Funeral

I didn't faint. But we all came mighty close.
I arrived at the funeral a few minutes "late" because I got trapped in the motorcade on ATL hwy. It was headed by fire engines, police cars and family and friends of BYN. The firemen all saluted the coffin in a moving display of just how much this local young man is revered and will be missed. When I found my way to the back of the cemetery where the military section is, the coffin was just being brought out of the hearse by six young and stoic soldiers. A commander barked incessant commands at them and each time he spoke the soldiers wheeled and turned. They hauled the coffin to the grave site and placed it over the hole in the ground. There was a tent sent up just large enough to shelter the family and some friends at the back. I stood out in the relentless sun for a bit until I realized I needed shade. I ducked under the tent right beside a water jug and ice box. Every now and again I'd take a piece of ice and run it along my face. It was absolutely necessary. I kept looking over at pregnant D: her face was scorched and she looked miserable. I'm surprised she made it through. I'm surprised any of us did. The problem with being under the tent was that we had to all huddle together uncomfortably. But it was better than frying out of it.
BYN's uncle, a rabbi who came all the way from Israel, said some prayers and words along with a rabbi military chaplin. An officer said some words and then came the firing of three shots. The six soldiers had been standing in position under the sun ever since they'd laid the coffin down. In their black berets they must've had some willpower. They fired three times, cracking the afternoon and spliting our eardrums. Then a solitary soldier in the distance played Taps on his horn while anyone who hadn't yet shed a tear broke down sobbing. Then the soldiers propped up three rifles in a pyramid formation, left it and took the American flag off the coffin. They folded it in the familiar triangle shape and gave it, along with three medals (the Purple Heart, a Bronze Star and one other I can't recall) to the mother. Then some of the family dropped some dirt and rocks on the coffin and it was lowered. It was all very moving of course but like K said, "The mother would just want her son back more than anything." The medals and flag and ceremonies would mean nothing compared to his presence.
BYN was a medic in the military--he never hurt anyone nor did he intend to. In fact, the officer read some words BYN had penned himself concerning his position in the war. He said something along the lines of how he was perfectly fit for the job, how it's what he intended to do. In all of the violence he wanted to balance out the vengence of the soldiers with good, with healing, with serenity. He wanted to help the Iraqis as much as the Americans.
At the funeral the officer mentioned how BYN had been a man of integrity and honor. I'm sure that's said at a lot of military funerals. But I knew BYN and the reason I always liked and looked up to him was that he clung to his faith with steadfast resolve, ignoring cultural norms and mores and daring to be that one different guy who was clean, trustworthy and gentle. He treated women with respect and he treated himself with respect as well. As I stood sweating under that tent staring at his coffin, I thought how true it really is that the good die young. I've heard it said that's because God misses them so much He wants to bring them Home sooner. Whatever God's mysterious ways, I know that BYN touched a lot of hearts, from GA to TX where he was at boot camp, to Isreal where he visited his uncle, to Iraq where he healed the wounds of people's souls and bodies and died fulfilling children's sweet demands.
Shalom. Hallelujah!