I had only met Oded a few times, but he was an intelligent, yet grounded man and very genuine. His eyes spoke kindness, and I honestly wish I had the chance to know him better. Our few conversations left a mark on me, and when I found out he had died yesterday I shed tears for him and the loss his lovely wife must have felt. It was unexpected, for I was not close with him.
This might not seem to be the kind of story I would normally like to share on a blog about laughter, travel and adventure, but for me it was a sad journey in discovery of a culture I had never before explored, and a reminder of the time we have and how we choose to spend it.
My response when I heard he had passed away was to suggest organising flowers for his family, and when my wife responded that it was not the done thing to send flowers in Jewish custom, I realised I didn't know much about these people.
I spent much of the afternoon reading of the Hebrew funeral customs, and then exploring the history of the people. It was a twisting navigation through the Internet, across time, over conspiracy theories, under religious differences and through persecutions. I emerged feeling quite intrigued and altogether much different about them than I had before. It was clear that even in the present day there still exists confusion and intolerance towards them.
I wasn't sure what to expect at all when we headed to the funeral service. It was moving and deeply sad, as most funerals are, and I am not sure what his sister does, but she was amazing and composed when she spoke eloquently and at length of Oded's character. She spoke of his how he embraced life, his love of travel - the highs of Kilmanjaro, and the lows of the Dead Sea... he even went as 'far' as Australia. His love for animals and his true happiness of being outdoors and exploring and finding beauty everywhere in the world. I wish I had the chance to spend more time with him and know him as others did.
I left today with two things imprinted on my memory. One sight, one sound.
The photographer in me wanted to capture the the sight, but there is a time and a place for a camera, and this was neither.The long line of mourners, snaking its way to the grave, all of them wielding umbrella's to shield the rain from their heads. The exception being Alana, Oded's wife.
She lead the procession following the casket, oblivious to the falling water. Perhaps she was too numb from an overload of emotions to notice. She seemed so composed though, steady; stately; sad and yet strong. Or perhaps she thought the raindrops were tears being shed by the heavens for her husband. After hearing the moving eulogy by his sister it was clear that everyone thought such a humble and beautiful man surely deserved their tears if ever any man did. Perhaps she wanted to feel the full impact of the environment, to soak in the day, and not shy away from any of the weather, or the pain.
The second thing I can still hear in my head is the hollow, heavy, yet soft thud of the first few shovels of dirt hitting the coffin. The finality of that sound.
In my minds eye it drew an image of his body lying in the dark interior of the plain wooden coffin that Jewish law requires, peaceful and slowly being sealed from the world.
The impact of the dirt on the coffin was not the only one, as upon the first earthy impact others recognised the finality of the moment and heart-aching sobs from his family joined the rhythmic scrape and thud of the shovels drawing their load and emptying into the hole.
I'll close with a quote that his sister read today:
Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do, than by the ones you did do. So throw of the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. -- Mark Twain
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