How do I write a eulogy?

In Judaism, the eulogy, known as a *hesped*, is considered one of the most sacred obligations a community can fulfil. It is not simply a tribute or a farewell speech. The rabbis understood it as an act of justice towards the dead, a way of honouring the full truth of a person's life. The Talmud discusses the hesped seriously, treating it as a religious duty rather than a social custom. To speak well of the dead is to affirm that their life had weight and meaning, that they were seen. If you are sitting with a blank page right now, struggling to find words, that struggle itself is honourable. It means you understand the stakes.

One of the core tensions in Jewish tradition around eulogies is the balance between truth and kindness. There is a principle known as *kevod ha-met*, honour for the dead, which shapes everything. But this does not mean empty flattery. The rabbis were actually quite concerned about hollow praise, about eulogies that describe a person nobody recognises. The goal is to speak truth in a way that is generous, to find what was genuinely good and worthy in a life and to illuminate it clearly. If the person was a devoted parent, say so with specifics. If they were funny, or stubborn in ways that turned out to matter, or quietly generous, say that. Concrete, honest detail is more respectful than vague warmth.

Jewish tradition also places the hesped within a broader understanding of *tzelem Elohim*, the idea that every human being is created in the image of God. This gives the eulogy a kind of theological weight. You are not just describing a personality. You are bearing witness to a unique presence in the world, one that will not exist again. That framing can actually help when you are writing. It gives you permission to take the person seriously, to resist the temptation to keep things light or brief because grief feels too large. The hesped is meant to make the community weep, the rabbis said, not as an exercise in manipulation, but because genuine mourning is a form of love and recognition.

Practically speaking, Jewish funerals often move quickly, usually within twenty-four hours or a few days of death, which means you may be writing under real pressure and raw grief. Give yourself permission to write badly at first. Write everything you remember, even things that seem too small or too personal. The most memorable eulogies in any tradition tend to carry one or two vivid, specific stories rather than a long list of virtues. Think about a moment that captures something essential about who this person was. Think about what they taught you without meaning to, or what the world looked like slightly differently because they were in it.

The Jewish mourning framework, with its structured periods of *shiva* and beyond, treats grief as something that unfolds over time. The hesped fits into this, serving the mourners as much as the deceased. A good eulogy gives the bereaved something to hold onto, a true image of their loved one that they can return to. So as you write, keep the living in mind too. Who is in that room? What do they need to hear? What story might comfort a grieving child, or help an estranged family member feel less alone? You are writing for the dead, but you are also writing for those who remain. That dual purpose is not a contradiction. In Judaism, caring for the living and honouring the dead are expressions of the same deep commitment to human dignity.