Opening the Box

Why sit shivah for such a wayward sister?
A couple of weeks before Pesach this year, we got a call informing us that my husband’s 28-year-old younger sister Simone — formerly Simi — had died in a high-altitude skydiving accident.
Ephraim, my husband, was stone cold when he heard the news.
“So that’s how she went, huh,” was his reaction.
His first call was to our rav to ask if he was required to sit shivah.
“My sister grew up frum and abandoned Yiddishkeit in her early twenties,” he explained. “Not only was her lifestyle completely antithetical to Torah values, but she herself became an avowed feminist who was virulently antireligious and attacked Yiddishkeit at every opportunity, including on social media. For the past seven years, since she went off, I’ve had almost no relationship with her, as every conversation invariably turned into a diatribe on her part against some aspect of Yiddishkeit.”
Considering all this, the rav ruled that Ephraim was not obligated to sit shivah, especially because, with travel already suspended due to the coronavirus, there was no way he could join his family in Canada for the levayah and shivah, so no one in the family would have to know he was the only one not observing shivah.
“Don’t tell your family that you’re not sitting,” the rav instructed Ephraim, “and don’t tell people in your community that your sister died. Just keep this private.”
This was the psak Ephraim wanted to hear, and he hung up the phone looking quite satisfied.
I, on the other hand, felt uneasy. “Shivah is not just for the niftar,” I observed. “It’s for the family, too. It gives you a chance to process the grief.”
“What grief?” he scoffed. “Simone lived like a rasha, and she got what she deserved.”
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