"Art Appreciation" is what it said on the purple rubber bracelets distributed to friends of Art Jacknowitz. Art took up being a docent at West Virginia University's new art museum after his retirement. He and his wife Linda renewed their vows on their fiftieth anniversary in September. He looked fine then, but after a dire cancer diagnosis, died April 18, the night before the first Passover seder.
Tree of Life always has a seder the first night of Passover, held this year at the temple, with a good turnout. Linda and Art often invited us for the second night, and my sister attended also sometimes. By Jewish tradition, the funeral could have been Friday before the holiday, but in modern America, people have to fly in for the funeral, and the funeral homes are not prepared to do funerals on short notice. The rules are that you can't have a funeral the first two days of Passover, and you can't observe shiva, the week of mourning, until the holiday is over. This happened in my family when my father's sister died on the first seder night in 1955. They had to have the funeral a few days later, but could not start mourning until after Passover ended. My mother recalled it as one of the worst two weeks in the lives of everyone involved.
Art's funeral was on Tuesday, the fourth day of Passover, with a "meal of consolation" at Tree of Life. The funeral was in downtown Morgantown; the burial was a few blocks away, just down the street from the synagogue and Linda and Art's house. We observed three nights of prayer services for shiva at the Jacknowitz home, as the Reform movement allows more flexibility than more traditional Judaism. Our friend Donna, who is not Jewish but has a Jewish husband, put together, with some help from others, meals that were kosher and kosher for Passover.
Art and Linda are beloved in Morgantown. Art taught at the WVU School of Pharmacy for many years, mentored and advised students, and wrote papers on obscure topics, despite being low-key and down-to-earth. He and Linda were raised in Brooklyn and retain the charm and folkiness of Brooklyn in the fifties. At synagogue, Linda is the one who goes up to strangers and introduces herself, making them feel welcome.
There was a visitation at the funeral home for two hours before the service. Jewish funerals are closed casket. As the rabbi's spouse, I greeted people as they came in, and ended up standing in the back of the packed room. It was hot and stuffy there, and, fearing I would pass out, I moved into an adjacent room with a couch, where I could hear Rabbi Joe and the other speakers, but sit in a much cooler and air-filled room. Linda told me that five hundred people signed the guest book at the funeral home. At least thirty people came to house for services each of the three nights.
At the cemetery, I spoke with a young woman who told me she had been one of Art's students ten years ago, and that his career advice to her was spot-on. I thanked her for coming and told her (as I've learned from Rabbi Joe) that going to a funeral is rewarded in this world and the world to come, because the person whose funeral you attended won't be able to return the favor. She told me she is a religious Christian and asked what "the world to come' means in a Jewish context. I referred her to the rabbi. I met another woman one of the nights we were at Linda's house. She was also not Jewish, and didn't understand the service. Art told her when she got her undergrad degree and go out and work before going to grad school. She did that, and left for grad school at forty, coming back to Morgantown with a PH.D. and a teaching position at WVU. She was also grateful for Art's advice.
Most of the people at the services were in their seventies, long-time friends from the synagogue or from WVU, or just neighbors who knew Art and Linda. Art's brother, who came from Long Island to be with Linda, spoke at one of the evening services. He said he had no idea there was such a wonderful community of people here in Morgantown, so kind and so loving.
What I saw at the funeral and the house of mourning was grief over Art's death, and sympathy for Linda. But I also saw fear. People have had brushes with cancer and heart disease, wear hearing aids or have had cataract surgery. In one's seventies (five months away for me) death becomes a part of life. It's east to think "Am I next?" We all looked at each other as Art's brother praised our community. It is a great group of people. Joe and I came late, only seven years ago, but we have been made to feel at home. I looked around the room and thought "Who of us will be here in ten years?" I had to push that thought back and think about being kinder, more modest, helpful to others. I want to live up to the standards of the community at Art's funeral, and to continue to live by those standards, for as long as I can.
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