Mourner's Kaddish

Tell me about the Mourner’s Kaddish.  What make it so special?

 

The kaddish, as you know, is not Hebrew, it is Aramaic.  It was put into that language because it was the spoken tongue at the time.  That places it in the post-biblical era.  It was crafted at a time when many Jews no longer fully understood Hebrew despite the fact that they still prayed in that language and despite the fact that Aramaic is a very close relative to Hebrew.

Parts of the prayer are mere renderings of Hebrew into Aramaic.  For example, Yehi Shmay (the refrain after the first paragraph) is a direct translation of Baruch Shem (the line after the Shma).   Originally Baruch Shem, or Yehi Shmay, was the response by the people to hearing the Holy Name of God fully and only pronounced on Yom Kippur.  Hearing the name was so powerful that the people fell on their faces as they shouted this phrase. That is, by the way, why we only say Baruch Shem to this day out loud only on Yom Kippur.  In any event, the Yehi Shmay response is as if we have just beheld the Face of God.  It is a powerful phrase that indicates something far more intimate than most prayers.  It is, by the way, also the line that we state when we use God’s name inappropriately, i.e. when saying the wrong prayer.

There are several kaddishes, as you note.  Some of them are sung and some are recited like the mourner’s kaddish and a few others.  The two kaddishes that are most alike are the kaddish shalem (full Kaddish) and the mourner’s kaddish.  The difference between them is a single line that begins with “titkabel…”.    Titkabel means “receive.” In a state of mourning we do not ask anything of God but accept our prayer.  We do not decry God’s decree, ask that death be reversed or anything else of God when we are mourning.  Our tradition asks us to simply accept the judgment.  That is the essence of the mourner’s kaddish.  

It is probable that the mourner’s kaddish takes its theology from the book of Job.  Job, the man who lost everything, is urged by his companions to atone, consider how he offended God and even repudiate the One that took away all that he loved.  In the end, God speaks to Job stilling his queries by indicating that he will never know the ways of God.  In a rhetorical query, God asks Job, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations?”  In other words, humankind can never fathom God’s ways.

The mourner’s kaddish is then an acceptance of God’s will, knowing that we will never comprehend His ways or understand why death has taken someone we love away.

Implicit in Job’s quandary and explicated by the Talmud is the idea that physical life is finite but life itself is not.  We believe in a life that goes beyond death. That is the underpinning of the mourner’s kaddish: it is the ultimate belief that death is not the end, it is an end.  The soul survives.  For this we thank God for both the life that we shared and the one that endures beyond the physical realm.

We recite the kaddish, as opposed to singing it, because we cannot ignore that fact that we are wounded as we publicly proclaim when we utter the words of the mourner’s kaddish that our faith in God remains firm, unshaken.

Most of the other kaddishes are sung because they extol God’s glory and justice.  Yet when a person is in mourning it is hard to sing, it is enough just to say the words.

Aside from these considerations there is also the sacred notion of continuity.  “Just as my father did for his parent, so I will do for him.”  This idea of traditional passing on what one generation has done to the next takes on a power of its own.  The strength that we gain from saying these holy words alongside others who have suffered similarly is also a comfort.  We are never alone in our pain.

Purim

Q:What are some of the different customs associated with the holiday Purim?

A: We all know one of the observances associated with the holiday is that noise must be made every time evil Haman’s name is mentioned. We make a raucous commotion in order to drown out his name and thus his remembrance.

Another custom is the sending of gifts, also called mishloah manot (aka shalach manos). Food and money are given to friends as well as to the poor.  The purpose is so that every Jew will have the opportunity to fully celebrate the holiday.

The reading of the Megillah takes precedence over most all other mitzvoth. Even tzedakah, caring for the sick and davenning are postponed when the Scroll of Esther is being read.

Will have the practice of giving half a coin, today 1/2 dollar, before the evening reading of the Megillah. We do so to recall the half-shekel that was donated by every Jew to the Temple in the month of Adar many centuries ago.

Finally, we enjoy a seudat Purim, meal on the holiday. Foods like hamantaschen and drink is served to enhance the occasion and feel the joy of freedom.

Swift Davenning

Q: Why does congregational prayer often gallop at speeds we cannot keep up with?

A: The great Jewish minds of the past taught us that a person should pray as carefully as if he were counting pearls.

For most people it is difficult to keep the mind from wandering while praying, especially when the service “gallops.”  Our masters teach us to proceed at a slower pace.  It is better to say fewer prayers with higher devotion than more prayers with a mind fixed on getting the service over and done.

Unveilings on Rosh Hodesh

Q: I have heard that some people will not do an unveiling on Rosh Hodesh. Is this true?  And if so, why?

A: Rosh Hodesh, the New Moon, is treated as a minor festival.  We add psalms of Hallel to our prayers.  Eulogies are not usually given and fasting is forbidden.  While not a full-fledged holiday there are historical indications that at one time it may have been a major celebration.

In Jewish tradition sad events yield to communal rejoicing.  Hence, Shabbat superseded shivah, no burials take place on Yom Tov and one may not self-impose a fast on Rosh Hodesh.

Some individual rabbis discourage unveilings on a Rosh Hodesh for these reasons but it is not forbidden by Jewish law, halacha.

Did it Really Happen?

Q: How does one remain Jewish when the “literal” meaning of Scripture is, literally, unbelievable? 

A:  There are many Torah passages that could raise eyebrows well into the nether regions of the forehead. Among them are the age of the universe versus our almost six-thousand year calculation, manna feeding at least 11⁄2 million freed slaves for forty years, burning bushes and parted seas to name a few. 

The question actually runs yet deeper: If the Torah cannot be read at face value, if we cannot trust it to tell the truth all the time, how can we depend on it for truth any time? 

No one who reads Torah with any degree of seriousness will fail to notice these and other incongruities. In fact, it is probably the most frequent question asked of rabbis today. What do I tell people? Even more, how
can anyone, including a rabbi, have faith with such unbelievable tales and inconsistencies? 

I am fond of telling the story of the grandfather who greets his little one at the door. 

“So how was Hebrew School today, Yacov?” 

“Oh, great! We learned about how General Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt. Cornered by the Egyptians with their troops, General Moses fired bazookas and strafed the advancing army while the Israeli navy placed pontoons across the Sea. The people narrowly escaped!” 

“Oy,” said the grandfather. “Is this what they taught you??”
“Grandpa, if I told you what they said, you’d never believe it.”
On a primary level, the Torah is filled with stories. The tales we tell are 

human, full of adventure, achievements, falls, and recoveries. They are great stories that we know well and retell through generations. Think of Adam and Eve. They tell the story of reward and punishment; listening to God and the penalty of disobedience. Think of Noah, the savior of a world. What about Abraham, the one who discovered and was discovered by God? The narrative then follows Abraham through his trials and triumphs. This is storytelling at its finest. These are well-worn tales that have traveled the world many times over, through millennia. 

On a secondary level, each story contains kernels of knowledge and philosophy that we often miss (because we stop in step 1). For example, the depiction of Adam and Eve serves the purpose of telling us we are free. 

God rewards and punishes but the real lesson is about personal control and responsibility. And Noah? It is all about choosing your destiny regardless of what the outside world does and thinks. Consider that Noah’s righteousness was singular in a world gone bad. 

On a tertiary level, we are guided by the Zohar which states, “If the Torah were mere tales I could tell better stories myself.” We learn through metaphor. In Eden, we understand the trappings of Paradise. We are not meant for utopia. Our lives are only validated through struggle. We are Adam and Eve. We choose banishment because there lies our greatest hope. Abraham is the paragon of self-discovery. We must pass through walls of flames, become scarred before we can contemplate wholeness. We must travel far in our youth to eventually find what is most close, so close that it cannot be seen, only felt. 

Is there more? Yes, there is always more. That is why it continues to feed our souls after all this time. 

Tashlich

Q: Why do we go to a small pond or lake on the first day of Rosh Hashanah to offer prayers and throw breadcrumbs?

A: Rosh Hashanah begins the process of forgiveness and reconciliation. From the first day of a holy day until Yom Kippur, we count 10 days as we attempt to come to terms with our sins.  The Maharal, Rabbi Yehudah Leib of Prague, teaches that one way to commence the process of feeling and becoming contrite is found in the book of Micah. Forgiveness will come, says the prophet, “When you cast your sins into the depths of the ocean.” (7:19)

There is a beautiful Midrash which tells of Abraham on his way to fulfilling God’s command to sacrifice Isaac is made to pass through a raging river.  Waters swirling madly about him, Abraham prays to God, “Save me dear Lord me from these waters which threaten my life!” (Psalms 69:2)  The Almighty heard the words of His messenger and saved Abraham from certain death.

The waters in the Midrash symbolize the underworld of darkness and sin.  The waves tug at our legs but, with the help of God, we will survive.  Thus we go to a pond or lake or river with flowing waters each year for Tashlich, where we throw our crumbs into the waters.  We empty our pockets to begin the process of renewal.

Calendars

Q: Why do the Jewish holidays come late, or early, never at the same time?

A: The Jewish year is reckoned by the lunar calendar, not the Gregorian calendar which is observed by the Western world.

The lunar year consists of 354 days as opposed to the Gregorian calendar, which is 365 days. For this reason the Jewish holidays will always fall on the same date in the Jewish, or lunar, cycle but rarely will they coincide with the same secular date.

Pope Gregory the XIII established the Gregorian calendar that we use today.  In 1850 Pope Gregory mandated that a universal calendar be calibrated using the solar year, beginning on January 1.  At that time, several corrections needed to be made before they began using the new calendar.  First, 10 days had to be taken out of the year in order to gauge the correct date.  Understandably, the Pope’s actions caused great deal of frustration and anger by those who felt their lives had been cheated by fortnight.  Much later, when the original American colonies decided to adopt the Gregorian calendar, Benjamin Franklin wrote in his inimitable style and wit, “And what an indulgence is here for those who love to lie down in peace on the second of this month and not perhaps wake till the morning of the 14^th.”

The astronomers of Pope Gregory also saw a glaring problem in the computation of the solar year. The earth needs 365 days to complete its orbit around the sun, five hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds. In order to compensate for the extra 1/4 day, a leap year was added every four years to correct the imbalance.  

The Jewish calendar, on the other hand, is dependent upon the appearance of the moon, hence the use of the term lunar calendar.  However, in order to remain within the framework of the seasonal year a leap year was added seven times every 19 years. Our leap year, unlike the Gregorian leap year that adds one day, consists of a full month.  All told, the solar and lunar calendars rarely agree on the same date.