Prayer of remembranceLondon, ON
July 2010
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If you're Jewish, it's only a matter of time before you say this prayer. It's called Kaddish, and while I can write volumes on what these few paragraphs of ancient Hebrew are saying and why these words are significant, the Cole's Notes version is this: Immediate relatives of folks who've died say Kaddish for about 11 months to honor their memory.
I said this prayer until this past August, and every time through represented a difficult journey. It forces you to reflect on why you're there, what you've lost, and how you move ahead regardless. When you're saying it in the company of other mourners, standing apart from everyone else as a way of almost physically confirming your loss, the staccato rhythm almost drills its way into your head, just as it's done for thousands of years.
Now that I'm past this stage of mourning, I still catch myself as I listen to others who have suffered loss say it. It's just as difficult to hear their voices as it was to hear mine.
I spoke about this in synagogue on Friday night, just as the Jewish Day of Atonement (also known as Yom Kippur) got underway. I'm used to speaking in quiet television studios, where my only companion is a camera, a floor producer and a red light. Sure, there are countless people out there watching, but I can't see them so it's easy to ignore the numbers and just focus on the topic at hand. Standing in front of a crowd, however - my first time ever up there - definitely raises my blood pressure.
So I talked not from cue cards or a script - can't do the reading-in-public thing - but from thoughts I'd been percolating for the last year, thoughts that danced around my head as I recited this very prayer. I'm still not the world's most religiously focused individual. I'd rather be sleeping in instead of stumbling through services and trying to keep up with everyone around me. But the repetitive ritual of dragging myself into services and sharing these moments with some very kind, caring and supportive members of my community taught me that it isn't always just about the words on a page. It's about the connections you make while you're reading them.
I guess that's another lesson of mourning that I've learned this past year. Of course, it's a lesson I wish I never had to learn, but life clearly has other plans for us all.
Your turn: How do folks around you - friends, family, community, whoever - help you when times get tough?
