The day we bury my mother, the rabbi surprises me. He asks if I’d like to lead the Kaddish prayer alongside my brother.
He’s new to this orthodox Anglo-Jewish congregation, but perhaps he’s heard of “the scene” I made at my father’s grave thirteen years ago. In insult at being excluded when the shovel was handed first to my brother and then to my uncle, I’d grabbed it and offered it to my mother, then warded off all protests as first she and then I sent dirt thudding onto the pine boards of the coffin — the terrible, sobering sound of undeniable reality.
Now, as my brother and I lead the Kaddish together, there’s a murmur of consternation behind us. Women in orthodox Judaism are not even counted as part of the minyan, the community of prayer. What we are doing is distinctly unorthodox. But the ripple dies down as my voice rings out — louder and more confident than my brother’s since my Hebrew is fluent while he just sounds the letters.
I am surprised by how right this feels. Surprised at my agnostic self finding consolation in any prayer, let alone this haunting one whose words have nothing to do with death. On the page, it’s just another prayer in praise of God, whom I am in no mood at all to praise, even if I thought there was something as simple as a “who” to be praised in the first place.
But then this is not about God. It’s not even about what most of us think of as religion. It’s about tradition, and identity, and family loyalty.
It’s about gratefully submitting to familiar ritual when death has utterly disrupted the familiar.
It’s about standing up and being counted, not as a silent bystander in the gallery but in a daughter’s rightful place, at the head of the community of mourners.
It’s about honoring my mother. And in doing so, honoring all women.
— For Sybil, for Mothers Day.
So succinct. So right on. It is about standing up as an equal in community.
As the Rabbi involved here let me first say that Orthodoxy sometimes does things because “they’re always done that way”, instead of doing them because Jewish Law allows them.
The aim of the funeral service is to help to heal some of the pain felt at the loss of a loved one. This means that we should offer people opportunities to do what they wish as long as it is not unhalachic (i.e as long as it is ok in Jewish Law). I offer several options to mourners without actually forcing things on them. Different people choose to take up different things – like putting earth on the grave, saying kaddish or saying a few words of eulogy at some point in the seven days of Shiv’a.
Being the father of two daughters I am intensely aware at the disappointment of a girl when she realizes that she has been written out of the activities of the bimah. As an Orthodox Rabbi (and as a Jew) it is my responsibility to ensure that no woman feels left out of shul or of Judaism, and that is why I open opportunities for people.
There is a question about women in minyan and kaddish – many poskim say that a woman can say kaddish with a minyan even if she can’t count. Knowing your Mum as the lively woman she was it would have been an insult to her (as well as to you) not to offer you the chance to participate fully in laying her to rest. I am glad that it made a difference to you Lesley, and that your very Orthodox response to a traditional prayer and practice may have helped bring you some healing.
Thanks again Rabbi Zvi for being such a mensch. Secular dogma tends to scoff at religious ritual, perhaps not realizing that it became ritual and lasted through the centuries for a very good reason — it works. That it works regardless of belief is all the more testament (as it were) to its power.
I see the Kaddish as part of what Freud called “the work of mourning.” Unbeliever that I am, I continued to chant it alone, at home, out loud, throughout the ritual thirty days of mourning. By the end of that time, I no longer felt a need to say it. I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t reached out and offered me the option of saying it alongside my brother — an offer made, it seems to me, not in the letter of Judaism, but in its true spirit.
For Sybil, for all of us. Yes, so spot on. You speak for so many,
To me it was beyond issues of woman’s rights, religious laws, tradition … all so human-made. It was your heart, Lesley, that was given voice. You honored everything – and everyone – by giving voice to the most powerful, fundamental aspect of being human AND spirit – which is Love.
Thank you for sharing this deeply moving moment in your life with us….
Thanks all for the thanks — it’s great to know I can give voice to others, not just myself.
So moving. The other side of Mother’s Day is feeling the loss of my mother, who was my last remaining connection to the Catholic Church and all its rituals, rituals that somehow do not require me to believe to have meaning to me.