. The pallbearers are forbidden to wear sandals, lest the strap of one of them snap and he hold back the performance of the mitzvah. We dig burial caves in the earth and make hollows at the side of the caves. There we bury the corpse with its face upward; we then place the earth and the stones back in place above it. They may bury it in a wooden coffin. Those who accompany the corpse tell him: 'Go in peace,' as Genesis 15:15 states: 'You will go to your ancestors in peace.'"

Minhag/Melody

The Sanctity of the Levaya and the Dignity of All

The Rambam's words paint a vivid picture of the levaya in Sephardi and Mizrahi communities, a procession marked by profound respect and communal solidarity. Far from being a mere logistical exercise, the handling of the deceased is imbued with deep spiritual significance and an unwavering commitment to kavod ha'met, the honor of the dead. This honor is not reserved for the wealthy or the prominent; it is extended equally to all, a cornerstone of our ethical tradition.

Maimonides explicitly states, "We close the eyes of the deceased... After washing the corpse, we stuff closed the orifices, anoint it with different fragrances, cut its hair, and dress it in shrouds of white linen which are not expensive." The Steinsaltz commentary on these verses reveals the practical wisdom and humane considerations behind these directives. For instance, "stuffing the orifices" (וּפוֹקְקִין נְקָבָיו) is not merely a hygienic measure, but specifically "to prevent air from entering them," which would cause bloating and diminish the deceased's dignity. Similarly, "anointing with different fragrances" (וְסָכִין אוֹתוֹ בְּמִינֵי בְּשָׂמִים) serves "to remove bad odor," ensuring the journey is as respectful as possible. And the instruction to "cut its hair" (וְגוֹזְזִין שְׂעָרוֹ) is qualified by Steinsaltz as applying "if it was too long," indicating that the grooming is about presenting the deceased in a natural and dignified manner, not a ritualistic haircut for its own sake.

Perhaps one of the most poignant and ethically driven customs highlighted by the Rambam, and elucidated by Steinsaltz, is the choice of shrouds and the covering of the face. "Our Sages followed the custom of using a cloak worth a zuz, so as not to embarrass a person who lacks resources. We cover the faces of the deceased so as not to embarrass the poor whose faces turned black because of hunger." Steinsaltz explains the historical context: "For initially, they would expose the faces of the wealthy and cover the faces of the poor because they blackened from hunger. And the living poor would be embarrassed that they were being buried differently. Therefore, they instituted that the face of the deceased should always be covered." This is a powerful testament to the Sephardi ethos of social justice and humility, ensuring that no one, even in death, is shamed by their socio-economic status. All are equal before their Creator, and our customs reflect this profound truth.

Carrying on Shoulders: A Mitzvah, Not Just a Custom

The Rambam's directive, "We carry the dead on our shoulders to the cemetery," is more than a descriptive statement; it encapsulates a deep halakhic and spiritual commitment in Sephardi thought. While the Kessef Mishneh (Rabbi Yosef Karo's commentary on the Rambam) initially suggests this might be merely "the common practice," the Tziunei Maharan commentary strongly refutes this, arguing that such a casual interpretation contradicts Maimonides' precise and divinely inspired method of codification.

The Tziunei Maharan brings the view of the Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman) from Drashot Mahar'i Ibn Shu'aib, who derives from the verse "and his sons carried him" (Genesis 50:13, referring to Jacob's burial) that carrying the deceased on one's shoulders is a fundamental requirement, not just a custom. The Ramban further suggests that carrying by animals is, in fact, a form of punishment or indignity, citing examples from 2 Kings 14 and 2 Chronicles 25, where King Amaziah, who turned away from God, was carried on horses after his assassination.

This interpretation elevates the act of carrying the deceased on shoulders from a mere logistical choice to a profound mitzvah – an act of honor and deep respect, a direct personal involvement that connects the living with the departed. In Sephardi and Mizrahi communities, this tradition remains vibrant. The levaya is a solemn procession where community members, often rotating, physically bear the coffin, feeling the tangible weight of their responsibility and love. This direct human connection emphasizes the preciousness of each soul and the communal responsibility to accompany it on its final earthly journey. The pallbearers, forbidden from wearing sandals "lest the strap of one of them snap and he hold back the performance of the mitzvah," further highlights the seriousness and uninterrupted flow of this sacred act.

The Melody of Mourning: Communal Psalms

While specific piyutim (liturgical poems) for funerals are less common than for other life cycle events, the "melody" of Sephardi/Mizrahi mourning is found in the communal recitation of Tehillim (Psalms). During the levaya, at the graveside, and throughout the shiva (seven-day mourning period), the resonant chanting of Psalms offers solace, expresses grief, and connects the mourners to the enduring words of King David. Chapters like Psalm 23 ("The Lord is my shepherd...") or Psalm 90 ("Lord, You have been our dwelling place in all generations...") are often recited, their ancient Hebrew words forming a profound spiritual blanket. This collective voice, often accompanied by traditional Sephardi melodies that vary by community (Moroccan, Syrian, Iraqi, Yemenite, etc.), creates an atmosphere of shared faith and quiet strength, reaffirming the belief in God's presence even in sorrow. The recitation of El Male Rachamim (God Full of Compassion) with its distinctive Sephardi melodic lines, and the chanting of Kaddish by the mourners, are also integral to this auditory landscape of remembrance and prayer.

Contrast

Tefillin During Shiva: A Nuance in Mourning Practices

One distinct, respectful difference between Sephardi and Ashkenazi mourning practices, as illuminated by the Rambam's text, pertains to the wearing of tefillin during the initial days of shiva. The Rambam states: "On the first day alone, it is forbidden for a mourner to put on tefillin. During the remainder of the days of mourning, he may eat his own food, sit on a mat or on the ground, and put on tefillin." This clearly indicates that in Sephardi practice, after the first day of mourning, a man is permitted, and indeed expected, to resume wearing tefillin.

In contrast, a prevalent Ashkenazi custom is for mourners not to wear tefillin for the entire first day, and often until after the shacharit (morning) prayers on the second day. Some Ashkenazi traditions may even extend this non-wearing of tefillin for the entire seven days of shiva, particularly if the mourner is not leaving the shiva house. The rationale behind the Ashkenazi custom is often tied to the idea that tefillin, representing "glory" and "beauty," are incompatible with the state of intense grief and humiliation associated with the initial days of mourning. A mourner is considered patur (exempt) from positive time-bound commandments during the initial period, and some extend this bitul (nullification) to tefillin for longer.

The Sephardi approach, as codified by the Rambam, reflects a different nuance. While the intense grief of the first day (יום המיתה) indeed exempts the mourner from tefillin, from the second day onward, the obligation to perform mitzvot is largely reinstated. This highlights a Sephardi emphasis on returning to the regular performance of mitzvot as soon as the initial, most acute period of grief has passed, integrating the mourning process within the ongoing framework of Jewish observance. Both customs, however, are rooted in deeply held respect for Halakha and the human experience of loss, reflecting different interpretations of how best to balance the demands of mourning with the continuity of religious life.

Home Practice

The Enduring Glow of a Ner Neshama

A beautiful and accessible Sephardi and Mizrahi home practice, deeply connected to the themes of remembrance and the soul's journey, is the lighting of a Ner Neshama (soul candle) or vela de alma. This tradition, often observed on the yahrtzeit (anniversary of passing), during the shiva week, and on other solemn occasions like Yom Kippur, provides a tangible link to the departed.

To adopt this practice, simply procure a long-burning candle (often available as a yahrtzeit candle). On the yahrtzeit of a loved one, or during the shiva period, light the candle in a quiet corner of your home. As the flame flickers, take a moment for silent reflection. You might recall fond memories of the deceased, contemplate their legacy, or offer a personal prayer.

A simple yet profound addition is to recite a passage from Tehillim (Psalms). A common choice is Psalm 23 ("Mizmor L'David HaShem Ro'i lo echsar... - The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."), which speaks of comfort and divine guidance. Another meaningful verse from the Sephardi tradition is often recited during memorial prayers: "T’hi nishmato/nishmatah tzrurah bitzror ha-chayim" ("May his/her soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life").

The Ner Neshama is more than just a light; it symbolizes the eternal flame of the soul, the continuity of memory, and the enduring connection between worlds. It creates a sacred space in your home, allowing you to honor those who came before you with quiet dignity and heartfelt remembrance, bridging generations through light and prayer.

Takeaway

The Sephardi and Mizrahi approach to death and mourning, as codified by Maimonides, is a profound testament to dignity, communal responsibility, and unwavering faith. It teaches us that honoring the deceased, through meticulous care, humble shrouds, and the physical act of carrying, is not merely a custom but a sacred obligation. It is a tradition that unites us across time and space, reminding us that every soul is precious, every life worthy of respect, and every journey – even the final one – is walked with the loving support of community and the eternal light of Torah. It is a celebration of life's sacred cycle, embraced with profound reverence and enduring hope.