Last year the Shavous holiday ended the Shloshim period of mourning for my mother a”h. This year the Shavous holiday which we will, please G-d celebrate this weekend, brings to a conclusion my Saying Kaddish blog.

A fitting way to end my year’s journey is with the following blessing discussed by the great halachic authority, the Bach, at the end the laws of mourning in the Tur. This blessing is normally recited in the benching (grace after meals) in the house of a mourner during the shiva period but I believe is very appropriate as my year of mourning ends.

May the Merciful repair this break in the wall of His people and all of Israel and grant life and peace.

May the Merciful bring joy to the mourners that they should be happy and content.

May the Merciful comfort the mourners with the rebuilding of Jerusalem together with the entire Jewish People.

He who makes peace in high places, He will make peace for us and for all of Israel. Amen.

Good Shabbos and Chag Sameach

Last year the Shavous holiday ended the Shloshim period of mourning for my mother a”h. This year the Shavous holiday which we will, please G-d celebrate this weekend, brings to a conclusion my Saying Kaddish blog.

A fitting way to end my year’s journey is with the following blessing discussed by the great halachic authority, the Bach, at the end the laws of mourning in the Tur. This blessing is normally recited in the benching (grace after meals) in the house of a mourner during the shiva period but I believe is very appropriate as my year of mourning ends.

May the Merciful repair this break in the wall of His people and all of Israel and grant life and peace.

May the Merciful bring joy to the mourners that they should be happy and content.

May the Merciful comfort the mourners with the rebuilding of Jerusalem together with the entire Jewish People.

He who makes peace in high places, He will make peace for us and for all of Israel. Amen.

Good Shabbos and Chag Sameach

Since my return from Israel a couple of weeks ago I accelerated my daily study of the daf yomi (daily Talmud study) so as to complete Kesubos (a tractate in the Talmud) in time for my mother’s yarziet. This past Shabbos I made siyum in memory of my mother at a shlaosh seudos (Sabbath afternoon meal) at our home with my daf yomi partners. It was a most appropriate and meangful way for me to conclude my year of mourning and to honor my mother a”h.

In completing Kesubos I focused on the statement of Rabbi Chiya (on daf 111 b) that states that when techiyas hamaisim (resurrection of the dead) occurs the saintly will arise “in their clothing”. While some commentators understand this reference to mean actual clothing – either burial shrouds or actual clothing – the Maharal understands this passage to refer to “spiritual clothing” i.e., the good deeds of the departed.

In this vein, among my mother’s most outstanding qualities were (i) her respect for her parents and (ii) her love for my father.

I am named for my maternal grandfather who died suddenly of a heart attack in his early 50s. My parents had only been married a few short years at the time of his death and nonetheless, they insisted that my grandmother relocate from Buffalo and take up residence with them. My grandmother lived with my parents for the next 30 plus years, virtually my parents’ entire married life together, until her death in 1986. My nuclear family included my grandmother who participated in everything we did – vacations included. My mother was clearly blessed by the Almighty with a long life because of her incredible devotion to her mother.

My mother’s love and respect for my father knew no bounds. I grew up in a house in which I never heard my parents so much as raise their voices to one another. They were totally devoted to each other in every respect. Unfortunately my father’s untimely death 29 years ago was a tragedy from which my mother never fully recovered.

The conclusion of my siyum this past Shabbos gave me a sense of closure; a feeling that it is now time for me to move on and implement the many lessons I have learned over the past twelve months.

This evening I recited the final kaddish of my year of aveilus. I hugged the gentleman next to whom I sat for the last year and returned to my regular seat to daven maariv. But other than returning to my regular seat in the synagogue l will not be resuming my life as it was a year ago. My mother is no longer and the intimate connection which I have shared with her over these last twelve months has ended. And now I must fend for myself and find a way to maintain an everlasting relationship with my parents. The end of mourning exposes a large hole in one’s life; one that now must be filled without the aid of ritual obligations.

I have come to understand that the yearlong mourning process encompasses two separate and different aspects. The first and most obvious is the structure that it provides; a defined system for one to pay one’s respects to and demonstrate one’s gratitude for their departed parent. The second is the effect on the mourner as a person of spending a year of daily obligations to one’s parent, observing the many restrictions, and performing the numerous affirmative obligations the most significant of which is saying kaddish morning, afternoon and night day in day out for eleven months.

There was never a question, never a hesitation in my mind about fulfilling my obligations as a mourning son. Especially with regard to saying kaddish I was committed to doing whatever it would take. Waking up early, going to bed late, leaving a day early for a business trip, or coming home a day late, scheduling around kaddish, and leaving in the middle of a business meeting to go daven – whatever was required I tried to do. Why? Because I am her son and she was for my mother. How could I not?

Our tradition teaches that one’s relationship with the Almighty has two dimensions. In one respect G-d is our master and we are placed on earth to serve Him. In another respect G-d is our father and we are His children. The year spent in mourning for a parent impresses upon the mourner what it means to be someone’s child; what extraordinary level of gratitude, devotion and commitment a child owes to a parent and how those feelings must be translated into daily action. If that is true of one’s biological parent, how much more so must it be true of one’s spiritual parent? If one turns his world “upside down” to say kaddish for a departed parent how much more so should one “turn his world upside down” to enhance his relationship with his Father in heaven.

And so perhaps it is not correct to say that after twelve months the state of mourning ends and we resume our “normal” lives. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that, hopefully, when one completes a year of aveilus he leaves armed with important lessons learned that enhance his relationship with the Almighty and represent not a resumption of the life that was but rather a new personal beginning.

Yesterday our family gathered at the New Montefiore Cemetery on Long Island for the hakomos hamatziva (unveiling) for my mother a”h. The ceremony included recitation of Tehilim (Psalms), El Moleh (prayer for the departed soul), kaddish and a eulogy.

The following are some of the thoughts which I shared yesterday with those assembled.

In Tanach (the Bible) and in Chazal a tombstone is referred to with one of three different nouns – Zion, a marker; Nefesh, a soul; and Mazteiva, a monument. Each represents a different aspect or purpose for what we call a “tombstone”.

A Zion is a marker which identifies the location of a burial plot so that those who are in a state of holiness can avoid the area and not become defiled.

Nefesh refers to the presence of the soul of the departed as it hovers over the grave. During the weekdays the soul resides in this world and returns to the heavens above on Shabbos. In this way it learns of the needs and suffering of the living and is thus able to pray for those in need.

A Mazteiva is a monument. Its purpose is reminds us of the departed, to inspire one to reflect upon and learn from the life of the departed, and to inculcate into one’s being the good qualities of the departed.

Among my mother’s many good qualities two stand out as exceptional. The first I discussed in my eulogy at the funeral last May. She exhibited incredible respect for and commitment to her parents and particularly, for her mother (my grandmother) who was widowed in her early fifties. After the sudden and untimely death of my grandfather (after whom I am named) my grandmother lived with my parents for virtually the entirety of their married life.

The second exceptional quality which I discussed yesterday was my mother’s unconditional love for and devotion to my father. Their relationship was nothing less than extraordinary – a relationship based upon love, respect and devotion.

I have trouble remembering what my mother was like before my father died nearly thirty years ago. My father’s death was a cataclysmic event in my mother’s life; a tragedy from which she never fully recovered. But I do vividly recall the total devotion that my parents had one for the other and the abounding love and genuine respect with which they treated in each other.

Without a doubt the side by side metzivahs of my parents serve as a poignant reminder and lesson of what a marriage should and can be; of how mutual respect, love and devotion create an everlasting bond. A quality for of each us – her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren to strive to emulate.

With a mere ten days left to my year of mourning I am in “transition”. The question of course is transition to what? Back to where I was before the death of my mother a”h? Or to a new place?

In one sense saying kaddish makes it easy. Obligations are well defined and one knows what is expected in terms of paying respect to the memory of a deceased parent. All one needs to do is execute – do what is required of a mourning child. It need not require much thought, if any, just action. Observe the restrictions of mourning. Attend services. Say kaddish. That’s it.

I find myself pondering: Has this experience changed me? What if anything will I do differently as a result of the mourning experience? Now that the formal required practices of respect have ended how do I go about respecting the memory of my parents?

At this early stage of the trabnsition I have been focused on an “action item”; continuing to make the extra effort required to daven three times a day with a minyan.

But my heart tells me there must be more.

During my week in Israel I was blessed to achieve my goal of always davening with a minyan. In doing so I was fortunate to daven in many different synagogues each with their own history and significance. These included the following synagogues.

1. A small shul in Kiryat Moshe were I davened mincha on Israel’s Memorial Day.
   

    

   
   

    

2. Machon Meir where I attended maariv on Israel Independence Day.
   

3. The Kotel (the Western Wall) where I davened shachris on Israel Independence Day.

4. The Shtiblach in Katamon.

5. The tomb of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai in Meron where I davened maariv and shachris at vasikin.

7. Shachris at a small kabbalistic community near Meron called Or Haganuz (the hidden light).

 
8. A shul across the street from Machne Yehuda in Jerusalem where the saintly Rabbi Aryeh Levin zt”l davened.
 
 9. The Grah Shul in Shaarei Chesed where the great Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach zt”l davened.

10. The Klausenberg Kloiz in Tzefat established in the mid 1800’s by Shiniver Rebbe, the son of the Sanzer Rav .

I also davened in several other synagogues where I was not able to photograph, including, the Yeshurun Synagogue in Jerusalem, Khal Chasidim in Shaarei Chesed and Lev Eliyahu in Beit Shemesh.

All in all, though my days of saying kaddish have come to an end, my days of praying three times a day with a minyan, thank G-d, have not ended.