Kaddish

The kaddish 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  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.  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.

High Holy Days

 Praying for some comes easy.  For others it is arduous.

On the High Holy Days we do a lot of it.  For those who find it easy to pray, time flies.  For those who find prayer difficult, time is inexorable; it could not pass any slower.  This column is dedicated to those in the second category, the ones who find it hard to pray.

There are essentially two ways to come to synagogue, in need or on empty.  

Need: Need means you walk in the doors of Beth Shalom wanting healing.  We are all broken.  Some are afflicted with physical ailments, some are psychically torn, some are scarred by loss of a job, some feel just worthless, some are wrestling with dark demons that take the form of abuse, and some are looking for their direction.  Most everyone suffers from all of these in varying degrees.

Healing begins when we acknowledge our brokenness.  We come to the Synagogue with open wounds and ask God to help us get through them.

Idea: On Rosh Hashanna we do not wish one another a “Happy New Year.”  We say Shana Tova, which means “A good year.”  What is the difference?  It is already here, so it is “new.”  What we have come to find is not just an acknowledgement that another year has passed, but we seek a cleansing of the self, a purging of the negative parts of our person.  We seek a “good” year not a “new” one.

Take time before the Holy Days and search for exactly what part of us needs healing.  Then bring it to God.

Empty: Expectations can be terrible.  An expectation indicates that we know what is about to happen.  If we go to a fine restaurant, for example, and expect to have the same quality service and food that we had last time, the evening may be a let down.   We anticipate the night out with our new friend will be as spontaneous and joyful as the last one.  We are disappointed when they are in a pensive mood.

The same principle applies with the service.  Before coming into the Synagogue, it may help to verbally acknowledge that we want to “hear” whatever God has planned for us.  This means emptying ourselves of all else.

This is an ancient poem translated by Robert Bly:

“Listen, friend, this body is his dulcimer,

He draws the string tight, and out of it comes

The music of the inner universe.

If the strings break and the bridge falls,

Then this dulcimer of dust goes back to dust.”

Like the dulcimer we sit.  Turning the pages of the mahzor we look to find and sing the song of our redemption.

God does not disappoint.  At times a single word or phrase jumps out of page to arrest our vision and communicate something vital.  Other times, it is a word spoken or a seemingly random thought that emerges from the inner emptiness.

In one old story, a rabbi sings loudly and forcefully exhorting the congregation to follow his example.  He says, “The moment you begin to sing your soul becomes one with everyone before you.”  

Without out preconception just sing, read, and sway.

 

Thought: If you have a setback, don’t throw in the towel.  Even if you need to take one step back before taking two forward, it is one step toward success.