He followed along as I led him to the door marked Private. It opened to a storage room that regular people never got to see. When people come to arrange a funeral for a loved one, they go into the office to do the paperwork and then they go into the showroom to pick out a casket. Then, on the day of the funeral, they use the quiet room before the funeral is held in the big chapel with all the pews. There’s no reason for them to go into the room where the supplies to do the taharas are kept.

I led Oren inside. “It’s just a regular storage room. No big deal.”

He stopped just inside the door. He frowned at the washer and dryer. It seemed normal to me now, but I tried to see everything the way he would, like when I’d come in here for the first time and thought it was weird to have a washer and dryer in a funeral home.

I gave him the same answer Dad had given me: “The people doing taharas wear lab coats and use sheets and towels. Things that need washing.”

Oren nodded and continued looking around. His eyes landed on the racks of supplies. I watched as he scanned up and down the shelves. There were boxes of kippahs, black ribbons for family members to tear and wear on their clothes, cases of tissue packets, bottled water, toilet paper and cleaning supplies. He seemed interested but also unimpressed. Maybe that was a good thing.

“You okay?” I asked.

He looked at me and nodded before he tapped at his phone.

Where’s the fridge?

I went over to the big stainless-steel door and pulled the giant handle. I held my breath as it opened.

I hid my relief when I saw that it was empty. I mean, I knew it should be, but…

Oren squeaked.

I glanced at him. His eyes were huge. I looked back into the fridge, but no, it was for sure empty.

“What?” I mean, I could understand if we’d opened the door to find there was a person in there, but we hadn’t. No big deal.

He was still staring inside, but there wasn’t much to see. It was like a giant, deep cabinet with three shelves. Each one had a handle, so you could pull it out, but otherwise it was just a giant, cold steel box. But it was clear what it was made for.

“What’s the matter?” I repeated.

Finally he tapped again on his phone.

You said fridge!

“It is a fridge. That’s where the bodies go when they come here. Jewish people don’t do embalming, so we have to put the bodies in a refrigerator.”

Oren swallowed, his eyes still wide with alarm. I was confused. He had asked me to show it to him! Maybe he didn’t understand the process.

“Do you know what embalming means?” I asked.

He started to nod and then abruptly stopped, frowned and shook his head.