Coverages

I first encountered the term "coverage" when, some 14 years ago, I began teaching at a New York City public school. On one of my first days, my supervisor directed me to go to a particular classroom, informing me that I had a "coverage." A coverage, I learned, means to act as a substitute teacher. When a teacher calls out or leaves early, you may be called on to "cover" their class. I've done countless coverages over these 14 years.

As a kaddish-sayer, I have been called on to do coverages of a different sort. Another person saying kaddish may ask you to "cover" their kaddish. This occurs when they are unable to go to shul to say kaddish. This most commonly happens because they are traveling. Some mourners do whatever they can to avoid missing a kaddish, either by not traveling or by making sure their flights do not conflict with prayer times. However, if you do travel, and you have a lengthy flight, you are likely to be unable to attend a minyan to say kaddish for at least one of the three daily prayer services.

My brother has travelled a fair amount this year. When he does, he lets me know which prayer services he will miss to make sure that I will be attending synagogue in order to "cover" his kaddishes. Last week, a friend who is saying kaddish for his son knew he would miss the afternoon and evening prayer services and asked me to "cover" his kaddishes during those services.

The idea of "covering" a kaddish is rooted in the belief that saying by saying kaddish, you are affecting the soul of your departed. The concept, as I understand it, is that the soul of your parent is in a kind of limbo for the first year. Your kaddishes are helpful, perhaps essential, to elevating your parent's soul to reach eternal life. In considering whether your parent is worthy of eternal life, God considers the kaddishes of the parent's children and counts them as merit. In this way, kaddish has an efficacious effect on the fate of your parent's afterlife. (see my previous blog) As the Chabad website puts it, people who undertake the obligation of saying kaddish "are seeking to prove that the departed is truly a worthy soul deserving of a lichtig Gan Eden, a 'luminous Paradise.'" (https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/255986/jewish/Why-Do-Mourners-Recite-Kaddish.htm)

To the extent saying kaddish is an obligation imposed by Jewish law, the law requires the child say only one kaddish a day. However, mourners often try to say kaddish at every possible occasion, that is, at all three daily prayer services, a total of five mourners kaddishes per day. The idea is that each kaddish assists the soul to ascend higher and higher toward heaven. Thus, a traditional response to a person saying kaddish or observing the yahrzeit (anniversary of death) of a parents, is "may their neshema (soul) have an aliyah (elevation)."

This concept explains why people ask for "coverages" when they are unable to say kaddish. If either my brother or I cannot say kaddish at a specific prayer service, if at least one of us is saying kaddish, our father's soul is, at every possible occasion, being positively affected.

When my friend asked me to cover his kaddishes, he gave me his son's hebrew name, which I wrote down as not to forget it. I also requested that he send me a picture of his son so that I could have a clearer image of him, and make my friend's loss less abstract in my own mind, when I said kaddish.

The metaphysics of kaddish is a challenging notion for one, such as I, whose basic outlook is one of rationality. Moreover, my father, while not a strict Torah observant Jew, lived a righteous life. I think, if there is a heaven, he is worthy of getting there without my assistance, though I think I do him proud by devoting myself as fully as I can to his memory during this kaddish year. And so, as I write these words at JFK airport on my way to Israel, knowing I am likely to miss at least one prayer service at which I could say kaddish, I didn't ask anyone to cover my kaddishes.

It is comforting to know, however, that my brother will be saying kaddish in my absence.