“Do you want to?” I asked. I didn’t know a lot about it, but probably more than most kids.

He sighed and nodded again.

“It means putting special chemicals inside the person’s veins so they don’t…” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “So they… um…don’t…so they don’t change. Like a preservative, I guess, before the funeral. Sometimes people don’t have their funerals right away or they put the people in the casket but want to keep the lid open during the service. The bodies have to be embalmed for that to happen.”

“WHA?” came out of Oren’s mouth as it fell open.

It was the closest he’d ever come to talking. He must have been really freaked out.

I nodded. “Jewish people aren’t supposed to do those viewings, but my parents told me that it happens at other funeral homes. Some people like to see their loved ones one last time.”

Oren made a face.

“Anyway,” I said as I shut the fridge door, “every culture has its own way. Jewish people don’t embalm or cremate their dead, but they try to bury them as soon as possible. So the fridge is pretty important. But it’s just a fridge, you know?”

Oren showed me his phone.

I thought you meant a fridge for bottled water or where your parents keep their lunch!

“OH!” I couldn’t help laughing. “No, I mean, there’s the little one in the quiet room, but my parents just come home for lunch.”

Oren’s look was saying, “Sure, I get it now.”

I looked around the room, but there wasn’t much else to show him. “There’s more to see out there.” I waved toward the back of the building. “But that stuff can be more…intense.”

I took his frown to mean, “Like what?”

“The room where they do the taharas. Where they prepare the body for the funeral.”

He cringed.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to see it,” I said, “but it’s not as weird as you might expect.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“No, really,” I assured him. “The room is sort of like a doctor’s office. A big sink and a table. I’ve been in there. Just not during a tahara. But it’s not really scary.”

Oren inhaled a big breath, then stared at me for a long minute before he typed his next message.

Maybe tomorrow. OK?

“Sure,” I said, flipping off the lights and leading him back toward the door. “You did really good though. Is this the kind of stuff you wanted to know about?”

He frowned but nodded.

More please.

Just what I was afraid of.

Twenty

After Oren had left for the day and we had eaten dinner, my parents and I returned next door to prepare for Mrs. Eisen’s funeral. Mom would be doing the tahara with some other female volunteers, and Dad would be finishing up the paperwork and making sure everything was ready.

Since there was a funeral the next day, I had some things to do too. Nate had plans with his friends, so he’d asked me to refill the box of kippahs. I was going to remind him that funeral directors had to cancel their plans all the time. But he would have said he had no intention of being a funeral director. Anyway, he offered to give me three dollars for the two-second job, so I didn’t mind.