By Bob Bongiovanni, MA

 

Humans pass through initiations in life. These initials involve the individual and his or her culture.

 

Culture

 

What do we mean by “culture?” Patterns of knowledge, belief, behavior, norms, values, and practices shared by a group, creating a sense of shared identity. Culture is not inborn; it must be transmitted from one generation to the next.

 

How does culture relate to the transcendent Self and to the process of individuation? We are all born into a culture, which is the distillation of the learning of untold generations of ancestors. Much of what we take for granted – our language, our attitudes regarding what is true, valuable, desirable – we acquire from our culture. Especially in our formative years, our culture sets the boundaries for what is possible for us. In a Jungian sense, a culture is a result of archetypal influence. Each culture has its own set of archetypes which set the tone for collective life. And, of course, whatever the cultural archetypes exclude from collective life gets relegated to shadow, individual and collective.

 

Cultures serve a very necessary purpose. Without cultures, we would need to learn everything from scratch. Cultures have served evolution and the survival of the human species; simply put, groups that came together to shape and perpetuate culture were more likely to survive. Through culture, humans acquired language, a major turning point toward the emergence of consciousness. The culture also guided humans as they fulfilled of the basics of life – shelter, food, procreation, relationship to higher power. Culture could provide these necessities at a superficial level for those who didn’t want to pursue it more deeply. For those who wanted to go further, cultures have provided mythology and ritual that point to deeper, more mystical processes, uniting the individual to the Self. One might say that every culture with deep historical roots has a map to the Self, for those willing to seek it out. Most of all, cultures assist us humans to grow in a healthy way through the life cycle.

 

In his book Jewish Passages, Jewish anthropologist Harvey Goldberg proposes that the Jewish life cycle can be summarized under four main headings:

 

·      At the beginning, Jews are welcomed into their culture, they become part of the extended Judaic cultural family.

·      As Jews mature, they are offered, and accept, their cultural inheritance, particularly through education.

·      Even later in life, Jews undertake pilgrimage, during which they present themselves to their God in a more inward, mystical way.

·      In the end, Jews mourn, prepare for death, die, and are remembered.

 

It seems to me that these same themes are evidence across most world cultures. For the next six weeks, we will traditional Jewish culture – to explore these themes in more depth, applying a Jungian perspective to discover underlying archetypal themes significant to us all.

 

When I say “cultural” there is a strange reaction among Americans of mixed heritage. We think we have no culture. But, using the definition I just presented, everyone has a culture. We are taught a language. We learn how to fulfill our basic needs. And we learn a mythology, strongly influenced by a religious tradition such as Christianity or Judaism, but also infused with scientific rationalism, that can lead us to deeper insights if we pursue it. Jung thought we needed to discover a sort of Western yoga, tracing us back to our cultural inheritance.

 

We will explore each of the four life cycle themes in considerable depth in the upcoming weeks. We’ll spend some time this week briefly introducing each.

 

Welcoming Into the Covenant

 

Judaism emphasizes the idea of a covenant between the one, true God and the Jewish people. It is this covenant that stands at the root of Jewish culture, as its foundation. A Jewish child is welcomed into the covenant very early in life.

 

This first stage in the life cycle is mostly involuntary for the newcomer to the culture. Decisions are made on his or her behalf by parents and extended family members. One might argue that this welcoming stage has a greater significance for the broader culture. The culture affirms its future every time it identifies a new member that will carry it forward. In addition, the culture makes a sort of commitment to the newcomer. That is especially true for those who pledge to be the teachers and protectors, a role often referred to as “godparents.” In a sense, such godparents symbolize the entire culture, both in its history and its current form, saying that the newcomer does not belong just to the immediate family, but also to the vast cultural family.

 

In the Jewish tradition, for a male child, the body itself is made to bear the mark of the covenant – circumcision, called brit milah in Hebrew. As we will discuss next week, it is no accident that the strong current of patriarchy in Judaism elects to make its mark in this most male of all organs, through which the male Jew will procreate. For both male and female Jewish children, there’s also the naming, which involves getting a Hebrew name, separate from the name those outside the culture may use for you. For boys, it is part of the brit milah. The naming ceremony is a more recent addition for girls and the ceremony occurs at different times and different formats among the various Jewish subcultures. In either case, though, the Hebrew name both defines the individuality of the newcomer, and ties him or her back to the cultural heritage.

 

Accepting the Cultural Inheritance

 

Our culture, beginning with our family, offers us a cultural inheritance, which has evolved over untold generations of ancestors. In return, we are asked to make increasingly significant commitments, which basically fall into three categories: an educational commitment, a family commitment, and a commitment to involvement in the wider political and social environment.

 

The educational commitment begins in the home, where the basics of language and other aspects of culture are transmitted. Most of this is not voluntary; the child has no choice but to accept the language taught by the parents in those early years, to participate in the cultural rituals of the family, and to absorb the norms, values, beliefs, and behaviors that are pervasive in the family atmosphere.

 

Eventually, cultural institutions take up the task, especially schools and religious institutions. For young Jews, the study of the Torah has particular significance. The culminating rite of passage is the bar mitzvah for boys and bat mitzvah for girls. Again, as with naming, the tradition for girls is significantly newer than the one for boys. The age when this ritual occurs is at a turning point – age 13 or 12, when the young person is nearing the age when he or she can choose to rebel against the culture, to reject the cultural inheritance. Naturally, for many young Jews, there would be serious family consequences for refusing the call to the Torah, which symbolizes the very essence of the Jewish culture. But it is a much more voluntary commitment than, for instance, accepting the language taught in the family when you were age 2.

 

In the lives of most Jews, the next significant rite of passage involves marriage, making a commitment to another person to create another household which will uphold and perpetuate Jewish culture. This, of course, is an even more voluntary commitment that bar mitzvah. The culture wants the spouse to be equally part of Jewish culture – which, of course, could be rejected. The culture wants the couple to produce children, and for these children to be raised as part of the Jewish culture. Again, the commitment is voluntary, albeit again with strong social sanctions attached.

 

The next commitment is a broader cultural commitment. Included in this commitment is the choice of suitable career, involvement in the synagogue, pursuing the social agenda of Judaism, defending the culture from its many enemies, perhaps even serving as one of the full time transmitters of Judaism as a rabbi or scholar. All of these are guided by Jewish law and tradition, and all of these are voluntary. The main commitment, of course, is the perpetuation of the unique Jewish culture in the midst of competing cultures.

 

Pilgrimage

 

For many, especially when reaching mid life, there is a sense of search for deeper meaning. Has life been lived to its fullest? Is there something more to life than simply doing one’s duty, protecting and serving one’s family, being a responsible carrier and transmitter of culture?

 

Jung put great emphasis on the transition point at midlife, which he set at approximately 40. Of course, people are living longer now, so midlife might well be a bit later in life.

 

There is a strong tradition of pilgrimage in Jewish life. In Deut. 14:23 and 16:2 Jews are obliged to make pilgrimage to holy place 3 times per year, Passover, Shavout, Sukkot. These dates in the calendar approximately mark the agricultural cycle – planting, tending, harvesting – but more significantly, the call to pilgrimage is an exhortation to retreat from the normal daily tasks of life in order to “be seen by the Lord”, i.e., to reveal one’s true identity, apart from merely fulfilling one’s mundane duty to the Jewish culture.

 

It’s considered especially important for Jews to make a pilgrimage to Israel, to the holy places there. This is the symbolic center of Jewish culture, akin to the archetype of the Self, around which the entirety of Jewish life circumambulates.

 

Quoting Harvey Goldberg:

Pilgrimages, and the search for contact with sacred personages, testify to people’s desires to bring sanctity into their individual lives. This is not only a spiritual search; it reflects the will to mobilize sacred figures and forces in pursuing life’s bounties. (P 172)

 

In Jungian terms, this is the point of turning from the outer to the inner world, preparing for the second half of life. At its best, a pilgrimage transforms life from being ego-oriented to being Self-oriented.

 

Mourning, preparing for death, dying, and remembrance

 

As the life cycle progresses, mourning becomes inevitable. Death becomes more common. Death of grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts. Death of contemporaries.

 

Jewish mourning rituals include memorialization and an ancient, sacred prayer known as the kaddish. We will be discussing the kaddish at some length later, but there are a few points that bear mentioning as an introduction. Originally, the kaddish was meant for the benefit of the community, for the carriers of the Jewish culture, recited at the end of studies to praise God. Over time, it came to be used to link those who mourn back to those who have died but have left their mark on the culture. The community aspect is still somewhat present today, but now the influence is far more individual and linked to the well being of a departed relative in the afterlife. For instance, again quoting Goldberg:

 

As notions of the trajectory of the afterlife of individuals took shape and spread, the kaddish came to be viewed as a prayer that, when recited by descendents, contributed to the progress of the soul of a parent as it left the body and, over the course of a year, made its way to an eternal reward. P. 205

 

In Judaism, memorialization involves rituals to remember the departed. What might this mean in a Jungian sense? To integrate in oneself whatever insight the departed brought into the life of those who knew her or him and into the wider culture.

 

The Jewish mourning rite, the shivah, is meant to produce both comfort for the mourners and constant reinforcement of cultural life that transcends the lives of individual Jews. It is an elaborate ritual, full of archetypal significance, which we will discuss in some detail.

 

We will also discuss Jewish views of the afterlife, which are quite diverse across Jewish subcultures, and also parallel Jungian concepts on the topic. Essentially, Rabbi Ronald Isaacs summarizes prevailing Jewish views on the afterlife as fourfold:

 

1.    Belief in an immortal soul that returns to God who made it.

2.    Belief in a form of immortality that comes from living on through family and biological descendents;

3.    Belief in a form of immortality that arises through the influence, deeds, and creative works undertaken during one’s lifetime;

4.    Belief that one is immortal so long as one is remembered by loved ones.

 

 

I will end this week with a translation of the kaddish:

 

May the great Name of God be exalted and sanctified, throughout the world, which he has created according to his will. May his Kingship be established in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the entire household of Israel, swiftly and in the near future; and say, Amen.

May his great name be blessed, forever and ever.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, honored elevated and lauded be the Name of the holy one, Blessed is he- above and beyond any blessings and hymns, Praises and consolations which are uttered in the world; and say Amen. May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life, upon us and upon all Israel; and say, Amen.

 

 

This week we continue with our discussion of the Jewish Life Cycle. We begin, as it were, at the beginning – rituals that occur in the first year of life, to welcome a child into Jewish culture.

Before we launch into the particulars of that topic, however, I would like to present some additional thoughts on culture, from a Jungian perspective. Over the years, I have found myself deeply moved by the stories of the civil rights struggle in the United States. There is an archetypal level to the story of people struggling to maintain their culture in the midst of a majority culture that projects shadow on them, vilifies them, pressures them to assimilate, challenges them to abandon the culture that is so ingrained in their sense of identity. “Abandon your culture, repudiate your difference, and be rewarded”: this is the insidious promise which minority cultures must resist in a multi-cultural society. The parallels to the Jungian concept of individuation are obvious. Every human being is asked, on some level, to abandon their uniqueness in order to fit into societal demands. To remain on one’s unique path, despite the difficulties that ensue, requires courage, and it ultimately leads to the only life Jung felt to be worthy of living. One might actually think of cultural pride and loyalty as a sort of intermediary aspect of individuation. Although one may feel pressured and oppressed within one’s culture, there is still a sense of holding fast to the differences, not out of defiance, but because to abandon that inheritance would be to abandon something essential to true identity.

Before we move into Jewish culture, I would like to discuss Jung’s journey to the Taos pueblo in 1925. At the pueblo, Jung spoke for the first time with a non-white, a Hopi elder named Antonio Mirabal (also known as Ochwiay Biano and Mountain Lake), who said that whites were always uneasy and restless: "We do not understand them. We think that they are mad" (Jung, 1973, p. 248). Jung asked him why he thought the whites were mad, and the reply was " 'They say that they think with their heads . . . . We think here,' he said, indicating his heart" (p. 248). Impressed, Jung said he realized that Mountain Lake had unveiled a significant truth about whites.

To Jung the Indians he met appeared to be tranquil and dignified, which Jung attributed to their belief that (as Mountain Lake explained) through their religious practice, they helped the sun cross the sky every day. Jung believed this belief and practice served the function of making the Indians' lives cosmologically meaningful. Whites, on the other hand, use reason to formulate the meaning of life: "Knowledge does not enrich us; it removes us more and more from the mythic world in which we were once at home by right of birth" (Jung, 1973, p. 252). Jung said that it would be necessary to put away all European rationalism and knowledge of the world to begin to understand the Pueblo Indian's point of view.

What Jung discovered about the Taos pueblo could also be said about the Jewish cultural belief about The Covenant. It places the Jewish culture in an historical and cosmological context. The Jewish people exist because they have a special relationship with the one true God. They are at the pivot point of human history and destiny. Through them, God’s plan for the human race has come to be known. Each time a new Jew is welcomed into the culture, the Covenant is renewed. It exists at both the individual and the collective or cultural level.

For male Jews, the covenant is evidenced by a visible sign – the circumcision of the penis. As anthropologist Michael Fox describes it, “circumcision creates a visible sign that will remind God to keep his promise of posterity.” In other words, by being circumcised, the male Jew reasserts that he is part of the Covenant between God and the Jewish people, and that God will bless him with offspring that will carry the culture and the Covenant into the future.

For those of you who are not familiar with the Jewish circumcision ritual, I would like to outline its basic components, along with some variations across Jewish subcultures.

The ceremony of Brit Milah is celebrated on the eighth day following birth. It’s customary to widely notify the community so that there is a large circle of Jewish friends and family to welcome the child. There should at least be a minyan – a group of ten adult Jewish people – present for the ritual.

There are other important roles assumed by those who attend the brit milah. Originally, it was considered the obligation of every father to circumcise his son, but this has been transferred to a “mohel” who has been specially trained in both the surgical and cultural aspects of the brit milah. A mohel may be either male or female. There is a kvater and a kvaterin – godfather and godmother – whose main roles are to bring the infant into room. The sandek holds the infant while the procedure takes place. There is usually a rabbi present, to observe and comment. Finally, there is Elijah the prophet, who is given a seat of honor. Though Elijah cannot be seen, he is thought to be present as the spirit of the Jewish ancestors.

The ceremony is actually quite simple. The kvater and kvaterin bring the infant into the room, into the hands of the sandek. The father officially designates the mohel as the one who will perform the circumcision. The mohel or rabbi briefly explains the significance of the ceremony. There is a blessing, and then the circumcision takes place, in three stages. First, milah, the cutting of the foreskin. Second, periah, the tearing and folding back of the mucous membrance to expose the glans of the penis. Third, metzitzah, suctioning away the blood.

After the circumcision, the father and often the mother recite this prayer: “Blessed are You, Sovereign of the Universe, who has made us holy through your commandments and commanded us to bring our son into the covenant of Abraham our ancestor.” This is followed by all of those present saying, “As he has entered the covenant, so too may he enter a life of Torah, marriage, and good deeds.”

The officiant then recites a blessing over a cup of wine, which includes the naming of the baby. It’s common for those doing the naming to explain the derivation of the chosen name, including telling the story of a deceased relative who the baby is being named after. The ceremony ends with a blessing of the baby: “May God bless you and watch you; May God’s presence shine his spirit on you and be good to you; May God grant you a blessing of peace. Amen.”

There are a few aspects of the ceremony that I would like to elaborate upon, and to discuss the potential significance from a Jungian perspective.

Since we are talking about circumcision, we should spend a few minutes discussing the powerful symbol of the phallus. The Cierlot symbol dictionary points out three aspects of phallus that are directly relevant to the brit milah.

Perpetuation of life – As mentioned previously, during the circumcision ritual, Jewish culture reinforces its hopefulness about the future, about continuation of Jewish life and culture.

Active power – The brit milah is a celebration of what the boy will become and will accomplish for Judaism. He will actively study Torah, will marry, and will commit good deeds. In other words, he will actively express positive masculinity, or so it is hoped.

Propagation of cosmic forces – There is a mystical level of the brit milah. As we will discuss shortly, cosmic forces, symbolized by Elijah, is felt to be literally present during the ceremony and to propagated by the ritual into the world.

Let’s discuss more the role of Elijah the prophet. In the Bible, Elijah is extolled for being a zealot. He complained to God about the children of Israel, that they have abandoned their Jewish culture and have abandoned the convenant. A midrash – a rabbinical story – equates Elijah with another Biblical character named Pinhas who, full of zeal, executed and Israelite man and a Midianite woman while they were engaged in idolatry. The midrash calls Elijah the messenger or angel of the covenant and explains that at circumcision ceremonies, “the sages instituted the custom that people should prepare a seat of honor for the messenger of the covenant.”

What archetype might Elijah represent? He is the aspect of the Father Archetype that inspires absolute devotion to cultural traditions, without variation. He whips the common people into zeal for the express wishes of God. How else would this tradition have persisted for thousands of year, with its discomfort and even physical risk posed to one’s helpless infant – if it did not have archetypal power behind it? There is an element of paradox in this belief in the presence of Elijah at every circumcision. On the one hand, you might imagine that this archetype experiences satisfaction at the unwavering obedience of the Jewish generations. On the other hand, Elijah was known to criticize the Jewish people for not following God’s commandments with enough zealotry. This aspect of Elijah makes him rather like Azazel, the negative, critical voice of God’s shadow that cannot abide human imperfection. However, when Elijah is compelled by God to witness millions of brit milah ceremonies every year, Elijah’s harsh criticism is dulled. The people are sufficiently zealous, in the eyes of God.

Blood is a powerful symbolic element in the brit milah. There is a mysterious passage in the brit milah ceremony when the officiant says: “It is said: And I passed by you, and I saw you wallowing in your blood, and I said to you, ‘In your blood shall you live,’ I said: ‘In your blood you shall live.’” At this point, a few drops of wine are placed in the mouth of the baby.

This phrase comes from the Book of Ezekiel, Chap 16, verses 1 – 5. In this passage, a baby is born, neglected, and cast out into a field. Under normal circumstances, such a baby would die. But Ezekiel speaks out in God’s name – ‘In thy blood, live!” Loss of blood can bring death, but in this case blood symbolizes life force. This passage in Ezekiel actually makes use of vivid feminine imagery. The baby is Jerusalem, the Jewish people, born to non-Israelite parents, abandoned until God rescues her. He saves her and they engage in a Coniunctio, with highly sexualized language:

I came by again and saw that you were ripe for love. I spread the skirt of my robe over you and covered your naked body. I plighted by troth and entered into a covenant with you , says the Lord God, and you became mine. Then I bathed you with water to wash off the blood.

Therefore, in a ritual seemingly adoring masculinity, there is a feminine image at what many consider its culminating point. The balance of masculine and feminine is present at this pivot point in the Jewish life cycle.

As I mentioned earlier, naming of the baby is a central component of the brit milah. For boys, it occurs at the same ceremony as the circumcision. For girls, the naming occurs at a later point, the timing of which does not appear to have consensus. Consider the archetypal significance of receiving a name.

One of the first tasks given to Adam was the naming of all living things. What does this mean archetypally? Without consciousness, all of life is experience as a seamless totality; the differences simply do not exist. But when consciousness was born, the differences were obvious, and Adam gave each separate thing its own unique existence, separate from everything else, by giving it a name. So it is with the naming of a new baby. With its name, the baby now has identity. Jewish culture adds an additional dimension. The name must call to mind an ancestor. This baby will live a unique life, but he will also be linked inexorably to a story begun long in the past, his cultural heritage. His life is only possible because the ancestors left their legacy to him.

To conclude, I would like to return to Jung’s observations about the Taos pueblo. Jung attributed the dignity and serenity of the Pueblo Indians to their relationship to the deity, and their belief that their rituals were essential to keep the universe functioning (Berger & Segaller, 2000). Jung interpreted Mountain Lake's reference to the restlessness of whites as describing their "insatiable lust to lord it in every land," and their megalomania "which leads us to suppose that Christianity is the only truth" (Jung, 1933, p. 213). In Jung's view, the religious and cosmological beliefs of all cultures are useful to help people make their existence seem meaningful.

The main lesson Jung learned from his encounter with Mountain Lake was the importance of forging meaning through a coherent system of beliefs and practice. The content of the belief system is secondary; since philosophical and religious beliefs are based on faith and cannot be empirically validated, in a sense one system is as good as another. Each culture or subculture has their own system of beliefs and practices that provide a sense of meaning. Such belief systems need not be religious; even an agnostic or atheist worldview provides the individual with a view of existence that makes sense to that individual.

Few modern people have felt truly welcomed into their culture, and for many of us, there is sadness associated with this lack of welcoming. We are like unwelcome strangers, like orphans adrift in the masses, our entrance unacknowledged must less collectively celebrated. Our purpose is mysterious, and the underlying meaning questioned. Perhaps the Jewish people are specially blessed, if not by the actuality of their chosen-ness, at least by their collective belief in it.

 

As we continue our discussion of the cycles of Jewish life, I would like to propose a few more concepts on the theme of culture. Jung wrote extensively on religion, as one aspect of culture, and the potential function that religion plays in bridging the gap became individual egos and larger patterns of meaning. In my experience, it is not just religion that fills this function, but the entirety of culture. Our culture prepares us for our interior life as well as our external life. We are culturally predisposed toward individuality or conformity, competition or cooperation, practicality or esthetics, and so on. It is not just the religious aspects of culture that do this. It is the nature of the language we are taught, the norms we absorb, the values we are indoctrinated into, the sensibilities we acquire first in our families and then from our peers and cultural institutions. Our culture stongly shapes our persona – the face we show the world – and thus simultaneously shapes our shadow – the face we repress and hide, even from ourselves. Who are you, apart from your culture? Perhaps we have an advantage, in multicultural America, that Jung did not have in relatively homogenous Switzerland. We know our own culture, at least in part, by comparison with other cultures that coexist with our own.

As soon as we begin to have a mind of our own, our culture unceasingly urges us to accept what it has to offer. In part, it is an enticement, or even a seduction. We savor the food, the art, the music, the mythology, the folk tales, the rituals, and other enticing aspects of our culture. In part, it is a threat. We fear punishment and abandonment that might ensue from rejecting what our culture offers us. The critical question is: will we accept, and to what degree? Some people completely identify with, and trust, their culture. Others live in varying degrees of cultural estrangement. Others take up the task of transforming or evolving their culture from within. I would argue that this third position – the cultural revolutionary – is most compatible with the Jungian concept of individuation. To individuate means understanding one’s cultural inheritance, integrating much of what it offers, but also asserting one’s unique viewpoint and destiny within one’s cultural context. That, in itself, evolves the individual as well as the culture.

Accepting the cultural inheritance has three expressions, which Jewish people to varying degrees, based on their voluntary choices:

1)    Educational

2)    Marriage and family

3)    Economic, social, and political

 

Educational expression

In Jewish culture, it is believed that from birth to age 13, a child is primarily an extension of the parent and is especially under the influence of the mother. From age 13 forward, the child is believed to be at the age when he or she can be held independently responsible for following God’s commandments. Therefore, that is the age at which young Jews, particularly young male Jews, become the object of Jewish education and indoctrination. There is, of course, exposure to Jewish culture to some degree, even for young children. They experience Jewish rituals and other customs, particularly in the home. But once early adolescence has dawned, it’s believed that the study of Torah must begin in earnest. The child is compelled to accept the cultural inheritance, primarily through preparation for, and enactment of, the Bar Mitzvah.

While there is some modern consideration for young women, the emphasis has definitely been on young men. Indeed, even in modern times, Orthodox Jews mostly consider it inappropriate to expose young women to extensive study of Torah. What might be behind this predisposition?

It’s tempting, of course, to attribute this to patriarchal dominance, which seeks to exclude women from power and wealth. Since Torah is considered the source of all power and wisdom, excluding women from its study effectively moves women into a subservient position. But there are further dimensions to this cultural practice, as well. Like most world cultures, Jewish culture recognizes the tremendous power and danger associated with unrestrained masculine energy. How do you restrain such energy? Traditionally, it has involved exposing young men to values and principles that are greater than themselves, worthy of the channeling of that young masculine energy into a greater cause. For Jewish people, this is the essence of Torah.

Through the bar mitzvah, the young man demonstrates he has accepted the cultural inheritance, at least enough to participate in religious services. The essence of the bar mitvah is that the young person, having prepared for several years, is called forward to conduct all or part of a scheduled service, including the reading of the Torah, chanting blessings from the Torah, reciting from the writings of the prophets, and offering a brief explanation of what has been read. Members of the family, including siblings, often participate. This is often followed by a celebratory feast. By doing all of these things, the young person demonstrates that he or she can participate fully as part of the community.

In reality, of course, the rabbi and the community have the difficult task of inspiring the young person to accept the cultural inheritance and to devote their young adult energy to the perpetuation of the culture. It is much easier to convince a thirteen year old to undergo this trial, and to receive the attention and gifts, that to convince this young person of the worthiness of compliance with a lifetime of Jewish law and custom.

Marriage initiation

Through the marriage initiation, people demonstrate their willingness to perpetuate the most basic unit of cultural and social organization: the family. It’s also about accepting the culturally determined sexual roles, which have archetypal dimensions.

Major aspects of Jewish marriage:

1)    Containment of intimacy and sexuality

2)    Commitment to continue the Jewish culture in their home life

3)    Contractual arrangement, with male offer and female acceptance

 

Until recently, polygamy was accepted among Sephardic and oriental Jews. It was forbidden to Ashkenazi Jews approximately 1,000 years ago. Even when polygamy was practiced, however, there was a sense that sexuality and intimacy would be contained in the special relationship of marriage. It is said that this is why the couple stands under a canopy – they are set aside, contained, in a special space during the ritual.

There is a strong tradition in Judaism to compare the relationship of a married couple to the relationship between a king and a queen. That is why, even today, couples may be seated on a sort of throne, with clothing somewhat reminiscent of royal attire.

There are many parts to the Jewish wedding, far too detailed to cover in much depth today, but there is one passage that vividly illustrates the importance of the wedding in regard to family life. The following passage is traditionally recited by the rabbi for the bride and groom on the Sabbath immediately preceding the wedding:

May God who blessed our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachael, and Leah, bless this groom and bride who are about to be married. May they together build a Jewish home harboring love and harmony, peace and friendship. May they be blessed with children reared in good health and well being, devoted to Torah and good deeds.

The idea of a contractual arrangement is emphasized in the Jewish wedding. There is a long tradition of a ketubah, a marriage contract, often beautifully decorated with powerful cultural symbols. Exact wording of the contract varies, but several themes are common: the husband’s obligations to his wife, including food, clothing, conjugal rights, and his financial obligations in the event of a divorce. This contract is signed and witnessed, and it is considered to be fully in effect when the husband gives his wife an item of value – a ring – and she is witnessed accepting it during the wedding ceremony. There is considerable controversy in some Jewish sects, particularly Conservative and Orthodox sects, as to whether the husband should also receive a ring, since the ring is seen primarily as the wife’s acceptable of the offer made in the wedding contract. In any case, this Jewish custom recognizes that marriage is not just about emotion and love, but also about reciprocal obligations, akin to a contract, which both partners must acknowledge and agree to abide by.

Economic, social, and political expression

Although bar mitvah and wedding ceremonies are acknowledged as the most visible expressions of acceptance of the Jewish cultural inheritance, among devout Jews there is a belief that the entirety of one’s life is, or should be, about Torah.

The Talmud [Berachot 35b] made the following observation:

"See what a difference there is between the earlier and the later generations. Earlier generations made the study of Torah their main concern and their livelihood secondary to it, and both prospered in their hands. Later generations made their livelihood their main concern and their Torah study secondary, and neither prospered in their hands."

A rabbinic interpretation of this passage goes as follows:

Even in worldly matters, one's sense of contentment and happiness is influenced by his spiritual state. A person who has acquired virtuous character traits, a strong faith and an awe of heaven is protected against many of the aspects of life that can lead one astray and that make life's burdens so difficult. Such a person is content with his portion in life. For this reason, the earlier generations who made Torah study and ethical pursuits their principle concern, were successful in both their spiritual and material endeavors.

However, one who has not properly developed his ethical nature, since he concentrated all of his energy on his livelihood, will never be content with what he has acquired. His flawed character traits will lead him to chase after ill-advised cravings. Even if he succeeds in amassing great wealth, he will not be satisfied and will never feel true peace of mind.[1]

 

I would like to conclude with a poem by Maya Angelou which I used at my own recent wedding ceremony:

TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

 

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, unremembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning;

At the source of the longest river

The voice of the hidden waterfall

And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for

But heard, half-heard, in the stillness

Between two waves of the sea.

Quick now, here, now, always—

A condition of complete simplicity

(Costing not less than everything)

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

When the tongues of flame are in-folded

Into the crowned knot of fire

And the fire and the rose are one.

 

--T.S. Elliot, “Little Gidding”

 

We have been spending time the past few weeks discussing the cycles of life as seen and marked by Jewish culture. We’ve more or less followed a chronological order: the welcoming of a new baby into the culture; the educational phase of life, culminating in the bar mitzvah; the creation of a new family through marriage; and making one’s way in the world through livelihood and service. This week, we discuss a phase of life that is often omitted in scholarly and popular texts about life cycles: taking up a pilgrimage. From a Jungian perspective, this life phase has particularly resonance.

First, let’s explore the concept of pilgrimage cross-culturally.

A basic definition

A pilgrimage is an intentional journey meant to connect or reconnect an individual to something greater than themselves, typically a higher power or higher pattern of meaning. A pilgrimage is meant to be set aside, to be distinct, from everyday life. How does it differ from a vacation? From the outset of the journey, a pilgrim is meant to fundamentally alter his or her attitude toward life, particularly outer life. The pilgrim should take on a core belief that the higher power is influencing and expressing itself from the moment that the first step is taken. The entire journey is imbued with meaning. Events that would normally be dismissed as meaningless or irritating – the loss of possessions, missed connections, illnesses – are considered to be messages for the pilgrim which, if ignored, will diminish the potential power of the pilgrimage.

The focus of a pilgrimage is not intended to be entertainment and comfort. As a result, pilgrims often voluntarily choose austere lodging, simple food, and more active means of transport. In other words, they may walk the entire journey even though they could easily afford to travel first class.

A true pilgrimage should feel a bit risky. There should be a distinct sense that one might encounter one’s shadow on the way – what one truly fears and has repressed – and might well be shattered or defeated by the experience. The pilgrimage might, indeed, fail to achieve its intended objective – reconnection to higher power – if the pilgrim brings the wrong attitude toward the journey. If the pilgrim ignores messages along the way, opts for comfort over risk taking, takes the easy route, it might turn out to be a nice vacation, but nothing will transform in the pilgrim. The pilgrim will return home almost identical to the person that set off.

In this context, the actual intended destination for the pilgrimage is secondary. It should feel numinous, glowing with mythic power, in order to be properly motivational when the going gets tough, and to reinforce that this is no ordinary vacation. As we will discuss shortly in the Jewish context, the choice of pilgrimage destination is often culturally driven, with a sense that one’s ancestors visited this place and have left some of their numinosity there. A pilgrimage is often felt to be reconnection to ancestors, as part of the larger reconnection to higher power or meaning.

There is a mystical and individual aspect of the pilgrimage experience that sets it apart from most of the other rites of passage, such as brit milah, bar mitzvah, and marriage. Even when a pilgrim travels as part of a group, the emphasis is on the individual experiences that happen along the way. The earlier rites have emphasized the involvement of family and neighbors. It’s typical for a pilgrim to leave family and neighbors behind. Previous rites have emphasized what is observable – the circumcision, the bar mitzvah boy reciting Torah, the married couple under the canopy. The pilgrim has more of an interior experience, and such an experience is often kept private because it defies observation or even adequate description.

The parallels to the Jungian concept of individuation are obvious here. To Jung, everyday life could easily be experienced as a pilgrimage, if only we brought the right attitude to it. Each day, life presents us with powerful synchronicities – outer world happenings imbued with meaning that cannot be explained by cause and effect, that parallel our interior processes and are meant to transform us, broaden us, break open our narrow sense of identity and possibility. To enact a pilgrimage is, therefore, to temporarily live as an individuating person might live, with meaning and connection to Self at the forefront and all other worldly matters put aside.

When a person typically takes up a pilgrimage

A pilgrimage occurs when a person feels a call or a longing to step outside mundane life. This may be precipitated by a shock to the system – loss of job, death of a spouse, illness of a child, etc. – that suddenly puts life’s priorities in perspective and makes the pilgrim realize or hope for a higher power or meaning. In Jungian terms, the ego is forced to recognize its vulnerability and limits, and as a result it opens to the possibility that something bigger may be going on. The disposition of the ego is to seek out proof, and of course this might well translate into going to a holy place in order to have an individual, irrefutable experience that will prove, once and for all, if God really exists. Naturally, the ego does not get exactly what it bargained for, but it’s enough to at least begin the journey.

I should mention that there may not be any precipitating event at all, no shock to the system. A person may just get a gradual or sudden sense that life has become less satisfying. Just making it day to day, participating in collective, cultural life, is not enough any more. If he does not take up a pilgrimage, to search out a new basis for life, he may well die of melancholy and alienation, and he increasingly becomes destructive to his family and culture. I am reminded of a poem by Rilke:

Sometimes a man stands up during supper

And walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,

Because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.

 

And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.

 

And another man, who remains inside his own house,

Stays there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,

So that his children have to go far out into the world

Toward that same church, which he forgot.

 

Jung saw many clients suffering from choices such as these. He pointed out that, for the vast majority of us, the first half of life is about making one’s way in the outer world, encountering and accommodating cultural expectations, seeking meaning in home life, career, and collective, organized religion. Then comes the second half of life, and people sense impending mortality. The journey then often turns inward – toward the Self and toward the life that has been neglected or repressed – and the conventionality of outer life becomes less alluring. The search for meaning comes to the forefront.

Return to everyday life

If a pilgrimage is sufficiently powerful, the pilgrim never really returns to everyday life, at least not to the everyday life that preceded the pilgrimage. The pilgrim has been transformed by an encounter with the numinous and by living a life full of meaning. The reality of synchronicity has proven itself over and over again to the pilgrim. Why should that end when the pilgrim steps back through the threshold of her original home?

During pilgrimages, it is often common that conventional rules are suspended. Pilgrims should be equals before God, with social distinctions minimized as much as possible. Social roles and expectations are suspended. Many people find it difficult to return to their former roles after the pilgrimage

Perhaps this is why pilgrimages very often occurs when one is on the verge of retiring from a lifelong career. Once they have had a powerful pilgrimage experience, it is very hard to to motivate a person by offering the carrot of power and wealth, or the stick of social and occupational disgrace.

Pilgrimage in the Jewish tradition

Islam is, of course, famous for its emphasis on pilgrimage, enjoining every Muslim to attempt a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once. Pilgrimage In Judaism is perhaps less well know, but has been a part of Jewish life since biblical times. To understand Jewish attitudes toward pilgrimage, one must understand the archetypal significance of the Temple in Jerusalem in Jewish cultural life.

Imagine if you could have absolute proof of the existence of God, a guaranteed and irrefutable experience of the higher power, by simply going to an actual place. That is the archetypal longing attached to the Temple by Jews. According to Jewish history and mythology, the living presence of God could be felt when one beheld the Ark of the Covenant, containing the stone tablets given to Moses by God himself. Solomon built a Temple in Jerusalem to house the Ark, and it was the obligation of every adult male to visit and offer sacrifices during three special dates in the Jewish calendar: Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot. The Biblical injunction is for Jews to appear at the Temple and “be seen by the Lord.”The original Temple built by Solomon was thought to have been destroyed in the sixth century BC by invading Bablyonians. The rebuilt temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 A.D. Since that time, the Temple has existed only archetypally, expressed mythologically and in the longing of Jewish people. Without a literal destination – akin to the Kaaba in Islam – pilgrimage diminished in Judaism.

Not surprisingly, the most popular destination for what remains of Jewish pilgrimage is the former site of the Temple. Most specifically, the western retaining wall of the original temple, known as the Wailing Wall, or Western Wall remains in the Old City of Jerusalem and this has been the most sacred site for religious Jews. Among the many thousands of visitors to the Wailing Wall, there are vastly more tourists than actually pilgrims, of course.

Although it is the most popular pilgrimage site for Jews, the Wailing Wall is by no means the only site. There is another site in the Jerusalem area, known as Ramah, thought to be the burial site of the prophet Samuel. Jews often undertake a pilgrimage to this site when their son has his first haircut, combining two important rites of passage into one. Another site in Israel is Meron, thought to be the burial site of several tzaddik, people held in high spiritual esteem by Jews, including Hillel, the famous Jewish religious leader, one of the most important figures in Jewish history, who is associated with the development of the Mishnah and the Talmud. Hillel’s most famous quote was, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And when I am for myself, what am 'I'? And if not now, when?" The parallels to individuation are clear in this quote.

There’s also a strong tradition in Jewish pilgrimage to visit the grave sites of Jewish mystics associated with the Kabala. This has been particular true among Sepharidic Jews who fled the Spanish peninsula during the times of the Inquisition and settled throughout the Mediterranean area, bringing with them Kabalistic traditions, including the revered text known as the Zohar. So the burial site of the purported author of the Zohar, Har Yohai, is a pilgrimage site, at Meron in the area of Galilee. Intense study of the Zohar and other Kaballistic practices figure prominently in these pilgrimages, emphasizing a level of individual mystical experience that comprise an interior pilgrimage paralleling the exterior journey.

I mentioned earlier that social roles and customs are often suspended during pilgrimages, and this is certainly true within Judaism. The intent appears to be the breaking open of constrictive customs, at least temporarily, and the emergence of a different kind of community, which undoubtedly transformed the pilgrim even on his return to everyday life. Anthropologist Harvey Goldberg describes it this way:

In many pilgrimage settings, behavior is often more open and relaxed than in daily life. Men and women may mix more freely, or individuals of lower status and lesser wealth may rub shoulders with more affluent members of society from whom they usually would be quite separate. This is a phenomenon discussed by Victor Turner in terms of what he calls "communitas," a term that he first elaborated in discussing rites of passage. During the transitional phase of these rites, individuals going through the ritual together are symbolically separated from their previous identities, a process that highlights the basic human features they have in common. Rather than relating to one another by the status markers that assign them their social places in everyday life, initiates often experience communit tas-"a generic human bond without which there could be no society. II Turner links his notion of communitas to that of the "I and the Thou" of the philosopher Martin Buber. Communitas is a transitory experience, but one that reenergizes social life when people return to more structured situations. It also appears to be one aspect of pilgrimages. (Jewish Passages, pp. 164-165)

I would like to end with another passage from T.S. Eliot’s magnificent poem, “Little Gidding.” I hesitated to use Eliot’s poetry for this lecture, because Eliot was an inveterate anti-Semite for his entire life. But perhaps it is fitting that we find, coming through even the closed mind of a racist, the core archetype of pilgrimage, shaping words of profound insight and beauty:

If you came this way,

Taking the route you would be likely to take

From the place you would be likely to come from,

If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges

White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.

It would be the same at the end of the journey,

If you came at night like a broken king,

If you came by day not knowing what you came for,

It would be the same, when you leave the rough road

And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade

And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for

Is only a shell, a husk of meaning

From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled

If at all. Either you had no purpose

Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured

And is altered in fulfillment. There are other places

Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,

 

Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city—

But this is the nearest, in place and time,

Now and in England.

 

If you came this way,

Taking any route, starting from anywhere,

At any time or at any season,

It would always be the same: you would have to put off

Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,

Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity

Or carry report. You are here to kneel

Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more

Than an order of words, the conscious occupation

Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

They can tell you, being dead: the communication

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Here, the intersection of the timeless moment

Is England and nowhere ever and always.

 

 

We have been following the Jewish life cycle, form a Jungian perspective, in roughly chronological order. Today, we come to the end. In each case, we have learned how Jewish culture and religion assists during the critical passages. At times, it is a way of celebrating – a new birth, a new marriage, and so on. At times, it is girding someone for a major trial or challenge, such as educational achievement. In this final stage, it is handling fear and despair as the ego gives up clinging to wordly life, or releases connection to someone who is in the dying process.

As we have done in the past few lectures, I would like to begin with a summary overview of the topic – in this case, death and mourning. I will present some basic Jungian insights. Finally, we will move to a discussion of Jewish cultural ways and how they assist during this difficult part of the life cycle.

In case you did not know it, there is an entire field of psychological research dedicated to this field, known as thanatology, named after Thanatos, the personification of death in Greek mythology. Perhaps the best-known pioneer in thanatology was Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, who presented a stage-based process for death preparation as well as mourning. Since that time, other researchers have come forward, and we will draw on the findings of these researchers today. And, since we are talking about initiation from a Jungian perspective, we will of course apply our standard initiation framework and also draw on the perspectives of Carl Jung on this topic.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross describes a five stage process that describes preparation for death, and the first three stages describe an ego that is clinging to the illusion of control, attempting to forestall the inevitable. These stages are denial, anger, and bargaining. When death comes to the foreground of consciousness, the ego first attempts to push it back into the background. However, impending death has a way of moving back into foreground, often through increasingly undeniable physical symptoms, but also through mental eruptions – sudden bursts of awareness – and dreams. Jung says that the entire second half of life is preparation for death, and while the daydreams of the first half of life are predominantly about potential outer-world accomplishments, the daydreams of the second half of life increasingly become about death. Some of us observe and participate willingly in this change, even when there is no diagnosis, others resist it to nearly the very end.

According to Kubler-Ross, the next stage in preparation for death is anger. Again, from a Jungian view, this makes a lot of sense. The ego resents having to face its limits and this predictably manifests as rage. What is it the object of this anger? At first, it is directed against the doctors, counselors, and loved ones who insist on challenging ego denial. But, ultimately, it is rage against the life process itself. We Jungian might go so far as to say that it is rage against the transpersonal Self. Why must death come? Why can’t the ego continue to enjoy its relatively predictable comfort zone infinitely? Because there cannot be individuation without limitation in time and space, and that means life must end in death.

The third Kubler-Ross stage is bargaining. The ego, at this stage, is at least recognizing that there is a process larger than itself that is going on and attempts to make peace with it, to see if ego positions can be at least partially accommodated. In the process of individuation, this is a healthy balance. The transcendent Self presents the ego with a particular destiny, and it is the job of the ego to accommodate the demands of destiny while also meeting the basic demands of day-to-day life for food, shelter, and relationship. However, in this particular instance, there will be no bargaining. Death means the cessation of day-to-day demands. That particular

Kubler-Ross’ model fourth stage is “depression.” It involves going into the darkness and braving the challenges one finds there. In his essay “The Soul and Death,” Jung makes some interesting observations about this stage. To put it simply, this is the stage where the ego lets go of its illusion of being both immortal and at the center of life. The attitudes of the ego and of the Self at this stage of initiation are strikingly discordant. Jung observes:

Thoughts of death pile up to an astonishing degree as the years increase. Willynilly, the ageing person prepares himself for death. That is why I think that nature herself is already preparing for the end. Objectively it is a matter of indifference what the individual consciousness may think about it. But subjectively it makes an enormous difference whether consciousness keeps in step with the psyche or whether it clings to opinions of which the heart knows noth­ing. It is just as neurotic in old age not to focus upon the goal of death as it is in youth to repress fantasies which have to do with the future.

In my rather long psychological experience I have observed a great many people whose unconscious psychic activity I was able to follow into the immediate presence of death. As a rule the approaching end was indicated by those symbols which, in normal life also, proclaim changes of psychological condition rebirth symbols such as changes of locality, journeys, and the like. I have frequently been able to trace back for over a year, in a dream-series, the indications of approaching death, even in cases where such thoughts were not prompted by the outward situation. Dying, therefore, has its onset long before actual death. Moreover, this often shows itself in peculiar changes of personality which may precede death by quite a long time. On the whole, I was astonished to see how little ado the unconscious psyche makes of death. It would seem as though death were something relatively unimportant, or perhaps our psyche does not bother about what happens to the individual. But it seems that the unconscious is all the more interested in how one dies; that is, whether the attitude of consciousness is adjusted to dying or not. (CW 8, paragraphs 808 – 809).

Jung goes on to describe how, in his opinion, the adjustment we are talking about is the disengagement of the ego from the limitations of space and time. The Self is beyond space and time, and the ego is mired in it. The ego – particularly the youthful, commanding ego – equates life with limitation in time and space. Death is seen as the most dreaded of all outcomes, a descent into an imaginable void. And when death appears inevitable, the ego must withdraw into depression, a turning within out of frustration and despair.

In terms of one’s own impending death, the first four stages end with a calm readiness for the final end of physical life. Kubler-Ross calls this stage “acceptance.” In a Jungian sense, it is a final reflection on the path of individuation, what has been experienced during one’s life, and anticipation of final re-union with the Self. As the ego relinquishes its isolation in time and space, a sort of mystical consciousness emerges, and the whole concept of beginning and end comes into question.

Those are the five Kubler-Ross stages of dying. What about mourning? Many have applied the Kubler-Ross stages to the mourning process, and they are certainly quite relevant. Another theorist, Therese Rando, offers an alternative descriptive model specifically on mourning, which she calls the “six Rs”: Recognize the loss, react to the separation, recollect and re-experience the deceased and the relationship, relinquish old attachments to the deceased and the old assumptive world, readjust adaptively to the new world without abandoning the old, and reinvest. Using more Jungian termininology, a mourner recognizes the loss, overcoming the illusion of ego control over it. The mourner also allows the reaction to the loss to be fully experienced, not stifling the sadness or masking it with rage. Rando speaks of recollecting and re-experiencing the deceased and the relationship, then relinquishing old attachments to the deceased and the old assumptive world. These simple phrases belie the ego pain that almost always accompanies these necessary tasks. There is no soft-selling it. The ego must die to what is formerly way, and not everyone survives these tasks. Some people simply stay in mourning for the remainder of their lives. Or they simply will themselves into an early literal death. But those who survive the initiatory death come to the initiatory rebirth. For those who are mourning the loss of someone else, it means coming into a new identity. For Rando, it involves readjusting adaptively to a new world without abandoning the old, and reinvesting. To put it in a more Jungian frame, the ego withdraws projections onto the departed individual and re-itegrates the experiences into ego identity. That does not mean forgetting the person who has died. It means thanking them for what they brought into your life, then recognizing that those qualities and experiences are still available. This is what some people mean when they say, “the person is still with me, I can feel their presence.” In a very real sense, they truly are, because they have now integrated with the transcendent Self, which is the ground of our personal and collective identity.

What Rando terms “reinvestment” might be also seen as re-engagement and willingness to remain vulnerable. For some egos, the death of a loved one leads to a hardening of defenses out of fear of further loss, which can stifle future intimacy and growth. There is a rebirth, but it is rebirth into a more narrow and confined sense of possibility. To go on with life, one must learn how to remember the loved one without becoming morose.

Let’s turn, now, to Jewish culture and the way that it handles preparation for death, mourning, and remembering.

When a person is expected to die in 3 days or fewer, that person is termed a goses in traditional Jewish culture. To assist this person in the release from life, there is a general prohibition against prolonging the death process unnecessarily, while still honoring the presence of life. It is prohibited to perform any traditional death preparations on a goses. For example, one must not "tie his jaws, anoint, wash, plug open organs, remove the pillow from underneath him, or place him on the ... ground," as one would do as part of Jewish rituals for a deceased person. Further, society may not act in anticipation of the goses's death, hence a prohibition against arranging for a coffin or a gravesite before the actual arrival of death. Death should approach according to its own schedule. No one should disturb the goses from maximum comfort for fear of either hastening or preventing the natural onset of death. One may, however, remove barriers to death's natural approach. In addition, health care professionals are not obligated to perform any action which, according to Rabbi Moses Isserles, the 14th century sage, "constitutes a hindrance to the departure of the soul" (Friedman, 1993). This can be interpreted into modern health care as a prohibition against carrying out unnecessary tests on an individual who is in the midst of his final days. For example, once an individual is no longer receiving curative therapy, he should be allowed to "rest in peace" without being subjected to having blood samples drawn, and extensive monitoring.

Psychologically speaking, the last thing a person that close to hearing needs to hear it, “You are going to be up and about in no time.” That is just reinforcing the clinging of the ego to the life that is about to end. Those last precious hours are for true acceptance, rising above the limits of times, integrating with the Self.

Let’s turn now to the topics of mourning and remembering. I would like to cover a few of the basics of Jewish culture on these topics, and propose some Jungian implications:

A person who hears of the death of a parent, spouse, sibling, or child is referred to as an onen (literally "someone in between") until the funeral.

As mentioned before, to lose someone with whom you have shared identity is a sort of death for the mourner. He or she must give up an identity – a sort of ego death – and be reborn. Mourners are, indeed, in between lives.

The words "barukh dayan ha-emet" ("blessed is the true judge") are uttered upon hearing the news, and a garment is torn.

There are certain attitudes that naturally arise during a period of mourning which can, in fact, hinder the transition time. The first is guilt, that somehow the death of this beloved one is your fault. Jews immediately ascribe the death to ‘the true judge’ who stands behind all of life’s major events. The second hindering attitude is persona, hiding one’s feelings behind a socially acceptable veneer. It is an apt action to tear clothing, symbolic of persona, expressive of emotion.

The body of the deceased is washed and dressed for burial with great care by the hevra kaddisha (the sacred burial society)

While mourners are in the early stages of loss, there is still a lot of projection on the body. Jewish tradition recognizes this. The body is treated tenderly, not by the ones still so raw from the loss, but by the supportive community.

The burial is framed by other liturgical elements, including the recitation of a special version of the Kaddish prayer, often thought of as the "mourner's prayer."

As we discussed in the first session of this series, it may seem odd that the central prayer of mourning and remembrance actually does not even mention death. It is, instead, a prayer of praise and of connection to ancestors, of mercy, and of peace. This may be an intentional effort to refocus the mourner away from the pain and bitterness of loss and toward the greater pattern of meaning.

Mourning takes place in several periods, each successively less intense. It includes shiva, seven days during which mourners are visited at home by family and community, and participate in prayer services held at home; sheloshim, the first 30 days of mourning, during which mourners return to their normal routine but refrain from many customary pleasurable activities; and, for those who have lost a parent, 11 months of aveilut (mourning), during which Kaddish is recited daily.

The anniversary of death, or yahrzeit, is observed each year, and the deceased is remembered four times annually during Yizkor services (from the word "to remember") on the holidays of Passover, Shavuot, Yom Kippur, and Shemini Atzeret. (In many communities, Yizkor is also said on Rosh Hashanah, the second day of Sukkot,and the second day of Passover.)

Consistent with the reality of how psyche heals from painful loss, Jewish culture provides enough time for all of the stages to be completed. The earliest days are reserved for recognizing the loss and reacting to the separation. The focus is on those who have suffered the greatest from the loss, giving them privacy and allowing them to express feeling freely. That is soon followed by inviting in others who loved or knew the deceased, telling stories that facilitate recollecting and re-experiencing the deceased and the relationship and relinquishing old attachments to the deceased and the old assumptive world.

The hardest complexes for many people to release are the parental complexes. Jungians often say that much of our life, particularly the first part of life, is almost entirely about recognizing, confronting, and resolving the complexes that were first planted through our relationship to our parents. Therefore, it is quite wise to spend even longer time in mourning for one’s parents, which is recognized in Jewish custom.

But Jews also recognize that it is unhealthy for mourning to go on forever. There is an expectation that a mourner will readjust adaptively to the new world without abandoning the old and will reinvest in a new life. But there is also a recognition that we must remember those who have shaped our lives, and that is also acknowledged in Judaism, through the annual remembrances.