Purim Kaddish

Purim is perhaps the most joyous holiday on the Jewish calendar.  That being said, it stands in odd contrast to being an avel (mourner).  While Jewish law did not prohibit me from attending a joyous reading of the Megillat Esther (the scroll of Esther), I did not feel it matched my present state of mind. So I choose to attend a more straight-forward reading in the late evening, after the main festivities were over.  I would have attended a shul in Manhattan where I went last year,  featuring a lively reading followed by a musical concert.  However, one of the prohibitions of the mourning period is attending live music shows.  In any event, after the reading of the Megilla and Aleynu, I recited the Mourner's Kaddish.  I was the only one in a group of perhaps 100 people doing so.  It was a strange feeling, as if I were reminding the assembled that, in the midst of joy, there is sorrow.  I felt a bit guilty, spoiling the party, as it were.  I guess that's my job these days.

My father: the statistics

I had a good talk with my father when I visited him the week before last, the gist of which was the need to have a clear image of an independent life for as long as possible.  Given his 53-year marriage to my mother, this is easier said than done.  He said he was aware of the unfavorable statistics regarding broken hips and losing a long-time spouse.  Having avoided it for a while, I decided to look them up.  A quick Internet search reveals that mortality rates go up about 50% within the year of losing a spouse.  This does not mean that 50% of spouses die within the year, but rather that, all things being equal, the odds of dying within a year of losing a spouse are 50% more.  As to broken hips, mortality rates are about 25% within a year, higher for older people due to complications such as blood clots, pneumonia or infection.  http://orthopedics.about.com/cs/hipsurgery/a/brokenhip_4.htm.  Sobering indeed.

I missed Kaddish. I forgot!?

Yesterday was Sunday.  A day I don't have a strict routine.  I did family chores in the morning after morning services.   I had lunch, paid some bills, made some phone calls, worked on my lesson plans (have I said I'm a teacher?), then began making dinner.  Okay, the TV was on, a basketball game that I watched from time to time.  All of a sudden I remember: "Oh my God, shul!" I looked at the clock.  It was after 6:00 p.m.  I'd missed Mincha.  Fortunately, I was able to make the late Ma'ariv (evening prayer) service so I didn't miss both kaddishes.  But truth be told, I was mortified.  How could I forget to go to shul?  Isn't this obligation the most important facet of my life at present?  Am I not taking my kaddish obligation seriously enough? Or do I inwardly resent this burden of saying kaddish every single day, three times a day?  Or did I just "space out?" I'm only human.  I forgot.  Still, these questions are difficult to dismiss with an "oops." There's more than a grain of truth in all of them.

Words of comfort

Praying three times a day, you say a lot of words.  I haven't done an exact word count.  But here's an estimate. In the Artscroll prayer book, the morning prayers go from pages 48 to 162.  There are some pages that are skipped on certain days, when the Torah is not read and when Tachanun is either not recited or only a portion is recited (Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday).  Half of these pages are in English, so we are at 114, divided by two or 57.  Let's say on average 40 of these pages are recited.  Turning to a random page, there are 17 lines and most lines have 8 Hebrew words.  So that makes about 136 words per page, times 40, or 5,440.  Let's just say that the afternoon and evening prayers take up 24 Hebrew pages, or about 3,264 words, which brings us to a grand total or 8,704, though to be sure, the latter two prayers are mostly repetitions of words recited at morning prayers.  In any event, Jewish prayer is highly literacy oriented.

The question is: in how many of these words do I find meaning?  There are a few that speak to me in my current condition.  One is found in Psalm 146, recited in the morning, It says, referring to God, "He is the healer of the broken-hearted, and the One who binds up their sorrows."  Most mornings these words leap out of the page at me.  The imagery is medical, as the words "bind up" in modern Hebrew refers to a medic.  I am, truly, in need of an operation to repair my injured soul.

Best laid plans

Another missed Kaddish.  I flew on a red eye from California to New York after Shabbat.  The flight was scheduled to come in at 7:15 a.m.  That would leave me enough time to get to get home and then go to shul for Sunday morning Shacharit services.  Unfortunately, the flight was delayed almost two hours, so I didn't get home till after 9:00.  So I davened by myself, then got some more sleep.  Airline travel these days is just not conducive to the timing of Jewish prayer services.  Saying Kaddish would be a lot easier if my father did not live 3000 miles away.  But, I suppose, part of mourning the loss of a parent is caring for the surviving parent.  Grief cannot be allowed to slide into hopelessness.