Day Of Mourning Research Articles

Medical Ethics and Non-Lethal Weapons

On October 23, 2002, over 700 people attended the musical Nord-Ost in a Moscow theater with the clunky Soviet-era name House of Culture of the State Ball-Bearing Plant Number 1. During act two 40 Chechen terrorists demanding Russian withdrawal from Chechnya stormed the building, taking patrons and performers hostage. The terrorists made it clear in a videotape that they would die rather than surrender. Conditions over the next several days were miserable as the hostages, including dozens of children, were deprived of food and water. The terrorists spread explosives throughout the building to ensure catastrophe if they were attacked. On the morning of October 26, Russian commandos piped an anesthetic gas called fentanyl through a hole in the wall, hoping to incapacitate the hostage-takers. The action succeeded in putting many of the terrorists to sleep and disrupting the rest. All of the Chechans were killed, some shot at point-blank range. Although dozens of ambulances were standing by and hospital emergency rooms were at the ready, the medical personnel were unprepared for the problems they actually faced, not injuries due to bullets or shrapnel but unconscious men, women and children. Authorities had not told them what type of gas had been used, though it is a familiar agent in operating rooms and its effects could have been managed. As it was, 128 people died of the combined effects of the fentanyl and dehydration. In response, President Vladimir Putin declared a national day of mourning and decided to step up Russia’s grip on the Muslim province. In 2004 hundreds more Russians were killed in multiple suicide attacks, including two downed passenger aircraft, as part of the continuing Chechen resistance. In Washington, the same day as the unfolding tragedy in Moscow, the National Academy of Sciences released a report on the prospects for effective military use of “non-lethal weapons,” including fentanyl. The Academy’s committee concluded that the Chemical Weapons Convention was ambiguous enough to permit the use of some non-lethal chemical weapons. Among the recommendations of the report, entitled “An Assessment of Non-Lethal Weapons Science and Technology,” was that the Pentagon’s Joint Non-Lethal Weapons Directorate should establish “centers of excellence” in the weapons’ development (http://www.mindfully.org/ Reform/2002/Non-Lethal-Weapons-AssessmentNAS4nov02.htm). Proponents of “non-lethal” weapons (NLWs) claim that they will obviate the need to kill or maim. These weapons are actively being sought by all branches of the U.S. military and come in a dazzling variety, from “incapacitants” or chemicals that put people to sleep, acoustic and light-pulsing devices that disrupt cognitive and neural processes; odors so disgusting they sicken; sudden colored fog that creates panic; optical equipment that causes temporary blindness; and mechanisms that stimulate nerve endings as though they are fire, among dozens of others. A striking fact about this list is that so many are related to the human brain and nervous system. Growing concerns about terrorism have fed interest in NLWs. The modern nation-state’s typical arsenal is designed for cold war-style fighting between peers. The use of such weapons in the places terrorists like to operate often results in high levels of non-combatant casualties that may be politically as well as morally unacceptable. Hence NLWs seems to advance one of Augustine’s requirements for just war: that only as much force be used as is necessary for the task. A year after the tragedy Robin Coupland of the International Committee of the Red Cross published a commentary in The Lancet in which he raised a number of questions for the medical community about their relationship to so-called non-lethal weapons, including whether health professionals should be trained to take care of people exposed to them and whether they should they allow themselves to be part of developing weapons that require medical and scientific expertise. Coupland noted that one medical research group suggested that international standards of conduct with regard to such weapons be developed (Coupland 2003). To

Who Takes Care of the Loved Ones?

Personal Experience as an Introduction My mother died at the end of the nineties. Since had been out of town, arrived at the hospital only the next morning was asked by the man in charge of the morgue, Russian by his accent, whether wanted to see her. Viewing the corpse is objectionable according to Jewish religion (Lamm 2000:29ff.); thus hesitated for a moment before accepting his offer. asked to be left alone with her. he opened the drawer left. And there saw my sweet mother lying peacefully intact. Good bye, dear mother, told her without words. Then, leaving the room thanked the man for his kindness. Shortly afterwards was on the phone talking to the members of The (Hevra Kadisha) in order to arrange the funeral. I just need your services, told them rather impatiently, and with as few prayers as possible. They were very polite agreed to my requests. A young emphatic rabbi dressed with a colorful, open vest, unlike the usual black attire of the members of the Holy Association, conducted a short service. Contrary to my expectations, the ceremony was performed not in ancient incomprehensible language but in fluent eloquent Hebrew. As is customary, he asked the deceased to forgive whatever harm the members of the Association had unintentionally caused her. After she was put in the grave talked to her parted from her once more. Shortly afterward the young rabbi left us. We stayed for a while near the new grave, listening silently to a Sibelius concerto, much loved by my mother. Finally we laid garlands of flowers left the cemetery. Since tradition does not encourage frequent grave visitations (Lamm 2000:193ff.), no other ceremony, besides my private, made-up ceremony, in line with my mother's aesthetic values, was ever conducted, the tombstone was laid in our absence. In the fifties, at the age of ninety-two my grandmother passed away. Following the religious ceremony that took place in the old cemetery the entire family gathered at her small house for the Shiva (the seven days of mourning). During this period the close relatives kept on their torn garments from the funeral, sitting on low inconvenient stools in the living room. As is customary, her sons were unshaven during the Shiva wore soft ballet shoes to symbolize their personal mortification (Lamm 2000:116). Friends relatives came to join the bereaved in their daily prayer, providing companionship loving concern. remember this period, so different from my mother's lonely unattended Shiva, as a happy time when the family was still united. It is not easy to pry into death experience. However, when related to ethnographic studies, it may provide clues to the change from traditional Jewish to secular burial practices that have taken place in the last fifty years in Israel (see also Lamm 2000; Goldberg 1982:124; Meyerhoff 1982:129; Abramovitch 1986; Cytron 1993:113-123). Anthropology has mainly concentrated on the rituals surrounding death their relations to unchanging social worlds (Bloch Perry 1982:36; Taylor 1989:149). Recently, however, a new approach, which focuses on complementary theoretical perspectives, has been taken up (Dubisch 1989:189). This focus includes, first, the emotional experience of death (Taylor 1989:149; Cowell 1986:69-70; Durham 2002:147), which takes into account the diverse human reactions to the deep power resonance of the experience of death. Contrary to the unchangeable social worlds conceived in long-standing attitudes toward death, this new approach concerns the conflict over meaning moral authority related to death. This new perspective therefore adds a dynamic view to the anthropological study of death. second, the new approach includes the material dimension of death, which has formerly been an essential category of evidence for archaeology. This perspective refers to the physical remains as well as to physical space of death, mainly the cemeteries the material objects related to death. …

Mourning and Bereavement among Jewish Religious Families: A Time for Reflection and Recovery

This article explores mourning and bereavement practices among Jewish traditional families. Enabling the individual to grieve in solitude and freeing one from religious obligations is the first step in the mourning process. Referred to as Aninut this time period enables one to care for the deceased and reflect upon one's loss. The shiva (7 days of mourning) cycle includes a number of important rituals from the recitation of the Kaddish to supporting the grieved. Mourning in Jewish life is viewed in terms of honoring the deceased, comforting mourners, and rehabilitating the bereaved. Though the directives explored in this article are found among Jewish religious families, their implications have universal appeal.

To Build a House

Gazing at May's blossoms, imagining bounty of Mclntosh, I praise old lilacs rising in woods beside cellarholes; I praise toads. I predict the telephone call that reports the friend from childhood cold on a staircase. I praise children, grandchildren, and just-baked bread. I praise fried Spam and onions on slices of Wonder Bread; I praise your skin. I predict the next twenty years, days of mourning, long walks growing slow and painful. I reject twenty years of mid-life; I reject rejections. The one day stands unmoving in sun and shadow.

The Riots in Tamilnad: Problems and Prospects of India's Language Crisis

On January 26, 1965, Republic Day, in pursuance of Article 343 of the Constitution, became the official language of India. The South, and Tamilnad (i.e., Madras State) particularly, long opposed to the imposition of Hindi, reacted predictably in the preceding weeks. Rajaji (C. Rajagopalachari), former Congress Chief Minister of Madras and now leader of the conservative Swatantra Party, convened the Madras State Anti-Hindi Conference in Tiruchirappalli on January 17. With the podium graced by two of Tamilnad's most powerful mill owners, Thiagaraja Chettiar and G. D. Naidu, Rajaji lashed out against the government's language policy and proclaimed the determination of the Tamil people to resist as an unwise, unjust and discriminatory tyranny. The Dravida Munnetra Kazagham (DMK) Party, the self-proclaimed vanguard of Tamil nationalism, designated January 26 as day of mourning. The cries against Hindi imperialism were long familiar, but the tragedy which was to follow was one for which the government and the nation were wholly unprepared. The students, who feared that the change-over to would inflict severe disabilities on non-Hindi speakers, became increasingly anxious about their own futures. Since the most highly coveted jobs are in the central government services, the students saw the change from English to as the language of administration as a life and death matter. Their mother tongue was Tamil. England was the medium of instruction in the colleges and universities. Would they now be confronted by government service examinations in what was for them foreign language and in competition with those for whom it was mother tongue? The Chief Minister of Madras, Bhaktavatsalam, threatened the students with stern action against their participation in politics, and warned that agitations on Republic Day would not be tolerated. In compliance with the demand that the 26th not be dishonored, the students throughout Tamilnad decided to demonstrate their opposition to one day earlier, on January 25. In Madurai, as throughout the State, the students began painting posters and signs. Down with Hindi. Hindi never, English ever. Though serious in purpose, the mood was light. On the morning of the 25th, the students of one of Madurai's colleges assembled in front of the college's gate to burn huge effigy of the demoness and to begin their march through the city. No one expected trouble. As the students marched through the streets of Madurai, they were joined