Two Commemorations and a Tangi

The past week has been full of ritual and commemoration, with Passover, the 90th anniversary of ANZAC Day, and then a funeral in the Auckland region.

Passover was my first encounter with the Jewish community in Wellington. There are somewhere between 3,000-8,000 Jews in NZ (I’ve seen numbers all over the place), with the largest communities in Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch (on the South Island). The population in Wellington is big enough to warrant selling matzah at the local supermarket! Not thinking I knew anyone who would be celebrating Passover, I got in touch with one of the two synagogues in town to find out the options. The president of the synagogue, generously invited me over to his home for a family seder on the first night and a community seder on the second night.

The community seder – of about 120 people – was another reminder of how small NZ (and Wellington) is – since I actually knew people, including the woman who works at the desk next to mine at work! Not surprisingly, the community includes a lot of expats, including the president of the synagogue, who is from Berkeley, many other exiled Californians, Israelis, and others. I met a woman at the community seder from Palmerston North, about three hours drive north of Wellington. She had come down to Wellington, since there were no other Jewish families that she knew of in Palmerston North – and it was the nearest place to stock up on matzah. There were probably people there who had come from further away.

The same weekend was a three day weekend for the ANZAC Day holiday. The day commemorates the loss of Australian and NZ troops at Gallipoli on April 25, 1915. The losses are stunning – nearly 1/3 of the NZ troops were killed and 2/3 wounded. There were also huge casualties among the Australian, French and Turkish troops. The day has become a national day of mourning for all wars. Nearly everyone in Wellington was wearing a red poppy pin on the Friday before the long weekend in remembrance.

Monday was filled with ceremonies in Wellington and across the country, starting with dawn services and parades. For the 90th anniversary, the remains of an unknown fallen NZ solider were brought from France to be buried in a new tomb of the unknown soldier in Wellington. The casket was brought in full military procession through the downtown up to the National War Memorial and buried with soil from all over the country. It was very moving.

On Monday afternoon I flew up to Auckland for a week of visits at TPK’s regional office. They had prepared a full schedule for me with visits to Maori health and education providers and government departments.

I arrived at the office Tuesday morning ready to go. Just as we were getting started, the office got the news that a local kamatua – elder within the Maori community – had died over the weekend and the tangi (funeral) was on. Dave “Pop” Mackey was a community leader who had dedicated himself to service, including – among many other things – starting a hostel for young people in need of shelter, and working with prisoners. Tangis are extremely important in Maori culture, so it was decided that the office would close and everyone, including me, would go to the tangi.

The tangi was held at a marae in Port Waikato, about 2 hours south of Auckland. Tangis are similar to a combination of a funeral and sitting shiva. The whole family sits with the body (generally open casket) in the meeting house, while the community comes over a period of 3-5 days to pay its respects. It is a continuous series of ceremonies, rather than a single event.

When we arrived we were seated in a tent in front of the meeting house. We could see that the meeting house was full and that there was a ceremony going on, so we waited our turn –for about 2 ½ hours. In the meantime, more and more people arrived and sat in the tent. There were delegations from many government departments – education, corrections, the police, and the new Maori party. The co-leader of the party Pita Sharples was there with a group.

When it was our turn, we got called in to the meeting house by a call from the elder women inside. The format was nearly identical to a powhiri (welcome ceremony) that I’d experienced during Fulbright orientation. The whole group walked slowly across the marae into the meeting house, with the women in the front. Once we were inside people began to cry and weep openly upon seeing the body. The women, including the widow, sat along the front next to the body, with the men (kamatua) along the side.

We were seated facing the family with the men in the front rows, women in back. There was a set order of speakers, alternating to each side. Nearly all speakers spoke in Maori, most addressed the body as well as the family. Some were in the form of a haka (war chant), all were very emotional. After each speaker, the whole group who had come with the speaker got up and sang a waiata (song), usually joined by everyone else in the meeting house.

After the speeches (about 2 ½ hours), there was a long reception line where all of the visitors (me included) greeted the family and home community to pay respects. My colleague Angie told me to follow her closely and watch her. For women the custom is to greet either with a kiss on the cheek or hongi (pressing noses). As we went through the line I desperately tried to watch her to see if I was supposed to be presenting cheek or nose, it was hard to keep up! Afterwards everyone went into the dining hall for dinner. Sharing food is an important part of Maori tradition. The mood was surprisingly upbeat, like I would imagine an Irish wake. For the family the process started over again – the tent was full of others waiting by the time that we had left the meeting house.

It was a strange experience to go to a funeral for someone I’d never met, let alone even heard of until earlier that day, But strangely it didn’t feel that odd. My colleagues sat with me, explained what was going on and taught me the songs. Our speaker even mentioned that there was a colleague from “the World Bank” (nearly the only word of his remarks that I recognized) in their group. There were many others who only vaguely knew the deceased, but who came to show support for the family and community. And as I’ve learned is central to Maori tradition, everyone was made to feel welcome and included.