“Well, Jesus was Jewish before he became Catholic, so I say it counts.”
Monae Dunn is sitting on the left-hand side of the chapel with Michael and another African-American woman who looks like she might be Monae’s sister, Revae. They’re both in very nice, very black church dresses. Michael is wearing a nicely tailored black suit. I’m sort of curious as to how he knew to pack it for his weekend trip home.
Judith, David, and Little Arnie Rosen are seated on the right. Shona Oppenheimer and her son, Samuel, are right behind Judith, Arnie, and David. Shona leans forward to give her sister a gentle shoulder massage and all I can think of are those same hands throttling Christine Lemonopolous’ neck.
Guess that’s why Christine picked a seat six rows away.
Mrs. Ceepak leaves our row to go sit with that handsome gent Hank (the good dancer) and a few of Dr. Rosen’s other “bingo buddies” from the senior center.
Other than that, the golden, padded chairs are pretty much empty. Not exactly a sold-out crowd.
I guess when you live to be 94 you lose a lot of friends and family along the way.
I’m glad Dr. Rosen’s coffin lid is closed.
Whenever you can see the body in an open casket at a funeral it looks, to me anyway, like the guy who the show is all about got so bored with the whole thing he had to lie down and grab a quick nap. I have to figure that a casket, lined with those soft silken pillows, is the most comfortable seat anybody ever gets in church. Too bad you can’t really enjoy it.
Rabbi Bronstein leads the service.
It’s actually very moving. The rabbi tears black ribbons and hands them to family members to pin on their clothes to symbolize their loss. Psalms are recited, including some that Mr. Ceepak hasn’t quoted at us yet. Rabbi Bronstein gives an eloquent eulogy for “this good and honorable man” Arnold Rosen. He even tells a small joke. “Arnold once told me he was named Dentist of the Year, back in the late 1970s. When I asked him what the award was, he said, ‘Nothing much. Just a little plaque.’”
Everybody smiled. Well, everybody I could see.
Later, the whole congregation (except me) recites a memorial prayer. In Hebrew. Fortunately, there is a translation in the slender programs printed up for the event. Everybody’s asking God to shelter the soul of the deceased “under the wings of His Divine presence.”
The casket is then wheeled out of the funeral chapel while all the mourners, me included, recite the 23rd Psalm and follow the coffin up the center aisle.
I don’t see Christine. She must’ve slipped out early.
We don’t go with the family to the cemetery. Instead, we all head down the block to the Salty Dog Deli and order Reuben sandwiches or corned beefs on rye.
“It’s what Arnie would’ve wanted,” says Adele, deconstructing her towering six-inch-thick sandwich and rebuilding it into something that might actually fit in her mouth.
All of our sandwiches are stacked so high with sliced meat, vegetarians everywhere are weeping.
Neither Ceepak nor I mention a thing about her ex-husband’s recent million-dollar request to Mrs. Ceepak. However, Ceepak does, once again, lobby hard for his mother to reconsider the installation of a home security system.
“I don’t need a burglar alarm, John,” she says. “Joe doesn’t scare me. Not anymore.”
“I’m worried, mother,” says Ceepak.
“Me, too,” adds Rita. “Your ex is a mess.”