REMEMBRANCE

I have been writing about some things that stir emotions in me. My last blog was about tradition. I have written about why I like religion and G-d not so much. I have written about things in my past that stir memories and then the emotion kicks in. I was reading an article about reciting the Kaddish after a death.

The Kaddish, for the unannointed, is said after a member of your family passes away. It is usually, a mother, father, brother, sister or a child. That is the tradition. I have been watching that tradition fade as many synagogues do not have minions in which the Kaddish is recited. The minion is traditionally a meeting of ten men who gather in a place where there is a Torah scroll or any place that will hold ten men of like religion. (The Torah scroll is the tenth man if needed).

I watched my dad when his mother died. I was about ten years old and what he did has stuck with me for more than 60 years. I was very impressed by the fact that my dad went to the shul for a morning minion and he stopped at the shul for an evening minion on his way home. I often went with him.  Even though as I grew up I was told, “you shouldn’t know of such things.”

When he passed away I was recalling his devotion to that minchag so I went about looking for minions that I could attend to honor his memory. I lived in the Conejo Valley at that time. I belonged to a Reform Congregation, so there were no minions at my shul. There was a weekly minion at the Conservative Congregation, so that is where I went – weekly. The rabbi recognized this dilemma for me and tried to make the minion as meaningful as possible – 10 people or not. He often asked me to lead the service. I felt I was honoring my father’s memory in a way he would appreciate and I felt good about it.

It was emotional. The service, whether at a Shiva house or at a shul, is emotional. This is a time when your neighbors and friends and family provide their support. It is a time of immense grief and also the time when the healing starts and a time for remembering. The Kaddish is never said alone as there are built in responses that come from the community and as you hear the “Omains” and the “Borachus” you know that you are sharing this moment.

This service and the prayer should not be diluted. In order to make the mourners feel they are a part of the community, some rabbis ask all the members of the congregation to stand and recite Kaddish. That is a major dilution of the moment, a dilution of the prayer, of the remembrance. Your fellow congregants do not know who is in mourning and who is not. That is not support that is recitation that makes the rabbi feel good, not the mourners.

To take this further, I was standing by a young woman who was reciting the Kaddish. I asked her who she was remembering. Was it a family member? Was it a close friend? She was remembering the six million that died in the Holocaust. Did she know any of the people that died in the Holocaust – no.

Saying the Kaddish, in my view, is an obligation for the blood relatives of the immediate family to remember their loved ones. It is an obligation that is to be avoided as long as you can. When you are obligated to say Kaddish it is when you have experienced some sever amount of grief. The young woman grieved for no one.

In keeping with remembrance there are three times each year, in addition to the deceased yahrtzeit (anniversary of death) that you remember. It is the Yizkor service. Until I had someone to remember I was not allowed to be in that service. I waited outside. My late wife lost her father and I waited in the foyer till Yizkor was over so I could give her a hug. Parents are bringing children to Yizkor services. They have no sense of piety.  The whole event is somewhat diluted and losing the meaning.

There are many prayers you can recite during the year for departed loved ones. But the Kaddish has most meaning. Even in a Rocky movie the Kaddish was recited for Rocky’s manager. It was a moving moment  because the words that start the prayer are recognized everywhere as sadness and the defining moment for emotions. Yiskadal yiskadosh . . . I remember. (Today my dad would have been 106 years old).

 

That is my take you decide