“All right.” I took him to the front of the chapel and into the casket display room. I guess it’s sort of morbid to other people to look at caskets, but to me, they’re just furniture. Furniture that I have to dust all the time.

There were ten models lined up on carts so they could be moved around easily. They came in different styles and colors, but all of them were made from wood—no metal is allowed, not even nails—and were arranged from the fanciest shiny, dark ones at the front to the very plain, unpainted pine boxes at the back.

It reminded me of IKEA, where you can go and see a giant room filled with sofas. They all do the same thing—it’s just up to you to decide which one you like best or can afford. Dad says it’s traditional to have a very plain, modest casket because it’s not supposed to be about luxury, but some people do like the fancier ones that are more expensive.

“Whoa,” Oren said as I led him deeper into the room. Jared had picked out the matching caskets for Oren’s parents on his own, which I’d thought was smart—Oren shouldn’t have to deal with that. Even I might not be able to do that, and I was in here nearly every day.

“This one,” he said, walking over to a shiny, honey-brown one in the middle of the room. Of course he’d remember. He’d had to stare at them all through the funeral service. Then he’d watched the two caskets get lowered into the ground.

He walked to it and ran his finger over the polished wood of the lid and traced the Star of David that was the only decoration on it.

I bit my lip to keep from talking too much. I could tell this was one of those moments where Oren needed quiet with his own thoughts.

Finally he looked at me. “Can I see inside?”

I nodded. Even though we don’t ever have open caskets at funerals, most still have lids that are split in half, so you can open the part where the person’s head and upper body are. Maybe the factory sells them to non-Jewish funeral homes too, and it’s just easier to make them all like that.

I reached for the edge of the lid.

“Wait!” Oren said, his good hand coming to my wrist to stop me. “What am I going to see?”

“We don’t keep people in them. Or mannequins or anything,” I assured him. “It’s just straw with a fabric covering.”

“Straw?”

Easing out of his grasp, I pulled up the lid. All we could see was the thin white fabric lining. As I held up the lid with one hand, I pressed the lining on the bottom. It crinkled and felt lumpy and coarse underneath. “The straw is like bedding, a bit of padding so the person isn’t lying right on the bottom.”

Oren eyed the inside of the casket warily. But I could tell he was interested too.