
Excerpt from Pain is a Reality, Suffering is a Choice
Rabbi Dr. Reuven P. Bulka writes:
As sensitive and caring people, we try to do the right thing. Sometimes, however, trying to do the right thing but not succeeding can do more harm than good. Such is the case with comforting the bereaved. One of the worst things that consolers can do is to resort to clichés, which are not only worn out, but downright silly.
One cliché making the rounds is, “He or she is in a better place.” How can anyone know such a thing? This statement is not helpful to the mourner. What we do know is that this world is a good place — for it is a place to do good. Death, therefore, is a tragedy.
Yet another no-no is to suggest, usually following the death of a person who has lived well into their eighties or nineties, “At least he or she lived a full life.” No matter how well intended these words are, they are a cruel invasion of the mourner’s emotions. They trivialize the mourning and make whoever is in despair feel as if they are grieving unnecessarily. This disconnects the mourner from the consoler, when the purpose of offering comfort is primarily to connect.
Many people who have gone through mourning for parents have complained to me about receiving this comment. They claim that such rationalizing is demeaning and undermines their feelings. They believe that the experience of many years together with parents makes separation after death more difficult, rather than less so.
A couple was grieving the loss of a six-month-old daughter. A well-meaning “sage” came by and offered, “She died as a perfect soul, never having had the chance to sin.” He meant well, and, truthfully, many people in similar circumstances might be comforted by this remark. But these parents were, in fact, very upset by the comment. It is true that the young girl had had no opportunity to sin, but she’d also had no opportunity to do good, and that was the unaddressed, even ignored, lament of the grieving family.
The problem — and the challenge — is that it takes more than good intentions to be an effective consoler. And presumptuous comments about the good side of a terrible tragedy are tricky at best, highly damaging at worst.
Without getting too deep into more examples, we can add to the collection of no-no’s such phrases as:
• “I know how you feel.”
• “Life goes on.”
• “You will heal.”
• “Count your blessings.”
• “You have other children.”
• “Your grief will pass.”
• “You have your whole life ahead of you.”
All these expressions trivialize the mourning, rather than appreciating the gravity of the grief.
Condolence visits challenge us to be exceedingly sensitive and careful with our lips. Once the words come out, they cannot be recalled. It is nice when the mourners themselves are understanding and appreciate our good intentions, but we should not rely on this.
You may ask, “If everything I say is potentially no good, what should I say?” Great question.
And the answer is: say nothing! Say nothing? Is it not the obligation of the comforter to offer words of comfort? The answer, surprising as it may sound, is no. It is not the obligation of the consoler to offer words of comfort. The consoler’s obligation is to comfort, plain and simple.
How can one comfort without saying anything? Comfort is achieved simply by being there with the mourner, even in silence. Everyone would agree that coming and saying nothing is preferable to coming and saying something silly or unwelcome. Of course, the best result is attained by coming and sharing wise thoughts and reflections.
But how can one know what is appropriate when every mourner thinks differently? The answer is: through silence, and through coming with lips sealed and ears wide open. That is the Jewish protocol, an often-ignored protocol, for mourning visitation. Go there, sit, and listen. The mourner will start talking, and you will know where the mourner is. You can then respond. This is the safe, sensitive, and sensible way to be a comforter.
Affirming the mourner, and the mourning, is critical. Acknowledging the difficulty in finding the right words is a comforting gesture. Wanting to learn more about the deceased, when appropriate, is also welcome when one senses the mourner would like this.
One of the most effective sources of comfort is saying nice things about the deceased and about the mourner. Stories about the deceased, especially ones of which the bereaved was not aware, are a great source of comfort, often bringing a smile to the face of the mourner. Saying kind things to the mourner can also be quite comforting, such as expressing admiration for love shared or care given.
Always remember that no matter how awkward you may feel when visiting a mourner, it’s not about you. It’s about the mourner. What will make the mourner feel better (as opposed to yourself)? What will bring a smile to her face? The answer may be hard to come up with, or you may have many answers. The more effort you put into answering this question, the more likely it is that you will really fulfill the religious and social obligation of comforting the mourner. And the more likely, then, that the mourner will be helped along on his way from grief to gratitude — gratitude for the life of his loved one.
“The Art of Comforting Mourners: What to Say When There Is Nothing to Say,” by Rabbi Dr. Reuven P. Bulka, author of Turning Grief into Gratitude, www.aish.com.
Rabbi Baruch Lederman points out:
People are often afraid to visit someone who is sitting shivah because they don’t know what to say. “What can I possibly say to help this person who just suffered this devastating loss?”
I am here to tell you that it [almost] doesn’t matter what you say … We found that when a person came to visit us, we could feel comfort right away just by seeing the expression on their face, or hearing the tone in their voice.
A friend of mine was in Milwaukee at the time of the shivah. He called me on the phone and gave me enormous comfort and consolation. I ran to tell my wife about the amazing things he told me in that conversation and then realized he hadn’t said much at all — but the emotion he had was so powerful that I felt it all the way to New York. It was one of the most uplifting phone calls I ever received, yet I couldn’t even tell you what he said; I could only feel it.
I learned from this experience that it doesn’t matter what you say, and it doesn’t matter that you can’t possibly understand what the mourner is going through, so don’t worry about that … It made my wife and I feel good knowing that other people cared about our son, even though most people didn’t know our son at all (he was only three months old).
Some people said all the right things, yet it didn’t have much of an effect on us. Some people said all the wrong things, yet it made us feel better. At the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was the emotion each person exuded. I guess this is what “Devarim ha’yotzim min ha’lev nichnasim el ha’lev — Words that come from the heart enter the heart” means.
Rav Dovid Feinstein visited us during shivah. As he was leaving, he said, “Im yirtzeh Hashem (God willing) you should have more children.” Any “expert” will tell you that you should never say something like this to someone who lost a child. They will tell you the suggestion that another child will make things better minimizes the loss of the deceased child.
Granted, the experts do have a point; nonetheless, when Rav Feinstein said it, you could see the tears in his eyes as he spoke these words. You could feel the tender love and benevolence that accompanied these words. We knew what he truly meant. The way he said these words made them the most wonderful words in the world to us.
Rabbi Baruch Lederman, “The Notebook,” vol. II.
Advice For a Shivah Visit, As Discussed in a Letter to Yated Ne’eman
Visitors should not overstay their time. Occasionally, people sit for an hour, or even longer. This not only makes it uncomfortable for the aveilim (mourners), but it prevents those who are coming in afterward from speaking with the aveilim. Sometimes, visitors are stuck three or four rows from the aveilim and do not get to speak to them for even a minute or two because earlier visitors are still sitting — after forty-five, fifty, or even sixty minutes — right in front of the aveilim.
Oftentimes, one need not stay more than ten or fifteen minutes. Of course, the length of one’s visit is greatly dependent on one’s relationship with the niftar and the aveilim. That is obvious. But in all cases, seichel (common sense) must be used, and people should try to be understanding to others in this regard. Try to gauge what an appropriate length of time is, and try not to stay longer than that.
Anonymous letter to the editor of Yated Ne’eman on “Being Menachem Avel.”
Practical Guidelines
The booklet Comforting the Mourner, from A Practical Guide to Rabbinic Counseling, also gives guidelines with this:
It is important to respect the mourner’s wish for silence. This is the reason why consolers traditionally need to wait for the mourner to speak first, thereby allowing him or her to set the agenda for their shivah call … Silence gives mourners the space to reflect, feel what they need to feel, and collect themselves. Sometimes silence speaks volumes. Just being with the mourner sans speaking banalities and trivialities is exactly the support the mourner needs.
There is a counselling approach called active listening. Communication comes in all forms, including speech, emotional response, and body language. For example, it is important to maintain good eye contact. It conveys to the mourner that you are not uncomfortable dealing with death and listening to the mourner’s unvarnished feelings. Empathy can often be conveyed with a calm presence, eye contact, attentiveness, and a display of genuine interest. These are very effective in establishing a connection with the mourner, and are also central components for consoling the bereaved.
Reflecting back is a way of letting the mourner know that you understand correctly what has been said, and that you are listening with interest. The mourner may tend to contradict or even repeat himself because he is in the process of working through difficult emotions. When you reflect back, you make it permissible for the mourner to revisit and clarify his thoughts and feelings once again. It is a way of showing respect for the process of grieving and consoling. Paraphrasing a mourner’s most important comments lends them importance while checking them for accuracy.
It is important to ask questions rather than toss out stock answers. Mourners do not want to hear theological insights, justifications, apologetics, comparative war stories, or even your personal approach on how to make peace with tragedy. Empathy and understanding are called for — active listening and mirrored feelings, not long discourses on why bad things happen to good people.
There are also things that should not be said because they show insensitivity and a lack of empathy. Don’t say, for example, “It could have been worse,” “You need to get on with your life,” “You’ll have other children,” “Don’t take it so hard,” or “Other people have lost their beloved.”
Narrative is the quintessential agenda of all consolation strategies. This means that mourners should be encouraged to speak of their loss. Perhaps the most helpful words of consolation are, “Tell me what she was like.” The mourner’s repeating of this narrative, sometimes with a new twist or emphasis (depending on the listeners and the person’s own new insights) brings him closer to closure. By the end of a successful shivah, the mourner has packaged a cogent story, with a beginning and an end and a logical progression of events, to store in his mind for safekeeping. Slowly it dawns on him that he now understands what happened and he can place it in its proper proportion. He is, of course, still bereaved.
“Comforting the Mourner,” from A Practical Guide to Rabbinic Counseling, Rabbi Maurice Lamm and Dodi Lee Lamm, MSW, eds. Rabbi Yisrael N. Levitz and Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski, published by feldheim.com, Innernet Magazine, www.innernet.org.il.






