The Talmud (Kiddushin 80b) tells a grim little tale to justify a rule about guarding appearances. Once a woman stood weeping over her husband's fresh grave. Not far off, a guard kept watch over the body of a man the king had ordered executed.

Grief is a strange doorway. In the hours of mourning, an affection sprang up between the guard and the widow — and while they were lost in it, the body he was guarding was stolen away. The guard panicked. The king's decree hung over his head; losing the corpse meant losing his own life.

The widow steadied him. "Do not be afraid," she said. "Exhume my husband. Hang him in the other man's place. No one will know." And it was done.

Rashi and the Tosafot cite this story not to praise it, but to warn: a woman's grief is so quickly repurposed, a grave so quickly reopened, that the sages ruled against leaving a mourning woman alone with a stranger even for an hour.

The dead cannot speak for themselves, so the law must speak for them.