The Simple Son

Rabbi Schlomo spent his evenings in the basement of the funeral home watching over the dead. He
had no illusions about his limitations. He was a pious man but had only been a lackluster student of
Jewish laws and theology. Upon graduating Rabbinic college, he was surprised and disappointed to
discover that piety was a quality in low demand. So the newly ordained Rabbi found himself on the
lowest rung of the rabbinical ladder. That particular rung being the domain of the lowly Shomer,
guardian of dead.
Schlomo’s theological duty was to provide comfort to the departed’s soul by reciting psalms and
spiritual texts. His earthly duty was to watch over the dead and prevent the desecration of the
deceased’s body. Whom he was protecting the dead from was unclear. In the 17 th century, he
assumed that moths, flies, mice and rats intent on nibbling on the dead were his enemy. But these
enemies had long since been vanquished in modern, hygienic funeral facilities. And so the only real
requirement of the job was to pray, study the Torah and display his abundant piety.
It was literally a thankless job. Jewish law demanded that the dead be buried within 24 hours and
Rabbi Schlomo was on call both night and day. He was commonly required to sit overnight with the
recently deceased. Eating, drinking, smoking and sleeping were strictly prohibited out of respect for
the dead who could no longer engage in these human activities. Worse still, rather than thanking the
Shomer for his sacrifices, the community shunned him as a ghoulish guardian of the dead. And a poor
one at that for the job paid pauper’s wages.
Like an accountant who was convinced that he had within him a great novel waiting to be written,
Rabbi Schlomo fantasied about redeeming his intellectual reputation by writing an important
theological dissertation. On the night of the incident, Rabbi Schlomo was studying the story of the
Four Sons: one wise, one wicked, one simple and one who does not have the wit to ask. Why were
the Four Sons always referred to in that particular order? Wise, wicked, simple and witless. The sages
observed that the sons were ranked in order of intelligence but Rabbi Schlomo took great offense to
this interpretation. Why should the wicked son be ranked higher than the simple and witless sons?
Should they not rather be ranked according to their piety? This would be the topic of the dissertation
that he feared he would never write.
Among the other tortures of the job was the fact that the lighting in the basement was poor. The strain
on the Rabbi’s eyes caused them to burn and water. He closed his eyes to rest them for just a moment
and when he next opened them, the body was gone. Had he fallen asleep? He check his watch in a
panic. It was 4:23 am. The information was less than helpful for he had no idea at what time he had
closed his eyes.
Had someone moved the body? The Rabbi stood up and began walking from room to room. Nothing
seems out of place and the former Mr. Birnbaum was nowhere in sight. He wanted to call out Mr.
Birnbaum’s name but realized the futility of that course of action.
What to do? Should he sit down and guard nothing until morning? That seemed as futile as calling
out the dead man’s name. Mr. Birnbaum’s funeral was scheduled for nine o’clock in the morning.
Waiting until the funeral director arrived at 6:00 would leave them with insufficient time to formulate
a course of action.

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Schlomo was well aware that there were only two things the funeral owner hated; things going wrong
at the funeral home and having his sleep disturbed. He took a deep breath and dialed the funeral
director’s home number.
“Hello?” The director’s voice sounded rough and confused.
“Mr. Jacobs? This is Rabbi Schlomo down at the funeral home.”
“What happened?”
“There seems to be a problem,” replied the Rabbi.
“I said, what happened?”
“Mr. Birnbaum’s body seems to be missing,”
“I’ll be right down.”
Benjamin Jacobs arrived 30 minutes later, dressed in his funeral director’s suit and black hat. He
walked deliberately down the stairs to see Rabbi Schlomo nervously standing next to the empty
gurney.
“Yes, good morning Rabbi,”
“Good morning, Mr. Jacobs,” replied Schlomo with a nervous nod of his head.
“What happened to Mr. Birnbaum?”
“I don’t know Mr. Jacobs.”
“Were you asleep?”
“The light is very hash down here and I was resting my eyes for just a minute.”
“I see. Nevertheless, the body did not just walk out of here by itself. Have you check all the other
rooms?”
“There was nothing out of place.”
“We’ll pull the security tapes. In the meanwhile we have a problem. The Birbaums are going to be
here at 9:00 am and they’re going to want to bury their father. You have put us in a very difficult
situation.” Mr. Jacobs gazed dispassionately as Rabbi Schlomo stood waiting. “We’ll just have to go
ahead without the body. The casket is closed throughout the service and the families never lift the lid
in the mourners’ room. So we just provide the casket as is and go ahead with the funeral.”
Rabbi Schlomo was shocked. “To deceive the bereaved is a terrible sin.”
“To deny them the comfort of having the funeral would be the greater evil.”
“But the risk! If they did open the casket.”
“We have no choice. If people think we lost a body we are surly done. But if we say nothing, there is
only a small chance they will open the lid.”

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“But we did lose a body,” said the Rabbi pleading for some reason and sanity.
“No you lost the body. That’s why you’ll do as you’re told.”
The funeral was a painful experience for Rabbi Schlomo. The Birnbaums were properly somber. The
older family members were in tears; the younger, respectfully silent. Schlomo was not the officiating
Rabbi and was present in the mourning room only to comfort the mourners who did not seem to
require comforting. The deceased had reached the full measure of his years and the family was more
relieved than distressed that he had died a peaceful death. In fact, the only person in the mourning
room requiring comforting was Rabbi Schlomo. He sat uneasily, eyeing the coffin. He was torn
between the conflicting emotions of guilt and fear. And the more he feared the discovery of his part
in the deception, the more he felt guilty that he cared more about himself than the mourners who were
being deceived.
When the time came to move the coffin into the main chapel, Rabbi Schlomo knew that they had
gotten away with the deceit. His relief was short lived as he merely replaced the fear of being
exposed with the fear of divine punishment. He sat at the back of the chapel staring at the coffin with
such intensity that he imagined he could see the sandbags that had taken the place of poor old Mr.
Birnbaum.
He glanced around at the other mourners to see if they too could see the sandbags. All was in order
with the family and friends respectively listening to the officiating Rabbi enumerating the the many
positive qualities of the Late Mr. Birnbaum. It was a small turnout as was typical when the deceased
was elderly. And like the deceased, most of the mourners were elderly as well, each one wondering
when it would be their turn to be in the box.
One elderly gentleman in a far corner of the chapel caught Rabbi Schlomo’s eye. His decorum was
wrong. Rather than sorrow, he seemed to exude an air of whimsy. As the Rabbi listed the deceased’s
virtues, the strange man broke into a smile. Rabbi Schlomo peered closely at the stranger. Could it
be? In a shock of recognition Schlomo realized that it was Mr. Birnbaum himself. The corpse had
come back to attend his own funeral. And he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
Rabbi Schlomo turned as pale as one of his corpses. How could it be? Mr. Birnbaum could not have
come back to life. Even if he had been mistakenly declared dead, the mortician would have drained
his blood and removed all of his organs. There was no mistake. Mr. Birnbaum was not among the
living.
This was a matter for wiser men to settle. Rabbi Schlomo looked around for Mr. Jacobs, trying to
catch his eye. But unlike Schlomo, the funeral director was paying attention to the service and not
letting his mind or eyes wander the room.
When he looked back to where Mr. Birnbaum had been seated, he was gone again.
Rabbi Schlomo hurried into the funeral director’s office after the day’s funerals were completed.
“I saw him,” began Rabbi Schlomo.
“Who?” asked the funeral director.
“The deceased, Mr. Birnbaum.”

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“Where?”
“In the chapel. He was attending his own funeral.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I saw him. He was listening to the eulogy. He was enjoying it. Smiling,” insisted Rabbi Schlomo.
“So where did he go? Do you have him somewhere?”
“No. I looked away for a minute and he disappeared.”
“I see,” said the funeral director. He sat looking at Schlomo for a moment as the Rabbi squirmed. “I
looked at the surveillance tapes. They were inconclusive.”
“What did they show?” asked the Rabbi.
“The tape cycles through the four security cameras, changing shots every 10 seconds. In one shot
you’re sleeping next to the body. In the next shot, 30 seconds later, you’re still asleep but the body is
gone. There was no other movement anywhere in the building. Mr. Birnbaum just disappeared,”
concluded Mr. Jacobs.
“And reappeared during the service. He’s come back to life,” insisted Rabbi Schlomo.
“At this point I am not entertaining any supernatural explanations.” Mr. Jacobs shuffled some papers
on his desk as if the answer to the mystery was located there. “Rabbi, the Shomer is a difficult job. It
strains the nerves. Not everyone is well suited for it. Why don’t you take a break. Come back next
week and we’ll see if we can find something that you are better suited to.”
Rather than rent his own rooms, the Rabbi’s modest financial circumstances forced him to take a
room in Mrs. Schlesinger’s rooming house. The price was reasonable and Mrs. Schlesinger provided
both meals and laundry services. Unfortunately, Mrs. Schlesinger’s reputation was less than
impeccable. She was a notorious gossip and as a widow sharing her accommodations with unmarried
men, the entire enterprise was frowned upon. But as a Rabbi of known piety, Schlomo’s reputation
could withstand his association with a house of lesser repute.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Schlesinger asked the moment Rabbi Schlomo walked in the door.

“Nothing,” Schlomo assured his landlady.

“Don’t lie to me. I can see it on your face. Did something happen at one of the funerals?”

Rabbi Schlomo sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. “Mr. Birnbaum’s funeral. But you mustn’t
tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell? So, what happened?”

“The body went missing.”

“Missing? Where did it go?”

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“I don’t know. It’s a mystery,” explained Rabbi Schlomo.

Mrs. Schlesinger glared at the Rabbi attempting to extract more information directly from his brain.
“There’s something else. You saw something?”

“I don’t know. I think I saw someone who looked like Mr. Birnbaum at the service. I’m not sure.”

“Ahh,” exclaimed the landlady. “And you fell asleep.”

“Maybe,” admitted the Rabbi.

“It’s a Dybbuk for sure. A demon possessed the body of Mr. Birnbaum while you were asleep. Why
do you think we Jews have a Shomer guard the bodies of the dead? To protect against Dybbuks. How
could you fall asleep?”

“I just rested my eyes for a minute.”

“A minute’s enough. A Shomer has to be vigilant.” Mrs. Schlesinger paused for a moment to
consider the situation. “A Dybbuk is a restless spirit. It wanders the earth because it has an task that
remained unfulfilled in its own life.”

“Mrs. Schlesinger, please. I am a religious man. I do not believe in ghosts and spirits. I believe only
in The Almighty and his commandments.”

“You saw it with your own eyes and still you do not believe. Never mind. Whether you believe or
not, the Dybbuk is loose amount us and he will be back to fulfill his evil mission.”

True to Mrs. Schlesinger’s prediction, strange things began to happen. Tuesday afternoon, Rabbi
Schlomo visited his butcher and was confronted with an unpaid bill of $60. The butcher claimed that
Schlomo and visited the store and taken an order of meat with a promise to pay at a later date. The
Rabbi swore he had never done such a thing but the butcher was undeterred.

Later that same day, Schlomo made a visit to his bank. The teller expressed surprise that he was
visiting the bank twice in one day.

“But this is the first time I’ve visited the bank this week,” protested the Rabbi.

“Rabbi, you were in this morning. You took out $100.”

“Did I use my bank card? Did I know the PIN?”

“No. You said you forgot your card. But the card and PIN is for strangers. We all know you here.
There’s only one Rabbi Schlomo.”

The final outrage came over the phone. Mr. Jacobs called. Not to enquirer on how the Rabbi was
fairing but to accuse Schlomo of an outrageous sin.

“You were seen eating pig meat at the Fat Burger on Dufferin.”

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Schlomo was shocked. “I would never do such a thing!”

“There were multiple witnesses. We cannot have a Rabbi in our community behaving in such a
manner.”

“I never,” repeated Schlomo.

By the time he got home, Rabbi Schlomo was a broken man. Rather than avoid Mrs. Schlesinger, he
sought out her counsel.

“There is someone going around town, doing terrible things and pretending to be me,” Schlomo
blurted out.

“It’s the Dybbuk,” replied Mrs. Schlesinger with a shrug.

“But he looks like me! The Dybbuk took over Mr. Birnbaum’s body. How can he look like me?”

“The Dybbuk has the power to cloud people’s minds,” said Mrs. Schlesinger wiggling her fingers
over her right eye. “Think about it. The Dybbuk can’t be wandering around town looking like Mr.
Birnbaum. Everyone knows he’s dead. So he disguises himself as you.”

“But why me?”

“You were the first person he saw when he took over Mr. Birnbaum’s body. So he makes himself
look like you.”

“He’s ruining my life! How can I stop him?”

“He’s here to finish an unfulfilled task. So help him complete the task and find some peace.”

“How can I help him? I don’t even know where he is,” complained the Rabbi.

“He’s wandering the streets by day but he can’t be out all night. He would draw too much attention to
himself. So he must be in doors at night. And the only place he knows is the funeral home. So that’s
where you’ll find him,” reasoned Mrs. Schlesinger.

“But he isn’t there. I looked. And the security tape shows nothing.”

“He can cloud people’s minds, remember. So go in there with a clear mind and you’ll find him.

Rabbi Schlomo spent the next 24 hours fasting and praying. He donated a tenth of his dwindling
savings to charity and ended his fast with nothing more than a glass of fruit juice and a piece of
honey cake.

He entered the funeral home at midnight and systematically searched every room while chanting
Judaism’s holiest prayer. “Hear of Israel. The Lord our God, the Lord is one.”

Schlomo focused his thoughts on his love of God and the Dybbuk appeared before him in the
morgue, still in the form of Mr. Birnbaum,

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“Hello Rabbi,” said the Dybbuk.

“Hello,” replied Schlomo. “I’m here to help.”

“I know,” said the Dybbuk.

“What should I call you?” asked Schlomo.

“Call me Mr. Birnbaum.”

“But you’re not Mr. Birnbaum. Who were you in life?”

“I lost my name when I died. Now I carry the name of whatever person I possess.”

“Why do you roam the Earth?” asked Rabbi Schlomo.

“I was once a Rabbinical scholar like you. I had a brilliant mind. The finest in centuries, they said.
But I was morally weak. I knew God’s commandments but I was too weak to honour them. So I was
drummed out of the Yeshivah, shamed within my community and lived in humiliation and poverty
until I died of a plague.”

“I am so sorry,” replied Rabbi Schlomo upon hearing the Dybbuk’s story. “I can help you.”

“I know you can,” said the Dybbuk with an evil grin as his picked up a surgical scalpel and stabbed
Rabbi Schlomo through the centre of his heart.

The next day, Rabbi Schlomo received a phone call from Mr. Jacobs, the funeral director.

“Mr. Birnbaum’s body reappeared this morning in the morgue, just as mysteriously as it
disappeared.”

“I suppose that’s good news,” replied Rabbi Schlomo.

“Yes. We will secretly dig up Mr. Birnbaum’s coffin and finally give him his burial. Would you like
to officiate to make sure he is properly put to rest? In strict confidence of course.”

“Yes, that will be fine.”

“Good and then we can talk about finding a proper Rabbinical role for you somewhere in the
community.”

“Thank you very much but I have decided to resume my Rabbinical studies. I have some theological
papers I have in mind to write.”

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