Kaddish for the Living

I never understood the significance of saying Kaddish for a loved one until I was forced to say it myself.

Yom Hazikaron, Ramle - US Embassy, Tel Aviv

I suspect this is true for many Jewish individuals: Although we may think we understand the importance of a religious tradition, we often don’t appreciate its purpose until one day, overcome by the moment, we’re forced take it on as our own. Consumed by grief we repeat the words that we have heard week after week, year after year. We say them at first because we are supposed to. Later we come to realize that we say them because we want to – we need to. Something in the cadence, the somber march of the words gives us purpose and makes us feel that for the first time that week, we have a way of expressing our loss and pain and ultimately regaining who we are.

The first time I said Kaddish for my father three years ago, it seemed like an insurmountable challenge. His death had been expected, yet acknowledging it in public required an acceptance that seemed beyond comprehension. Saying those words publicly, before a minyan*, seemed impossible. But by the fifth or sixth day a sense of acceptance had swept over me. My father was gone and I was honoring his life and his significance with these words.

Man Wrapped in Prayer Shawl (1909) - Leopold Pilichowski

Still, I seemed unable to internalize the importance of saying Kaddish any farther than my obligation to do so. Over time, it became an obligation I took on, a mitzvah I claimed personally. In an odd way it gave meaning to my father’s difficult death, all the months he had suffered from Parkinson’s Disease, and the gallant and determined fight he waged to the end. It reassured me that even in the cruelest of circumstances, there is continuity, and that it is through our part in that continuum that their lives continue to be acknowledged.

As I found out during those first few weeks however, finding closure is an individual process. A half hour after watching my father die, I found myself sitting in a mortuary with a family member while he efficiently arranged for my father’s cremation.

In the eyes of some of my family members, cremation was my father’s last wish. It was a final if not efficient form of closure. After all, what more could be wished by a scientist who had devoted his entire career to the clinical explanation of life?

They didn’t know of the discussions my dad and I had about Judaism. They didn’t know that a year before he had died he had asked to borrow the book, To Be A Jew by Hayim Halevy Donin, and had on several occasions engaged me in discussions about Jewish life cycle events. My father, who had been raised secular but had taught me everything I knew about the true meaning of being Jewish had never lost his desire to know and connect with his heritage.

But he still believed that identity was a personal decision, and that it was up to each of his kids to define that question individually. And I suspect that is why to this day, we each claim to understand a distinctive piece of who he was, and what he truly believed. Saying Kaddish for him may not have been what he expected of me, but I think he would have been happy to know I did. Kaddish didn’t just fulfill a religious obligation; in this instance, it gave acknowledgment to the fact that in his own way, he lived his life as a Jew.

My brother’s death last March however, carried a different understanding of the importance of saying Kaddish. An unexpected death catapults one into the present. It is a brutal reminder of the disconnect we have with life, and the fact that even what we believe to be the most consistent can suddenly inexplicably be stripped away from us.

Man visiting a grave site, Mount St. Olives - Ian W. Scott

I am convinced that the ancient rabbis understood this.  Tradition both binds a community together and mollifies in moments of pain, and there is nothing that quells grief better than consistency of action and the sense that even in the midst of turmoil our ancient traditions still go on.

It was my father’s passing that gave me an understanding of the importance of saying Kaddish, but it was my brother’s death that taught me that Kaddish is truly meant for the living, not for the dead. It honors the dead, but it upholds the living by reaffirming that it is our most personal and sacred traditions that affirm who we are.

Mourner's Kaddish  - prov. by Erika Herzog

In the intense few moments after I stood up the first time to say Kaddish for my brother, I realized that it was the Mourner’s Kaddish that was giving me strength to honor his memory, not the other way around. The cadence of the Aramaic words had a purpose beyond their spirituality, and that was to provide direction and focus for the mourner. The words may express our innermost prayers, but it is its rhythm and its essence that allow us to grapple with the most basic and human of instincts: the need to know that we go on in spite of the loss around us.

My brother’s death, which occurred three years to the day after my dad’s, will always have an inextricable link to my father’s yahrtzeit. Even though his heart stopped beating only moments before midnight, David wasn’t pronounced dead until the following day. The EMTs spent two hours – well into the early morning of the following day - trying to revive him, to no avail.

And yet, it seems fitting that my brother’s yahrtzeit should fall on a different date than my father’s. Their deaths will remain entwined in memory, but the distinctiveness of who they were will reaffirmed by the simple, though painful act of saying Kaddish two days in a row.

The Mourner’s Prayer, eloquent, stately, but understated, is Judaism’s greatest acknowledgement of the sanctity of life. It gives closure to the irreconcilable and reminds us that memory has a purpose that is best reflected in the accomplishments of the living.

* Conservative and Reform Movements define a minyan (quorum) as a group of at least ten Jewish men or women (e.g., who have reached the age of bar/bat mitzvah). Orthodox Movement define a minyan as at least ten men.

Six candles for the six million (Pearl Harbor) - US Navy

Toward A Contemporary Definition of Shavuot

Shavuot, Gan Shmuel 1936 - PikiWiki

Ask a Talmud Torah student what the meaning of Shavuot is, and you’ll probably get a textbook answer encompassing any or all of the following: It’s the Festival of Weeks, the date Jews commemorate the giving of the Torah by G-d and it commemorates the ending of the Counting of the Omer, that intense period of loss, mourning and self reflection that begins with the last days of Passover and concludes with the welcoming of Shavuot.

True, Shavuot is all of these things. It’s history, it’s religious symbolism and it’s our link with our past when Jews relied upon the manual counting of handfuls of wheat at harvest time.

Wheat Field, Israel - Victor Beruzcov

But these days we don’t count handfuls of wheat for sale on the global market. In fact, time moves by even smaller increments that reflect the ever changing weight we put on the commerce of our ancestors. The omer has been replaced by the byte, the bushel by the meg. Volume moves in gigabytes and terabytes; relevance is nuanced by what we can exchange in information, not what we can eat in a season.

The proliferation of information is no longer dependent upon runners who can dash across hillsides, and isn’t restricted to the distance of human endurance. Our world is shared in milliseconds, not hours or days.

Child Refugee - Steve Evans

An excerpt of the Torah can be read in Vancouver British Columbia Canada and shared in a millisecond’s difference in Sydney Australia; a child’s life can be transformed in a day by a magnanimous donor in another country fulfilling Gimilut Chasidim.

So what should be our means today for acknowledging Shavuot? Do changes in our society warrant changes in how we celebrate significant religious events? Are there ways that we can, and do reflect their importance that will help us pass on the meaning of a significant Jewish event?

During the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s, the celebration of Shavuot was lost, or at least diminished in many American Jewish homes. In his May 12, 2010 commentary, Forward Magazine's Editor-at-Large, JJ Goldberg offers an explanation for this phenomenon that however, humorous and almost tongue-in-cheek, hits to the heart of Jewish identity. 

“The pomp deficit is only a symptom … of Shavuot’s larger problem: its dour message,” says Goldberg.
A message that was, and often still is, perceived as “the handing out of the rulebook, with its bounty of Thou Shalts and Thou Shalt Nots,” not necessarily the uplifting story of a people released from captivity or triumphant in battle (as are Passover and Hanukkah) or the engaging family tradition of experiencing a brightly decorated sukkah in the back yard. For many, Shavuot’s importance lost its relevance as secular Judaism came to the fore in American society in the early ‘60s. Coincidentally, with that loss went the relevance of maintaining Jewish religious traditions that impart who we are.

Today there are many ways to look at the significance of a holiday that gave us the ability to appreciate identity. Yes, there are the classic stories about the Jewish people’s elevated status when it was chosen to carry the Torah, but there are a myriad of contemporary ways to express the gift our ancestors did not have the privilege or human experience to express.

• Since the time of Mount Sinai, we have begun to appreciate the value of a balanced ecology. We have learned that with foresight, we can turn desert landscape into a habitable universe. Over the years we have found ways to teach our children that our heritage and Israel’s ecology are inextricably linked.
• We have converted ancient lessons into medical accomplishments. Israel stands as a technological leader in medicine in areas such as exoskeletal prosthesis for victims of war and terror attacks, cancer research and rehabilitative medicine, all of which underscore mitzvot that preserve and sanctify human life. The Israel Defense Force's Save and Rescue Unit uses what it has learned about saving lives in terrorist attacks to train and aid communities in other parts of the world.
• We have learned that a community isn’t restricted by civic or national borders, and that Jewish history transcends its own lineage in surprising ways that sometimes take hundreds or thousands of years to discover. Communities like the Bnei Menashe in India; Chueta Jews in Mallorca (page 32), Spain; and Iquito Jews in the Amazon reaffirm that the Jewish People aren’t homogeneous in heritage and can be found in every corner of the Earth. 

 

• We have also found ways to connect with and nurture the Jewish spirit in places that were decimated during the Shoah. Places like Poland, Germany, Spain and Russia have reclaimed their Jewish heritage much as did those same countries after pogroms hundreds of years earlier. History may repeat its mistakes, but it has also taught us that the Jewish spirit is strong when supported by others who care.
• We have learned that women have a powerful voice that carries its own measure and its own value, and that Jewish identity matures, strengthens and evolves with each generation that strives to teach the story of Shavuot to the next.   

And we have learned that the Jewish People is nothing without the Torah it was entrusted at Mount Sinai. Shavuot serves as our eidetic reminder of the importance of that gift, and that it is our ability to translate its message into a contemporary context and to share that significance with others that continues the Torah’s legacy. 

Child at Shavuot - Mykaul

The Multicultural Jew: Challah: Reshaping Our Image of the Quintessential...

The Multicultural Jew: Challah: Reshaping Our Image of the Quintessential...: Challah is a mainstay in the celebration of Jewish traditions. The salty-sweet twist of bread makes its appearance at almost every majo...

Challah: Reshaping Our Image of the Quintessential Jewish Bread

Shabbos beauty - Roland

Challah is a mainstay in the celebration of Jewish traditions. The salty-sweet twist of bread makes its appearance at almost every major festivity on the Jewish calendar. Its braided symmetry is meant to be emblematic of the goodness we seek in life. It symbolizes the joy and peace of Shabbat, the continuity of a new year at Rosh Hashanah, and the sweetness that we seek in our life throughout the world. Its braided form holds immense religious symbolism in our observance as Jews and would seem to be an irreplaceable part of every Shabbat meal.

So it is hard to imagine someone turning down a piece of this favourite confection when offered. Harder still to believe, is the fact that there have been millions of Jews throughout history for whom this hand-made delicacy would be nothing short of perilous to eat.

But in fact, a significant number of Jews must abstain from eating challah – or matzo, or hamantaschen for that matter – as the result of a strange and quirky autoimmune disease that wreaks havoc on the body when wheat is ingested.

The affliction is called celiac disease, and its symptoms really don’t have anything to do with wheat per se, but with a protein that is present in wheat, rye, barley and spelt. Ingestion of gluten by someone with celiac disease triggers an autoimmune reaction that can ultimately herald the diagnosis of other diseases, like malnutrition, osteoporosis, and cancer.

Wheat - Dag Endresen

It isn’t enough that these grains happen to be four of the five species that are used in hamotzi, baked bread. Modern food processing techniques make the ingestion of oats – the fifth grain used in hamotzi – risky unless the oats have been processed in a certified gluten-free environment.

Gluten-free advocates often talk about the significant cost and difficulties that this disease can present, but few Jewish authors have centered on what to me, seems an even greater danger: the sense of disconnect that can result from not being able to participate in specific traditions, and the sense of alienation that comes from recognizing that something so intrinsic to our faith is out of bounds for those with celiac disease.

Sure, there are gluten-free (GF) challah recipes these days. In fact, hundreds if not thousands live on the Internet. And there is gluten-free Shemurah oat matzo. There are also support groups, and a staggering number of Jewish cooks with their own personal appreciation of the trials of staying GF. This alone suggests that a significant number of the estimated 3 million celiacs in the United States may be Jews. But even in its best and most ornate form, GF challah is just not the same as the buttery-sweet braided tradition that has been passed down through the ages.

Rosh Hashanah roundness - Ryan C Boren

Gluten is much more than a coincidental ingredient in bread. It is what allows us to braid the challah and build the many symbols into our holiday challot, such as the ladder or the roundness of a fulfilling new year. It is what, through synthesis with other ingredients, creates the fluffy, airy texture that we crave at Shabbat. The appearance alone of challah made without gluten is reminiscent of a compromise, a symbol of something cherished, but not quite attained.

Gluten is also what allows matzo to stay together, but retain its flaky texture, and is an intrinsic part of certain dishes on the Pesach seder table. Without gluten, dishes like chicken soup with matzo balls, gefelte fish and your bubbeh’s fantastic Passover cake are all the harder to make. Judaism is replete with symbols fashioned from gluten’s unique alchemy, and amazingly bereft of kosher options to use in its stead.

Chickpea GF bread - Artis Rozentals

Some holiday recipes can survive without gluten, of course. Over the years cooks have discovered curious stand-ins for the protein, like guar gum and xantham gum, that when combined with ingenious mixtures of flours made of bean, vegetable and non-gluten grains can create passable hamantaschen, cakes and cookies. And oat flour, which by itself, is harder to leaven, makes satisfactory matzos.

And therein lies the problem.

Sharron Matten, the author of the blog Kosher Every Day  and Chicago-based chef notes that rabbis have stipulated that in order for baked bread to be considered challah (and thus to fulfill the Shabbos mitzvah), it must comprise a “significant amount” of flour from one or more of the five grains. This is an option that is nearly impossible for GF bakers, who often must rely upon large amounts of other ingredients like tapioca, rice flour and potato starch to “lighten” the dough. Matten’s answer to the problem is both ingenious and an example of the extensive brainstorming that Jewish GF bakers must use to remain religiously observant. Her recipe even includes the use of a baking pan that simulates the braided appearance of wheat challah.

Yet the truth is, creative cooking doesn’t override all problems. What does the GF individual do at shul on Friday nights, after Shabbat morning services and bar/bat mitzvahs? Individuals who are GF are unable to eat anything at celebrations if they are unable to tell for sure that the food was prepared with GF needs in mind. Ironically perhaps, the growing availability of non-gebrokts* baked goods at Passover makes the holiday a bit easier for celiacs, but only if there is forethought to labeling the dishes "non-gebrokts" or gluten free.

The true challenge in other words, isn’t finding ways to reinvent the wheel at home, but to stay connected socially with the community in a way that is meaningful and allows the celiac individual to at least feel there has not been a disconnect with the Jewish lifestyle.

And it is a problem that is growing. According to the Mayo Clinic, the incidence of celiac disease has risen sharply over the last 60 years. Researchers say the increase is due to improved diagnostic methods, as well as a growing intolerance to gluten in the general population.

Many Jewish communities are already attempting to address this problem by ensuring that there are items on Kiddush tables that are certified gluten free, and that alternative dietary options are available at community events. Still, more that can be done to ensure that Jews suffering from celiac disease find the means to stay connected to their communities. They include:

• Organizing educational forums to discuss the halachic challenges associated with a GF diet

• Offering kosher GF cooking/baking classes for Passover and Purim

• Including articles in synagogue newsletters about kosher gluten-free resources

• Establishing a regional “hotline” to help connect individuals with gluten intolerance.

Our traditions sustain and nurture our connections with Judaism and throughout history, have evolved to meet the changing needs of our communities. Perhaps the increasing prevalence of celiac disease will offer just such an inspiration for new traditions and new ways to express the meaning, symbolism and beauty of challah at the Shabbat table.


*Non-gebrokts - (Yiddish) refers to the Orthodox-Ashkenazi tradition of abstaining from eating any product made of matzo that has been combined with liquid (such as matzo balls) during the first seven days of Passover. The Jewish food industry now makes many of its baked products without matzo in recognition of this exceptionally stringent tradition, rendering foods made in this manner gluten-free.

Remarkable Haggadahs for the Contemporary Seder Table

A 14th-century haggadah - Public Domain

For many Jewish families, Passover is a time steeped in tradition. The haggadah that is used to tell the story of the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt, like the recipes that complement the Passover meal, has often been passed down from generation to generation. A traditional Orthodox Jewish haggadah can almost as likely be found on the seder table of a Reform Jewish family as on the table of an Orthodox family. For some, Passover is a time for revisiting one’s roots, the traditions that define them, and their identities as Jews.

The Passover Haggadah for Contemporary Readers

But for others, Pesach is a time for considering the present, and their personal responsibilities to the rest of the world. The subject of ecology, poverty and the impact of the human footprint on the environment have all become topics at the contemporary Seder table and opportunities for reflection in the broader meaning of Passover. The topic of tzedakah – the act of righteous living – has become a cornerstone to Passover observance in some communities. In others, striving for a more peaceful existence has become synonymous with the ancient Jews’ escape from bondage and strife.

These discussions have led to an explosion of creative expression, and an ever-expanding selection of haggadahs in the bookstore and on the internet. E-publishing has opened the door to a wide variety of versions that can be easily printed off, some with ornate depictions, and others with simple text. Some include the original Hebrew text; others provide only the transliteration and English passages.

Print Haggadahs for Passover Seders

The Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) sells the beautiful, sensitively depicted haggadah, The Open Door, written by Sue Levi Elwell, with art by Ruth Weisberg. Written for the Reform audience, it contains both Hebrew and English text as well as transliterated portions, and can be purchased through the CCAR website.

Sharing the Journey: The Haggadah for the Contemporary Family by Alan S. Yoffie and illustrated by Mark Podwal is one of the CCAR's most recent publications and has been lauded for its inclusive text and stunning art work. It can be purchased in soft cover or a beautiful cloth-bound gift edition.

Historian and novelist Elie Wiesel has put out his own exemplary haggadah illustrated by Mark Podwal. As expected, his writings in A Passover Haggadah remind the reader not only of the travails of the ancient Jews but of more contemporary recordings of slavery and mistreatment, and the importance of continuing one’s link with history.

The Modern Haggadah Distributing Company features a wide variety of haggadahs, from books that are directed toward Jews who are practicing Buddhists, to a popular family haggadah that includes the complete Birkat Hamazon (blessing after the meal) for more traditionally observant Jews.

Haggadahs from Israel - PikiWiki

Online Haggadahs for Easy Printing

Quite a number of websites offer free, print-as-you-go haggadahs, some with ornate color illustrations, others with bare-bones text and explanations. Some include the Hebrew, others include only transliterated prayers.

In addition to its print haggadahs, Modernhaggadah.com sells an internet version as well. Written by Rabbi William Blank, it is designed for contemporary readers who like their haggadah to be “brief, to the point, (without) unnecessary ornamentation.” It is well illustrated however, and contains both the Hebrew and transliterated prayers. The book can be downloaded directly from the site.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat provides on her velveteenrabbi.com site, a black-and-white version with sensitive explanations of some ancient and some new traditions. She utilizes the modern-day tradition of including an orange on the Seder table and gives some explanations to transliterated terms used during the Seder. The haggadah could easily be used with guests who are just learning about the Passover experience.

Rabbi Amy Scheinerman offers her own printable version with just enough illustrations to make it enjoyable to read, educational and inspiring, but not labor-intensive for the printer.

The Jewish Federations of North America covers the whole gamut, with a list of downloadable haggadahs that range from an Orthodox text put out by Chabad, to a basic haggadah published by the Jewish Federation. If their five published options don’t suit, readers shouldn’t lose heart: there is also a link for do-it-yourself haggadah software from Jewishfreeware.com.

It has been said that the haggadah tells the story of the Jewish people – and does so in a way that all generations can understand. Contemporary haggadahs take that lesson one step further by recording the meaning of the ancient story in modern-day terms. It may well be possible that generations in the future will look back at these haggadahs as commentary on the struggles that Jews - and all humans- faced in our lifetime, and our own interpretation of the true meaning of what it means to be, and live as a Jew.

Adapted from The Contemporary Jewish Passover Haggadah by Jan Lee and published on Suite101.com.

Passover in Perspective: When Moses Discovered Skype

As we rid our lives of the last of the chametz for the year, take a moment to enjoy these two great videos.

Thanks to Aish (via YouTube) for putting Pesach into perspective for us:

And - my favourite - Thanks to JewTribe for this gem!





Chag Sameach everyone!

Iran: Lessons from an Ancient Homeland

Esther - Edwin Long (1878)

For many of us, Purim is a time for forgetting sadness and worrisome topics, and enjoying a good story. It is a time for reveling in a tale for which we already know the ending. We’re able to boo Haman’s evil designs and cheer on Esther’s amazing courage without even a consideration as to whether this story could ever turn out differently. We’re able to turn away from history’s brutal lessons and for one full day be swept away by a tale that takes place in a land and a reality far away from our own.

This year however, Purim arrives with a dose of reality. Persia, Queen Esther’s homeland, after all, is not a land in a far, far away place, or an allegorical figment of our imagination, but the origins of present-day Iran. Try as we might to ignore it, the tale of Esther has an uncomfortable ring to it, as if it carries a message that we’re meant to heed.

And it does.

Protests against planned speech at Columbia - David Shankbone

Each year, we reread the Book of Esther, not just for its levity and joyful outcome, but because it reminds us to listen to that inner sense as Jews. Its “street-smart” message nudges our consciousness and reminds us to be attuned to the world around us and those who might mean to do us harm. It begs us to listen to history and warns us against the follies of complacency.

This message hasn’t been missed by journalists in past weeks, who have been quick to remind us of the gravity of a nuclear Iran. Even Prime Minister Netanyahu took advantage of the timing of Iran’s nuclear aspirations by providing President Obama with a copy of the Megillah Esther, as if to demonstrate that the Jewish people had walked this path before and took its history, and its lessons, seriously.

But while the story of Purim carries a valid warning against complacency, I wonder if we aren’t missing another part of the Megillah’s message.

Our recount of the rally against Haman begins not with a preemptive strike against the Persians, but with dialogue. It is Esther’s disclosure to the king that brings about a change in the political balance and the rescue of the Jewish people from destruction. Esther’s bravery is personified by her willingness to go against protocol and use her position to win the king’s ear.

Iranian Jews, 1917 - Public Domain

Anecdotal recounts of history rarely tell the whole story. They offer insight, but they often miss the human quotient, especially when dealing with the opposing side of the story. While the story ends happily for the Persian Jews, it is far from a bloodless accomplishment.

Roya_Hakakian

“It is said that 75,000 Persians died” in the ensuing battles, says author Eli Ajzenman on his blog JewTribe. “It has been argued this has not really been such a great moment with so many deaths.”

The information we are afforded is scant, but as Ajzenman points out, Iranian-Jewish author Roya Hakakian has summed up the issue with a point that make historians squirm.

“(By) bombing Iran we would be bombing a portion of Jewish history,” said Hakakian, in a recent interview with YnetNews. Hakakian fled Iran with her family in 1979, and now lives in the United States. She frequently writes on the state of affairs in Iran.

It is estimated that as many as 25,000 Jews still reside in Iran. Historical monuments such as the shrine to the Jewish prophets Habakkuk and Daniel and of course the presumed tomb of Esther and Mordechai still stand in Iran.

Mausoleum of Esther and Mordechai, Iran - Philippe Chavin

But Hakakian has offered another reason for reconsidering a preemptive strike: Jewish ethics, which urge us, said Hakakian, to regard others’ fates with compassion.

According to Hakakian, a strike on Iran would force the Iranian Jewish population to go into protective hiding and “would weaken Israel’s position in the region.” It would be the populations that would suffer, not the regime, which is already on tenuous ground in a country that is “ripe for revolution.”

This may be why Obama has been stressing patience. He knows the ramifications of a war with Iran would cost Israel, as well as many innocent victims in Iran. He knows it would do little to engender a source of support for Israel’s existence in the region, a source that Israel needs badly.

The Megillah Esther helps us to see the benefits of avoiding complacency in our dealings with others. It reminds us of who we are, and of our unity as a people. It is determining how we use that information, and still retain our compassion toward others however, that truly tells our story as a people.

Man praying in synagogue, Shiraz Iran - Dept. of State (US)