The Surprising Beauty of a Zoom Funeral

My beautiful and kind, brilliant and resilient father, Paul Amir, died on July 13. He was a gibor among giborim, a hero among heroes.

We were so grateful that he died at home, and that we were all with him as he gently left us. His love protected us as he continued to hold our hands in his all-encompassing grip, even in his last moments.

And then, the world as we knew it no longer existed.

Our beloved husband, father, father-in-law and grandfather had died at age 89. Reeling from our loss, we were confronted by the pain of planning a funeral amid the stress and restrictions of the COVID-19 pandemic. The cemetery informed us that only 15 people could attend; masks were mandatory; the service would be at graveside; no microphone was allowed. We even had to provide our own shovels in order to follow the Jewish tradition allowing each of us, in our final act of devotion, to cover my father’s simple coffin with dirt.

Our Zoom funeral suited him and would have pleased him. It was just his style: heartfelt, unassuming and direct. 

As we moved forward in our changed world, hoping to gain solace from Judaism’s ancient rituals, we worried, feeling deprived of a proper funeral. How would we proceed if people couldn’t be with us to share our sadness? How would we honor my father with the respect and love that he deserved? How could we adequately pay tribute to this exceptional man? How would we be comforted?

My children quickly pivoted to the idea of a Zoom funeral that would enable those who loved my father to join us.

Still longing for a traditional funeral, I agonized that the Zoom funeral would be so cold, so tech and so distant from human emotion. To my surprise, the Zoom funeral ended up being warm, personal and filled with a love that all could feel. 

More than 200 computers joined on Zoom. All who joined felt the comfort of one another’s presence, as each person, connected to my father, in his/her own way, appeared, square-by-square, in each individual screen.

So many people who wouldn’t have been able to be with us in person were able to be with us virtually. They showed their deep affection and respect and shared our grief. My daughter’s iPhone, propped on a chair, recorded each of us as we gave our eulogies, and recited the Mourner’s Kaddish for the first time. 

My father’s grave is situated in a beautiful park-like setting with blooming trees. My sister and I, our husbands and our children all spoke to my father directly, from the heart in the most loving and specific way; each of us expressing gratitude for his impact, his legacy, and his love.

We all thanked my mother, his cherished wife of 60 years for her incredible devotion, and care — theirs was truly a love story. His six grandchildren promised him that they would tell their children about their saba, his incredible bravery as a young child in Nazi-overrun Czechoslovakia, his love of Israel and the Jewish people, his passion for art, his ability to do complicated math problems in his head and his fierce intelligence. 

Without other mourners present, we focused on saying goodbye. Then, we slowly walked away alone in our grief. We were physically distant but emotionally close; our community engulfed us with care and affection. We received an outpouring of love from Israel, England, Canada and throughout the United States. All mentioned the poignancy of participating remotely, yet feeling so present.

My father moved through the world modestly. He cared deeply about people but he had no interest in large gatherings, extraneous conversations or being the center of attention. In some unanticipated way, our Zoom funeral suited him and would have pleased him. It was just his style: heartfelt, unassuming and direct.

Of course, I still value the traditional Jewish funeral and I missed the physical presence that the pandemic took away from us. But I am deeply grateful that we live in a time that gave us an option. Our Zoom funeral was beautiful, sad and profound both in its intimacy and in its expansiveness. The measure of my father’s extraordinary, well-lived life shone brightly through, as did the love and the humanity that transcended the limitations of the quarantine.

Orna Wolens is the campaign chair of the Los Angeles Jewish Federation.