‘Cared for, for Eternal Life’: Jewish Burial in the Age of COVID-19

Rabbi Yakov Kellner is lowered into a grave by fellow volunteers to make adjustments. The deceased was a male COVID-19 victim who died a month prior in New York and was found unclaimed in a temporary refrigerated truck morgue. Photo: Mark Abramson

Dignity for the dead for members of the Jewish community is something Chesed Shel Emes, a grassroots network of volunteers, has worked toward since the 1980s. No matter the obstacle, they never say “no” to any Jewish person in need of burial. “If you’re a member of AAA, they will come get you. If you’re a member of the Jewish community, even if you’re not an active member, we will come get you,” said Benjy Spiro, a volunteer of ten years.

Their work focuses primarily on the forgotten and the anonymous. With contacts in the death bureaucracy of New York and the surrounding areas, Chesed Shel Emes identifies Jews bound for potter’s fields and claims them instead for their cemetery in upstate New York. The group is often on scene after suicides or accidents and at hospitals for patients who have just died. Chesed Shel Emes operates through WhatsApp and with a Ford pickup converted into a hearse.

As COVID-19 hit New York last spring, the virus claimed the lives of hundreds of Orthodox Jews. Families feared their loved ones would be cremated instead of buried. They read false social-media messages warning that their deceased relatives might not get proper Taharas, or ceremonial baths. They dreaded the possibility that their parent or sibling would be left indefinitely in a temporary morgue truck.

The pandemic presented Chesed Shel Emes with unprecedented challenges, but the group continued its work. Unable to socially distance while carrying a coffin, volunteers knew they were taking a risk to bury those they would never know.

“Why did God kill the woman in apartment 1A but not apartment 1B? We don’t know,” said Benjy Spiro. “Only God knows the bigger picture.”

Chesed Shel Emes volunteers bury a female victim of COVID-19 in their cemetery in Woodridge, New York, after discovering that the deceased lay unclaimed for three months in temporary morgue in New York City. Photo: Mark Abramson

Volunteers stop and pray for a female victim of COVID-19 as they walk her coffin to its final resting place at the Woodridge cemetery. Due to Orthodox modesty laws, deceased women can only be tended to by other women. At the start of the pandemic, Chesed Shel Emes decided volunteers over 60 must retreat from their duties. That left the organization with only six women who could perform the purity ritual on deceased women. They were on-call at all hours of the day and night. Photo: Mark Abramson

A crew of Chesed Shel Emes workers clean up after the body of a Jewish man who jumped to his death was removed from the scene in midtown Manhattan. According to Jewish law any spilled blood must be cleaned following death, and any remains must be buried with the deceased. Photo: Mark Abramson

Shia Weisblum, a volunteer with Chesed Shel Emes, covers up a trolley used to transport bodies inside a Williamsburg, Brooklyn funeral home. Photo: Mark Abramson

Chaim Oberlander and Shia Weisblum cover the body of the deceased in preparation for a Tahara, or ceremonial bath, at a funeral home in Williamsburg. “Someone has got to do it,” Oberlander said of his post-mortem volunteer work. “Had my first cousin pass away,” Oberlander added. “A 33-year-old, from COVID. He was from Monsey. He left five children and his youngest, his twins, are under a year old. So when it hits, it’s — you know, you’ve got to move on. You know that this is life. Youngsters are the ones that hurt the most.” Photo: Mark Abramson

Oberlander and Weisblum lay the ceremonial Tachrichim, or outer garment, into the coffin in which the deceased will be placed after the Tahara. Oberlander said Chesed Shel Emes “means you’re doing a good deed for someone without a return.” Photo: Mark Abramson

Oberlander builds a coffin, one of dozens he constructed each day during the height of the pandemic. In a traditional Orthodox Jewish burial, wood is the only material that can be used to construct the coffin. Photo: Mark Abramson

Chesed Shel Emes volunteers prepare the plank that will be used to lower the deceased into holy water prior to performing the Tahara inside a funeral home in the Borough Park neighborhood of Brooklyn. Photo: Mark Abramson

Mordechai Meisels, who volunteers as a chaplain with Chesed Shel Emes and at Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn, embraces his children after performing a hospital “disconnect” right before the Sabbath. “I have to come home at night and kiss my kids. It’s impossible to be cold,” said Meisels, who tended to roughly 30 bodies a day at the height of the pandemic. Photo: Mark Abramson

Meisels puts on his shtreimel before going to synagogue, as his daughter stands at the bottom of their staircase. “I felt like I was in a war zone, I felt helpless, I felt scared,” he said, reflecting on his work with COVID-19 victims. “I want another Jewish soul to be buried in the right way. I didn’t think twice.” Photo: Mark Abramson

A young boy waits to assist in the burial of a COVID-19 victim at the Woodridge cemetery. Photo: Mark Abramson

Rabbi Yakov Kellner and other volunteers perform a burial in the Woodridge cemetery. The deceased was a male victim of COVID-19 who died a month prior and was found unclaimed in a temporary New York truck morgue. Photo: Mark Abramson

Rabbi Kellner prays for the soul of the deceased after a burial in the Woodridge cemetery. Photo: Mark Abramson

Dove Lezer, a volunteer with Chesed Shel Emes, takes a moment to wipe sweat off of his face after a grueling burial. Photo: Mark Abramson

Volunteers with Chesed Shel Emes bury the body of man who died in Utah. The deceased had no family members who could finance his burial, so the organization paid to fly his remains to New York, provided the Tahara, and buried him in the Woodridge cemetery. While Chesed Shel Emes operates mostly within the greater New York area, they leave their phone lines open for any Jew in need of support with death. “He was unloved,” said Benjy Spiro, “He was comforted that his brother was loved by someone in the next life because someone took care of him … Now he is cared for for eternal life.” Photo: Mark Abramson

Rabbi Yakov Kellner rests after burying of a COVID-19 victim in Woodridge. Kellner said he felt overwhelmed after burying the man, whose body had been kept in a freezer for a month. “Took me two days and nights to get back to myself,” he said. Photo: Mark Abramson

The deceased lay in their final resting place at the Woodridge cemetery. Despite not knowing the strangers they shepherd to their final resting place, volunteers take comfort in their belief that all Jews are connected. “The Jewish people are one people,” said Rabbi Kellner. Photo: Mark Abramson