I wasn’t going to comment on my grandfather’s funeral in Florida, but I’ve changed
my mind. Just a few words on the rabbi:

• He was over an hour late. This was due to traffic — although one of the
  mourners, coming from the same direction, managed to make it nearly on
  time by taking backstreets.

• He arrived wearing:

  • a white jacket and shirt
  • black pants
  • black shoes with large gold buckles
  • a yellow tie, askew
  • a deep orange tan

  
  

• My aunt had given him some anecdotes about my grandfather the day before.
  She was concerned about whether the rabbi had gotten everything down
  properly, because the conversation happened over a cell phone, while
  he was driving. My aunt took him aside right before the ceremony to make
  sure he had everything straight. It was a good thing she did — he had everything
  completely mangled.

• The non-mangled eulogy wasn’t a big improvement. He managed to get my
  grandfather’s Hebrew name wrong, and he mangled a few of the dates. (Grandpa
  came to the States in 1920, not 1912 — a significant distinction, because he
  spent those eight formative years starving in war-torn Poland.)

On the other hand, he drove off in a Mercedes S500 sedan. I can only surmise that the
whole late-to-the-funeral, wear-tacky-clothes, and offend-the-grieving-aunts-and-cousins
gig is, at some level, working out for him.