Groman’s authentic Yerushalmi upbringing has imbued him with a framework for absorbing the daily sights and sounds of death and grieving, and that resilience has been passed down to the next generation. Several of his 16 children have also entered the   family business: Yanky works with his father in the Jerusalem chevra kaddisha, and another son, Amram, performs the same holy work in Beit Shemesh. One son-in-law, Chaim Eisenbach, manages the Shamgar funeral home, and Reb Herschel’s two brothers, Shlomo and Leibish, have worked alongside him for many years in the same capacity.

“I guess you could say it’s a family tradition,” Groman says with a smile. “My father’s mother performed taharos in Yerushalayim a century ago. It must have been passed down to us, to my brothers and me, and some of our children.”

A Toldos Avraham Yitzchak chassid born in Batei Ungarian in the 1950s, Herschel Groman is married to the daughter of Eidah Hachareidis dayan Rav Avraham Yitzchak Ulman. His maternal grandfather was Rav Amram Blau, the famed Yerushalmi kanoi, and he still treasures that long-ago bond.

“Growing up, I was very close to the Zeide,” he relates. “I’d help him build his succah, walk with him to shul, just be around him whenever I could.”

As a child Groman often went with his grandfather to protest chillul Shabbos. “Usually, on Shabbos afternoons, we’d go to Beit Hadegel, at Davidka Square, where buses left for the Tel Aviv beach. Zeide would protest with all his might. From there we’d continue to Beit Egged, where today’s Central Bus Station is located. Before shkiah, we’d return to Shivtei Yisrael Street, which, naturally, was open to traffic. I still remember the days when cars drove freely on Shabbos through Kikar Shabbos.”

Even as a child, Herschel could discern the complex duality of his grandfather’s zealousness.

“He inculcated us with kana’us, but also with incredible generosity. All the stories of his zealotry focus on only one aspect of his personality. His hospitality and open-heartedness are not as well-known. He was outstanding in his hospitality, he accepted everyone, embraced everyone. In my mind, I compare him to Avraham Avinu, who opened his home to everyone with such love. Shabbos with him was indescribable. Dozens of people sat around his table, and he treated them with the greatest sensitivity and kindness.”

A little over a decade after his grandfather’s passing, in 1978, Groman began working as a driver for the Jerusalem chevra kaddisha of the Perushim community. From there he worked his way up through the ranks, until he attained the position he holds today. It has ingrained in him a deep sense of communal responsibility.

“We naturally serve Yerushalmi Jews from our community, but not only,” he says. “Many people from outside the community also want our chevra kaddisha to conduct the burial of their family members.”

Historic events have driven a significant part of his workload, such as when Har Hazeisim fell into Jordanian hands after the War of Independence, only to be reconquered by Israel in the Six Day War.

“In the past, we buried mainly on Har Hamenuchos and sometimes, on Har Hazeisim,” he says. “But a big part of our work involved transferring graves from the Sheikh Bader cemetery, near the Knesset, over to Har Hazeisim. During the years between the War of Independence and the Six Day War, many Jews were buried in Sheikh Bader, since Har Hazeisim was under Jordanian occupation. But that was only intended to be a stopgap. After Har Hazeisim was liberated, we transferred the graves, and I took part in that project.”

He cautions that the work involved in transferring graves is very labor-intensive and fraught with halachic risk: nothing may be left in the ground when the old grave is emptied.

“The work of disinterring bones and moving them to a new grave is very complicated. Kevod hameis must be upheld at the highest level. To this day, this kind of work takes place, but not very often — such as when a niftar is brought to Eretz Yisrael from abroad. We are very careful when taking on such a task. It’s the most difficult kind of burial and requires special chasdei Shamayim.”

TThe Perushim chevra kaddisha, like all the others, is currently dealing with a shortage of graves in Jerusalem’s cemeteries. Whereas some communities have implemented the solution of burying in above-ground, vertically stacked, high-rise grave niches, the Perushim refuse to bury their dead in this way. This has led to increased demand for the remaining conventional underground graves on Har Hamenuchos.

“There’s a real crisis,” Groman says. “And the government is not providing real solutions. We’re fighting against above-ground burial at the instruction of our rabbanim. The majority of gedolei Yisrael also oppose this method of burial.”

Groman says that only those whose parents are buried on Har Hamenuchos are entitled to be buried there now. All others are currently being buried on Har Tamir, the mountain adjacent to Har Hamenuchos.

“Nu, there’s still room — it won’t be filled by tomorrow morning. By my estimation, we’ll bury niftarim here for another few years, but certainly no more than that.”

The reason that people have lost interest in burial sites on Har Hazeisim is the raft of well-publicized incidents of violence instigated by the local Arab population, along with the government’s perceived fecklessness in dealing with the situation. Groman, however, wants to dispel some common myths.

“That fear is baseless,” he insists. “It was never dangerous to go to Har Hazeisim. There’s one path where there were incidents of stone-throwing, but the mountain itself was never dangerous. Following major attacks in Israel, or around the world, there is sometimes an escalation, and Arabs throw stones along the path leading up to the mountain. But we travel in armored vehicles, and protection is provided free of charge for families visiting graves, so really, there is no reason not to bury on Har Hazeisim.

“Har Hazeisim was once the preferred venue for most of world Jewry. It’s close to the Makom Hamikdash, close to the Old Yishuv neighborhoods, and many gedolim are buried there. As I said, things change, and today most Yerushalmim want to be buried on Har Hamenuchos. But even if we take a niftar to be buried on Har Hazeisim, I’m sure that families will be able to visit there, without fear, for generations to come.”

One of Groman’s greatest challenges is completing the burial before shekiyah. “According to minhag Yerushalayim, it’s permitted to perform burials at night, but in most cases, when the death occurs during the day, we try to finish before shkiah. I was taught this by Rabbi Mendel Gelbstein, the former head of our chevra kaddisha. He, as well as his sons Mendel and Eliezer, who continued his work, made sure to always bury before shkiah.

“Sometimes it involves superhuman efforts. Once we had a levayah for a Jew from overseas. Sunset was approaching, and I tried to rush the hespedim, explaining the reason, but the speaker didn’t listen. By the time he finished, we had about ten minutes until shkiah. But we made it — we managed to place the niftar into the grave, just in time.

“Fridays bring their own challenges. It’s happened quite a few times after a burial that I’ve had to leave the hearse in the middle of Malchei Yisrael Street in Geula and run home because it was so close to Shabbos. I also recall one Erev Yom Kippur burial where I didn’t have a chance to eat seudas hamafsekes. But I survived.”

The chesed that Groman provides is by necessity a six-day-a-week occupation, unlike the holy work performed by Hatzolah members. “I see how people who do life-saving chesed never have a moment of rest, not on Shabbos or Yom Tov, either. But for us who deal with death, the Ribbono shel Olam gives us a respite one day a week.”

DDealing with massive funerals for gedolei Yisrael is part and parcel of Groman’s job. He’s played a role in almost all the mass levayos of recent years.

“I especially recall the levayah of the great gaon Rav Moshe Feinstein ztz”l,” Groman says. “It was on Shushan Purim 5746 [1986], at the height of the festivities. Tens of thousands marched along Yaffo Street, from Yeshivas Eitz Chaim to Har Hamenuchos. It was very moving, a combination of joy and sadness. Everyone wanted to honor the gadol hador.”

The levayah of Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv ztz”l in Tammuz 5772/2012 took place at night, even though he was niftar during the day. “When we’re dealing with the levayah of gedolei Yisrael, we don’t necessarily perform the burial before shkiah. Sometimes by waiting we are better able to give the gadol the honor that he deserves.”

The awful news from one levayah, in which Groman did not participate, caused him tremendous anguish: that of Rav Shmuel HaLevi Wosner ztz”l on Motzaei Shabbos Pesach 5775. It was every chevra kaddisha worker’s worst nightmare: Masses of mourners crowded around the mittah and two young men, Mordechai Gerber and Yitzchak Samet, were trampled to death.

“I was horrified,” he says. “We’re always so careful to prevent crowding around the area of the mittah, all the more so when dealing with a mass levayah. This tragic incident shocked us all. We resolved to be even more careful. Driving a vehicle among thousands, sometimes tens or even hundreds of thousands of people, is not a simple task. I thank Hashem that I never ran over anyone’s foot.”

The levayah of Rav Ovadiah Yosef ztz”l proceeded to the cemetery in Sanhedria, which is not under the Perushim’s purview, but because it left from Shamgar, Groman was there. “It was Jerusalem’s biggest levayah ever. There was an enormous crowd, and we could see the grief in everyone’s eyes. Thousands upon thousands of people felt that they’d lost a father, a mentor, everything in their lives.”

The main impression Groman retains from all these massive funerals, though, is the awe he felt in coordinating the final respect paid to these leaders of Klal Yisrael. “It’s a great zechus, and also, a tremendous responsibility — that there should be no shame to the meis throughout the levayah. Every levayah entails responsibility, but all the more so the levayah of a gadol.”

Groman’s experience in this realm has also given him occasion to participate in funerals of another kind: those of Israeli political figures, most notably that of the late prime minister Menachem Begin. “Begin did not want to be buried on Har Herzl like other state leaders. He wanted to be buried on Har Hazeisim, next to his two friends from the Etzel, Meir Feinstein and Moshe Barzani, who lost their lives fighting for the founding of the state. He insisted on a typical Jewish levayah, and we fulfilled his last wish, burying him with the respect he deserved.”

And what did the friends and relatives of this einekel of Rav Amram Blau have to say about his role in the burial of a leader of the Zionist state?

“Nu, maybe there was some talk about it, but I didn’t listen,” he says with a shrug. “Rav Yosef Chaim Zonnenfeld ruled that after a person passes away, he must be treated with respect regardless of who or what he was. Rav Yosef Chaim was the nasi of our chevra kaddisha, and also a member for many years. He charted the chevra kaddisha’s mission, which has continued from generation to generation, to this very day.”

Aside from his job in the chevra kaddisha — or perhaps because of it  — Groman and his bli ayin hara ten sons are also fixtures at Yerushalmi weddings, in the unofficial capacity of mesamchim. Almost every evening, Groman and sons can be found at simchah halls performing their traditional dances and shtick.

“I go to weddings almost every night, usually those where I am acquainted with the mechutanim. My sons have taken it up a notch, performing a special dance with costumes and bottles on their heads. My son Shloimele calls us the Groman Mesamchim Group.”

Groman says it’s only natural that after caring for niftarim and grieving families all day, he and his sons devote their evenings to simchas chassan v’kallah. “It’s our way of compensating for all the grief we’re exposed to. And we’re not the only ones: The Gelbstein family, also longtime members of our chevra kaddisha, does the same thing. Grief and mourning must be tempered with joy and happiness. That, in essence, is what a Jew’s life is all about

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 698)