S
everal years ago, I read an essay written by a cancer patient. I don’t recall the exact details, but the gist was something like this: If a friend didn’t mention her illness, it hurt. If that same friend said she was looking better, she knew she was being lied to. If the friend said she looked tired or pale, it made her more depressed.
The writer concluded by saying that there was very little, if anything, that could be said to a sick person that would not be viewed as uncaring, untrue, unhelpful, or just plain stupid.
The same can be said about someone who is grieving.
The rules of how to behave during shivah reflect a sensitivity and deep awareness of this problem. We’re supposed to wait until the mourner addresses us and take our cue from him or her. We’re instructed that silence in and of itself can be comforting. We’re given specific words to say before we depart.
