Until a person has said Kaddish it is incomprehensible what it means to publicly mourn for a loved one. Depending on, and being held and comforted by a community, is important and also frustrating.
Since I have begun this meditative journey of honoring my father once daily in the form of asking for his neshama to have an aliyah, I have experienced comfort, sadness, anger, embarrassment, and shame.
Taking a moment every day to honor this man who was my guiding light for so long supports my healing in a profound and deep way. Quietly saying, or when I am feeling strong, loudly asserting - yitgadal... allows me to feel connected with my father. I am given a moment where I can quietly speak with my father and tell him "I am thinking about you - and I remembering".
It is during this time - I also feel deeply sad. I feel deeply sad about how young I am and reflect on everything my father is missing. I think about my plans for my wedding and what it will mean that he wont be there - to walk me down the aisle, give me a bracha during the cocktail hour, and have one simple dance with me. I get sad when I look around the synagogue and see the other three young people saying Kaddish with me. Four of us - under 35 saying Kaddish for a parent - who died much, much too young.
I get angry at the lack of respect. I feel red-hot anger when I open my mouth to say Kaddish and the women sitting directly behind me in synagogue cannot pause their conversation to support me and honor my father along with me. I feel embarrassed and ashamed that in an orthodox and learned community I am not granted the quiet of 30 seconds to meditate in peace. I reflect on other spaces I say Kaddish on a weekly basis. At the ARK - where I work - the clients who pray with me - despite the infinite challenges in their lives and their cognitive impairments and emotional struggles - they offer so much more respect - than the three women sitting behind me in shul - who must finish their conversation about makeup and restaurants.
I feel my own shame - when I miss a service - when I am too tired - too busy - or simply too sad - to walk over to shul on a Monday at 9PM. Or ashamed when I know I have already prayed but I get "reminded" to attend services.
Mourning is so incredibly personal - but Jewish tradition - demands we also mourn in public ways - acknowledging our pain for our communities. I frequently cry through the words of Kaddish - or choke on a sentence.
But I also feel held and comforted by my community and by saying my words with those around me who understand and are also mourning their loved ones.
But right here - I implore those reading - be quiet when someone is saying Kaddish - listen when someone is chanting those words - and remember the person saying them is in deep pain and they feel - a lot - every minute of the day - not just during those words - but on the walk over to shul - while they laugh and drink a beer with a friend - or even as the cuddle and hug their baby - those of us saying Kaddish are morning - and so during those 30 seconds embrace us - hold us and honor our need to meditate and honor the person we have lost.
