The Cost of Prayers at a Jewish Funeral

As the oldest surviving male relative, my father bore the duty of burying his Uncle Koppel. Koppel had survived three years in Nazi concentration camps and the misery of post-war Vienna. He came to America and found success as a dentist. He never married, had no children and lived with his sister, also a survivor. In his 90s, after years of ill health, Koppel finally succumbed.

My father made funeral arrangements with Koppel’s neighbor, a Hasidic rabbi. The rabbi assigned a Shomer, a “watchman,” to stay with the body until burial. Koppel had paid for a plot and a casket so the major details were handled.

On the day of the funeral, my father, myself and his Aunt Gusti (Koppel’s sister) drove to an Orthodox Jewish cemetery in East Los Angeles. The site had been around since the 1800s and the headstones were carved with Hebrew letters and gilded Star of David symbols. The asphalt roads were crumbling and graffiti covered the surrounding walls.

We walked to the grave site where a large mound of dirt was piled beside an open hole. We watched as two cemetery workers wheeled over a pine wood coffin. The coffin was thin and small without paint or adornment. The workers lifted the coffin onto steel girders atop the grave.

A white van appeared on the battered road and parked twenty feet away. The van door…