I glanced over at Oren. He was staring at the table.

“That’s where they wash the…people,” I said softly, not wanting to freak him out more. “They even take off all their nail polish and makeup.” I pointed at the cabinet above the counter. “There’s nail polish remover and makeup wipes up there.”

He looked at me but didn’t say anything, so I cleared my throat and went on. “And when they wash them, they have to do it a special way, and in a particular order, pouring buckets of water over the person, washing each part of the body carefully while they say prayers. It’s really respectful. Anyway, after they do the bucket thing, the water goes in there, obviously.” I pointed at the sink.

Oren nodded.

“Then, after they wash them, they have to dress them.”

Oren frowned. “Wait. What do they dress them in? Like, fancy clothes? No one asked for…I mean, I don’t remember…”

It took me a second to figure out what he was talking about. “Oh, are you asking where they get the clothes they wear?”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

“On TV they show people wearing suits or their favorite dress. But it’s different for Jewish burials.” I walked over to the big cabinet in the corner and opened it up. Inside were several shroud kits, neatly stacked and wrapped in white plastic. They were marked for women or men and also by size. I pulled one off the stack on the right. Women’s Small.

Oren came up beside me. “What is it? A nightgown?”

“No,” I said. “It’s called a tachrichim, or a shroud. It’s like a special burial suit.” Before I could think too hard about how I shouldn’t, I carefully opened up the package and pulled out the items of clothing. They were made of thin, pure-white fabric—pants, a shirt, belts, a long overcoat, and head covering. No pockets, buttons, zippers or Velcro—Dad said the clothes were very traditional and had to be loosely tied with the plain belts that came in the package.

Oren slowly reached forward and touched the fabric. “So…this is what my mom’s wearing?”

I nodded. “Yes. And your dad would have been dressed in something really similar, just the man’s version.”

“Okay,” he said, though his voice was shaky. He was really struggling, and my heart hurt for him, but I was proud at the same time. He was facing a really big fear and was being so brave about it.

“It’s like pajamas,” I said. “At least…you know they’re comfortable. I feel sorry for those people who get buried in suits. They have to spend all of eternity in uncomfortable clothes.”

He blinked. “I guess.”

“So that’s pretty much it in here,” I said, looking around. “It’s a lot like a doctor’s examination room.”

He nodded. “It’s…yeah, I guess I thought it would be a lot more…I don’t know…like a lab?”

I shrugged. “Maybe at a non-Jewish funeral home. Where they use chemicals and do embalming. They sometimes even do makeup and hair for the deceased person. To make them look…I don’t know, like they did when they were alive. Or less dead.”