Thursday, January 17, 2019

Consolation

Yesterday I "got up" from shiva. That meant that I got to leave my home. Actually, I am required, by Jewish law, to leave my home so that I can go to synagogue to recite kaddish, which I am supposed to do for the next 11 months. And so, around 4:25, I walked to synagogue for the 4:40 minyan (quorum). I was expecting to lead the services, as, for the next three weeks or so, I am "in shloshim," the 30 days following burial, and a person (man) in shloshim has priority to lead the prayer service over all others except for someone (man) observing his parent's yahrzeit (anniversary of death).

As expected, I led mincha (afternoon) and ma'ariv (evening) services, the first I'd attended since my father died. As I approached the bima (prayer stand), the rabbi mentioned that I had just completed my shiva and welcomed me back into the community. That felt nice. I recited the mourner's kaddishes that follow each service. I wasn't the only one reciting them. My voice joined with other voices. I wasn't alone. That also felt nice.

As I was leaving the synagogue following the conclusion of the services, I met a woman who had also been there. She asked me who I was saying kaddish for and told me she was saying kaddish for her father who had passed away just two weeks before. Her wound was also fresh. We talked about our fathers, our relationship with them, and our siblings and our relationship with them as well. The conversation flowed, our words fueled by shared grief. A bond of mutual recognition between mourners. That felt very nice. True consolation.

This, by the way, is another reason why it is good that women say kaddish for their parents. The more women who say kaddish, the more mourners there are to support each other. Women can offer mutual support to other women. But women, when they go to synagogue to say kaddish, can also give and receive consolation to and from male mourners.

Following the services I decided to do something nice for myself. I went to get some frozen yogurt at our local froyo store. I saw they still were selling pistachio flavored yogurt. For the last six weeks of his life, my father had trouble swallowing solid food, but he loved and practically existed on pistachio flavored ice cream and frozen yogurt. Everytime I went shopping, I would buy him more of it. And so, in his honor and memory, I bought some.


It didn't matter that it was really cold outside. I ate it as I walked home. I thought of him. It tasted really good. A small but significant added bit of consolation.

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