Kaddish Brothers
This Friday will conclude 11 months since my father’s death, and thus the end of my period of time to say the Mourner’s Kaddish. When a Jew is sitting Shiva, they stay at home and the minyan comes to them. But on Shabbos, he rejoins the congregation in shul. During that Shabbos of Shiva, I moved forward to say my first Kaddish in shul. I was standing with four or five other men in their 11 months of Kaddish, and on cue we began together, “Yisgadal V’Yiskadash Shmei Rabbah.” It’s a part of the service I knew well, but only as an outsider. That Shabbos morning, during that first Kaddish, one of my shul friends put his hand on my shoulder, and he patted me on the back, and it was in that moment I realized I was part of a new brotherhood. Now I had Kaddish Brothers.
For the last 11 months, my Kaddish Brothers and I met in shul a couple of times a day. At first, I was the youngest brother, and now with just a couple of days to go, I’m the oldest brother.
While I think that everyone who has been in a synagogue is at least somewhat familiar with the Mourner’s Kaddish. A less well-known part of the story of Kaddish is that, in truth, the greatest merit for the deceased family member is if the survivor leads the congregation in prayer. Since not everyone is comfortable doing that, the Mourner’s Kaddish was popularized as a way to allow basically anyone a chance to lead something. That’s why for the last 11 months, for just about 335 days, three times a day, I had to make sure I was at a minyan to say Kaddish and/or lead the service. (And yes, I did that even before my dad died, but I didn’t freak out about it. I went to shul, but you know, if I got back from NY late, I didn’t necessarily go to the 11:30 Maariv.)
In the 21st century, in many shuls, like in mine, there are many more potential prayer leaders than there are daily prayers to lead. In situations like this, well-meaning people seeking to honor their parents can become surprisingly pushy in vying to lead. Someone once told me, with a good amount of hyperbole, that when he was saying Kaddish, that type of behavior was so commonplace and so off-putting he wasn’t sure he wanted to be frum anymore. That’s a horror story. And it’s not the only horror story, because other friends have felt that they were so frequently critiqued for being too slow or too loud or whatever, that they ended this year of Kaddish LESS connected to the community than when they started.
I don’t have a horror story. I only have stories of brotherhood.
During the month I was in Shloshim, twice I had shul-buddies come over and ask which minyan I was going to so they could attend a different minyan on the day of their yahrzeit rather than “bump” me from the amud. Guys rearranged their mornings so I could lead and they could also have what they needed.
That’s brotherhood. My Kaddish Brothers.
Mourners generally do not lead the service on Shabbos, Yom Tov, or other festive days. So from the last 1,000 tefilos, I guess about 900 of them have been times I could have led. Very frequently I would be at a minyan where there were two or three Kaddish Brothers who could also lead. 895 times, we had a quick check-in, figured out who did what most recently, and then decided together, in the brotherliest way, with care for each other, who should lead. 5/900 times I think it wasn’t perfect and someone asserted himself in a way that was a bit too aggressive, in my opinion. But a success rate of 99.5% is really, really good. (I don’t have that kind of success rate with my biological brother.) In fact, one of my Kaddish Brothers – Moshe – realized that while he has a bunch of brothers saying Kaddish and leading the service for his dad, my dad has only me doing this every day. So this Kaddish Brother removed himself from our informal rotation to allow me even more access.
I never had anyone tell me I went too slow or was too loud. I did have a few people, just a few, thank me and give words of warm encouragement. I guess these weren’t Kaddish Brothers exactly, but they certainly weren’t part of a horror story.
There were a few times during the year when I was traveling for work and, for one reason or another, I wasn’t confident I would have a minyan. My Kaddish Brother Chaim was someone I could rely on to say Kaddish for my dad when I wasn’t sure I could make it happen. While traveling, I had a Rosh Yeshivah who was saying Kaddish and leading services for his dad give me the chance to lead in his own yeshivah. When I was in nearby Silver Spring for a couple of days, the Gabbai saw that I was a guest and saying Kaddish and gave me the chance to lead. When I was out of town on the night of Super Bowl Sunday, I didn’t realize that the local minyan times were different, but people went out of their way to make sure I had a minyan.
I feel bad for my colleagues and friends who had horror stories. I really do. All I had was moments of brotherhood.
We just had the Hakamas Matzeivah / Unveiling for my dad. It was another chance to reflect with the family on Dad’s legacy. My dad wasn’t a shul person. But if he was someplace and they needed a 10th guy, that was his jam. He kept yarmulkas in the glove compartment of the car in case he needed to go into my school or if he was needed to fill out a minyan. He was happy to be there for other people if they needed someone for Kaddish. I don’t think my dad ever said Kaddish; not even for his parents. But I think he would have been a really good Kaddish Brother.
