My father, Herman Weisman, was a modest man, but also a man of passion, quiet courage and determination. He survived the pogroms in Russia, witnessing the murder of his father; he escaped from Russia with his mother and brothers; experienced deep poverty during the depression, worked long grueling hours while attending school; was an unassuming World War II hero; an actor, playwright and university professor. At the onset of my mother’s debilitating illness when we were all young children, he reared us alone, while caring for my mother, and pursuing a successful career.
My father, at age 93, was physically and mentally many years younger than his age. He wrote plays diligently, winning awards for his plays and having them performed in theaters in Washington, Baltimore and Manhattan.
On Tuesday, April 13, 2010, his life and ours suddenly changed. The woman who cooked and cleaned for my father found him confused, dazed and bruised on his head. The senior neurosurgical resident at Georgetown University Hospital painted a grim portrait of his condition (bilateral subdural hematomas or blood clots surrounding his brain) indicated that my father would live no more than a few hours. In fact, he survived for months, until September 5, the 26th of Elul, when he fell in the bathroom and died instantly.
How could this strange Aramaic chant, which doesn’t mention death, increase the merit of my father?
The more I learn about God and about what is truly real and important, the more I appreciate the sterling values my father gave to my sisters and me, and to our children. My father gave me the gifts of his kindness, his humility, his compassion, his courage, his endurance, his fortitude, his determination and tenacity to do what is right, his fierce commitment to justice, and most of all his love.
So how could I repay my father for the gifts he bestowed to me?
I knew little about saying Kaddish or its significance, but I read everything I could on the subject, and had many questions. How could this strange Aramaic chant, which mentions neither death nor mourning, be important in increasing the merit of one’s father? And what does this “increasing the merit” actually mean?
With these questions, I was determined to go to shul at least once a day for the next 11 months, to say Kaddish, even though my Hebrew was poor and I could not daven (pray) proficiently.
On a daily basis, I needed to find a minyan close to where I work at Johnson & Johnson headquarters in New Brunswick, New Jersey. I soon found Congregation Poile Zedek, a historic synagogue two blocks away from my office. The members were almost all Russian and Ukrainian immigrants.
That took care of the morning, and for the afternoon Michah/Ma’ariv, I discovered the Yavneh House of Princeton. Soon I was getting to know the regulars in each of these places, and the 2-to-4 others also saying Kaddish.
My life began to revolve around Kaddish. I had to arrange my work schedule, travel schedule, and social schedule around getting to at least one minyan per day. Gradually I was getting the hang of each of the three daily services, but no sooner would I get confident, than I would be thrown a loop by going to a shul with a different style of prayer: Askanaz, Sephard, Ha-Arizal, Mizrach and Temani.
I felt a connection, a bonding, a closeness that seemed that both our souls needed.
Given my struggles in mastering the variety of services and the time commitment, I wasn’t sure why I was determined to keep going, but it seemed important. I knew I was on a mission to increase the merit for my father – though I still wasn’t sure what that meant, or whether I believed my daily Kaddish had any effect on it. But somehow it seemed right. I was doing something special for my father, the man who had given me so much. I was thanking him and appreciating him and giving him something that I was never quite able to do when he was alive. I felt a connection, a bonding, a closeness that seemed that both our souls needed.
Related Video: The Meaning of Kaddish
Clarity and Connection
At the same time, I would feel doubts. Is this real? Where’s the evidence? This is foolish! But why reject something that feels so real, that inwardly I knew was meaningful and more real than the daily grind of the material world, where we seek comfort and gratification, but seldom achieve lasting pleasure?
Saying that Kaddish, day after day, I experienced the kind of pleasure that comes with the gift that God gave the Jewish people thousands of years ago, to be a holy people; the gift, privilege and responsibility to be a light onto nations; the gift of Torah, the guidebook that shows us how the spiritual illuminates the material – the gift that makes sense out of the apparent nonsense of daily life.
Between Yom Kippur and Sukkot, on a business trip to Washington, DC, I went to Kesher Israel in Georgetown. The congregation and rabbi warmly welcomed me. It was an interesting crowd: students and faculty from Georgetown University, businessmen on their way to work, retired older men sharing the latest news of the neighborhood, politicians including Senator Joseph Lieberman, and sitting near me, a man with long gray hair wearing cowboy boots. I later learned this unorthodox-looking, orthodox man was Leon Wieseltier, author of the book Kaddish, a wonderful history of the mourner’s Kaddish and a personal meditation about the Kaddish experience, which I had just begun reading.
One of the earliest sources associating Kaddish with mourners is a story about Rabbi Akiva, who saved the soul of an evil man condemned to purgatory. This man had left behind a pregnant wife who gave birth to a son. When the son grew up, Rabbi Akiva took him to the synagogue to join in the recitation of Kaddish. Later the departed soul appeared to Rabbi Akiva and thanked him for saving him from the depths of punishment by teaching his son to say Kaddish.
The great Kabbalist the Arizal maintains that saying Kaddish helps to raise the departed soul from one spiritual level to even loftier levels of holiness.
This is not blind faith, but an innate knowledge that our sense of personal purpose, often elusive and hidden, can be revealed. When I acknowledged the importance of what I was doing, I gained an immense clarity and connection – even if I could not explain it to anyone, except my new friends, my fellow daveners, who needed no explanation. They were there for the same, deeply-understood reason – the same reason that our people have been doing the same thing through the centuries.
The peace and knowledge about what really matters went from ephemeral glimpses to a serene constancy in my life.
The peace, the knowledge, the understanding, the certainty about what really matters, went from ephemeral glimpses to a serene constancy in my life – whether I was at Chabad in Redondo Beach, CA; Young Israel in St Louis; Beth Tikvah in Naples, Florida – which didn’t have a daily minyan, but created one for me during the three days I was attending a meeting at a nearby hotel; and the small Sefardic synagogue in the Neve Tzedek area of Tel Aviv. And surely my favorite of the over two dozen places around the globe I attended during my 11 months of saying Kaddish was the Kotel, the Western Wall, where at any hour of the day I could find many different minyanim to say Kaddish.
The Final Kaddish
Then all of a sudden, it was over.
On my last day of saying Kaddish, the 26th of Tammuz, I said Kaddish during Maariv at Yavneh house in Princeton, Shacharit at Poile Zadek in New Brunswick, and Minchah at the Garment Center Synagogue in Manhattan, a few blocks away from where I was to give a keynote speech at a dinner event. There I was standing in the synagogue about to say the last Kaddish during my 11 months of mourning.
Aleynu, at the end of the service, was almost over. I remained standing. It was time.
Yisgadal v’yiskadash Sh’mei rabba…
I began to tremble.
B’allma dee v’rah chir’usei, v’yamlich malchusei…
I wasn’t sure I could make it through. My legs were weak. I felt like I was going to cry uncontrollably.
May God’s great name be praised to all eternity.
I stumbled through the next few verses of Aramaic:
Hallowed, and honored, extolled and exalted, adored and acclaimed be the Name of the blessed Holy One… May God grant abundant peace and life, to us and to all Israel. And let us say, Amein
I took three steps back on my trembling legs. Trying to keep my balance, I bowed left, Oseh Shalom bim’ro’Mav.
Bowed right, hu ya’aseh shalom, aleinu.
Bowed forward, v’a’ kol yisroel, v’imru Amain.
Three final steps forward. It was over.
I didn’t anticipate the sudden sense of loss, of emptiness, of deep sadness.
I sat down for a few moments, and then davened Ma’ariv. It was a blur. I don’t remember saying the Shema or Amidah.
Before I knew it, everyone was standing for Aleynu.
After Aleynu, the mourners remained standing for Kaddish. But for the first time in 11 months, I sat down, silent. Numb.
I spoke to the rabbi afterwards. He said what I felt was normal. The sadness will gradually dull over the next week or so, and life will go on.
My mission was over. It has not only been part of my life, it’s been my life. My mission, my deep, soulful connection to my father was gone. He’s gone. Nothing filled the hole that was growing inside me.
I walked slowly to the hotel in a daze. How can I possibly talk to anyone? How can I banter small talk during the cocktail hour before my speech.
I walked into the room. The organizers greeted me. Something surprising happened. A switch had flipped. The energy was restored. I was on again – talking, connecting, flowing. My father was back inside of me. It felt good to be in front of the audience. The tension was gone. I was relaxed, the words came out easily.
In the car ride home, I prayed. I thanked God. And I thanked my father.
The sadness was pushed away by the knowledge that my father was not gone.
Next day, I went to shul, even though I didn’t have the obligation to say Kaddish anymore. But I needed the warmth and the continuity. And the minyan needed me, the tenth man. I’m repaying all those who took care of me for those 11 months. I’m helping those who continue their period of saying Kaddish, and I watch the new ones joining us, some just as unsure of what they’re doing as I was 11 months ago, as they stumble through their first Kaddish.
I go because it feels good to join the generations of Jews before me who were blessed with the same traditions. I go because it makes the light inside me shine more brightly.
In the weeks following my last Kaddish, the hole inside of me opened and closed in unpredictable cycles. The sadness continued, coming and going, but gradually became less intense. And the hole gradually filled and stopped opening, just like the rabbi said. The sadness was pushed away by the knowledge that my father was not gone. He is with me today, with me every day. His values, his kindness, compassion, courage, endurance, fortitude, determination and tenacity to do what’s right, his commitment to justice and fairness, but most of all his love, is with me today, tomorrow and always. And I am passing these gifts onto my children, as they will to theirs, through the generations.
(35) Anonymous, March 26, 2015 4:24 AM
11 months of Kaddish
Today at Mincha was my “last kaddish” until my mother’s first yahrzeit one month from now. Your article described the feelings so well. I, too, felt the shakiness during Mincha as I took 3 steps back for “oseh shalom”. I also held back tears during ma’ariv. I have little recollection of the evening service except for the kaddish, and hearing the voices of those in my cohort reciting those all-too-familiar words. But I felt a strength in answering “amen” at the appropriate times. All those who helped make the minyan when I needed it most, now needed me to say “amen”. And they’ll need me to help make the minyan. This past year has been full of ups and downs, highs and lows. But now that it’s over, I see no reason to stop attending shul. I feel closer than ever to my parents when I’m there. And there’s a spiritual part of me that I didn’t realize was there that continues to want to grow and “be a light” to others.
It’s been a fulfilling experience, and an exceptional way to honour my parents. Now begins the next phase of the journey.
(34) Anonymous, October 22, 2014 3:55 AM
Did I write this to my father
As I read your words, I have a Dejvu when my father died in1997, I was working in the garment industry and needed to always find a minyan, every moment my thoughts were attached to catching the minyan to say the Kaddish and yet as I was reciting I tryed to understand what the words were trying to tell me. I didn't see the point of this being the prayer for the dead. As the time neared the end I too felt the void of what was to come. Years later after my Mom died in 2010 and now this year my brother, too young, died in January on my wedding anniversary the pain of not being able to call them and talk to them still hurts , but I do get most of my strength from knowing them from knowing how they would act and knowing how they would want me to act. Thank you for bringing a tear to my heart for your beautiful heartful story. May we all merit to see good in them and may we follow in their paths
(33) Label, May 29, 2014 8:12 PM
My last Kaddish
Tonight is the last kaddish for my mother. I have been saying kaddish now for a year and a half as I lost my granddaughter about 7 months before I lost my mom. The sentiments you expressed in your essay clearly mimic my own. Thank you so very much for the much needed insight!
(32) Anonymous, January 10, 2014 11:41 AM
spitt01@optusnet.com
Tonight is 9 shvat 2014 marks end of 11 mths since my husband of 45yrs old and father of my son and daughter passes away . Conclusion of kadish. Lighting the 7 day candel weekly has been a our spritual connection , Our way to communicate ,it has been very calming and has bought strong energy and enlightment in our home.now we will have to connect in another way but we will continue to know that he will be with us every step of the way .
(31) David C, February 22, 2013 12:18 AM
Brought me to tears
It is truly amazing to read your essay. I felt as thought it was me who was writing it, as I have, and continue, to feel the same emotions and sense of bonding that you expressed. I am still saying Kaddush for my dad and, while I find it deeply and immensely comforting, I am also feeling nervous and uneasy that I only have a few months left. Thank you for sharing how you felt when your 11 months was over.
(30) Nissim, August 12, 2012 3:01 PM
Kaddish for my daughter
I went through a very similar experience after my 21 year old died suddenly a little over 9 months ago. The devastation suffering and pain you go through after losing a child is something you can't describe. I came from a traditional background, and growing up i didn't like religion that much. We had the Shiva at my ex-wife's house since my daughter lived there, and the only Rabbi I knew was from a Chabad synagogue, where my brother is a member. He came every day, and together with others we had a minyan every day. This synagogue is far from where I live. So, he recommended for me to go to a small Chabad synagogue close to me. Rabbi Mendelson and a small congregation welcomed me with open arms. This is Zemach Zedek, one of the oldest Chabad synagogues in Ohio. It was a struggle to have minyan every morning, but there was a lady there, named Lea, who was taking care of calling men every morning to organize a minyan so she could say Kaddish for her mother. Once, I talked to her in the parking lot, and she told me that when I showed up to the shul, it was the end of her saying Kaddish for her mother, but now she knows the real reason behind her obsession with organizing a minyan. she told me: " I worked so hard every day to make sure we have Minyan, and now I know why. it was for you daughter". Since then, there is miyan almost every morning. I don't know how to explain it but if you think of it, it is absurd to thank God after taking away your loved one, but on the other hand, it was the ONLY thing that relieved the pain...after saying the Kaddish, I felt like I did something for my daughter and felt her smiling and thanking me. I know today that I will keep going to Zemach Zedek after the 11 months are over. Judaism does give you answers, and although I do I have my doubts at time I still choose to believe that she is in better place.
Jeffrey, August 14, 2012 2:22 AM
My 22 daughter Stephanie died April 29, 2012 from injuries in a rock climbing accident in NY. My family has been suffering tremendously from this horiffic unspeakable accident. We feel detached from this earth and find it difficult to ask G-d for help. Like you said, how do ask ask G-d for help when he was involved in taking our beautiful daughter. After you get past the anger and rage, you realize that all you have is your faith and beliefs in Judaism. You stop asking why and start to live again albeit slowly at first. Kaddish is painful having to say it with your child in mind. It is unnatural. I will never get used to it. But, if saying Kaddish elevates the soul, then it it is all you can do that may have some beefit
(29) Dovid, August 12, 2012 2:37 PM
Truly fabulous commentary
Your essay brought tears to my eyes -- and reminded me of my year of saying Kaddish for my father (he died in 1997). Shalom
(28) joyce yaffe, August 9, 2012 4:51 AM
The author commited himself to saying Kaddish for 11 months;this caused him to feel closer to his father and closer to Judaism.
Thank you for the deeply felt essay. What you write about how saying Kaddish for 11 months lead to healing the emptiness.
(27) Abby, August 7, 2012 11:00 PM
Your Father's Son
Dr.Weissman, you truly are ! B'H
(26) esther naim, August 7, 2012 3:50 PM
what a good idea.i know they are so many people out there who know nothing about morning or about kadish i sent it to as many people as i could . thank you
(25) Kalman, August 7, 2012 12:17 PM
Kaddish
I recently finished the 11 months for my mother. In the end I felt more or less happy it was over. I felt guilty that I felt this way. Then I mentioned it to our gabbi (who is an Aish Rabbi) and he said the following. We say Kaddish for 11 months only, (not more) because after 11 months (in the worst case) our loved one's neshuma will be elevated. It is a good thing to come to the end of the 11 months, both for us and for our loved one. We should be happy it is over. Her yahrzeit is 27th Av. May her nashuma have an aliyah as should you father's.
(24) Avraham Mendel, August 6, 2012 9:28 PM
great article and explanation
You article was wonderful and most moving. I lost my father just over 5 months ago and my journey has been quite similar. I have two questions: was your wife and family supportive as your " life began to revolve around Kaddish?" and did you attempt to say kaddish once per day or did you attend all three prayer services per day? Yasher koach to you and may the neshama of your beloved father continue to have an aliya!
(23) Anonymous, August 6, 2012 6:41 PM
Wow!
I planned to just skim the article but read it through to the end. I have 2 sons, one was practicing christianity until his younger sister, my beloved daughter, was diagnosed wiith terminal cancer which she succumbed to on Yom Kippur, 2009. Her illness had him return to his Jewish roots, intensely at first and now barely. But at least he tells whoever asks that he is a Jew. My older son is Gay and although somewhat traditional, he has no interest in practicing orthodox Judaism. I plan to forward this article to both my sons in the hope that one day when I leave this earth for Shamayim, they will both eagerly say Kaddish for me. Thanks so much for printing. May Dr. Weisman fullly return to his roots before his Neshama leaves this earth.
(22) Ann, August 6, 2012 3:54 PM
Dear Dr. Weisman, in the writing of so tender a piece, you have brought your father's goodness among all of us, too. How proud he must be, B'H.
(21) dina coopersmith, August 6, 2012 1:56 PM
moved me to tears!
Beautiful article- a reminder to us all we can do anything we set out to do if we are determined enough and feel it is a priority. Regards to Sally!
(20) Anonymous, August 6, 2012 9:39 AM
Your thoughts and feeling are very accurate of my process of healing after my Mother's sudden passing (over 10 years ago). The daily battle of making a minyan, the separation from family after shiva etc, and the last kaddish onwards. Your article is very real to anybody who has unfortunately gone through the process. Thank you for sharing
(19) roger, August 6, 2012 2:27 AM
Thanks for sharing your story. I agree the point in time that you realize your father will always be with you is incredibly soothing. I feel blessed knowing my dad lives on in me forever.
(18) Moshe, August 6, 2012 12:59 AM
Excellent article
I finished saying Kaddish last November, I also traveled, went to Paris and the Synagogues were very accommodating. I Israel I was also given the opportunity of being the Hazzan. You experience was the same as mine.
(17) david balto, August 6, 2012 12:15 AM
thanks for the beautiful thoughts
this was a most thoughtful essay especially about how kaddish becomes the center of ones life. And also the difficulty of stopping saying kaddish. for myself it was extraordinarily difficult and I felt many of the things he felt
(16) Marcia, August 5, 2012 10:51 PM
fyi
need to read
(15) Anonymous, August 5, 2012 10:32 PM
With gratitude
Thank you for sharing your beautiful story. Your personal tale was the clearest explanation of what Kaddish does for the mourner. My Mother and Father have been "gone" for many years, but they are with me on a daily basis.
(14) Joyce Green, August 5, 2012 7:45 PM
This touched me deeply, even after 2 years since the passing of my dear, dear husband. Thank you
Thanks deeply and with tears. It is wonderful to be part of the Jewish community.
(13) ruth housman, August 5, 2012 6:50 PM
mourning my father
Thank you. This is beautiful and it seems meant to be as in encountering the man who wrote a book on Kaddish. It is an eloquent prayer that reads aloud with poetry and binds us all as One in mourning.
(12) annie Hershkowitz, August 5, 2012 5:08 PM
Kadish recitation
I wept while reading this beautiful narrative. Very moving
(11) sara, August 5, 2012 5:07 PM
thank you.
Thank you for sharing your experience with us. May your father's soul have continured Aliyah. I too lost my father this past year, 27 Tevet. Reading your article, I was almost jealous that I as a female I am not obligated to say the Kaddish. I have thought taken upon myself other acts of Chesed for the merit of my father's soul and feel very good about that. May our fathers and Hashem continue to have joy as we grow and elevate ourselves, too.
(10) Joel, August 5, 2012 4:11 PM
A wonderful tribute
I have never been A very observant Jew; but now I try to attend the Shabbat service at our Temple here in Maine. We sometimes have a minyan and most times do not. This was such a moving story that it ensures that I will make the effort to be at each service to help make it easier for those who want to say Kaddish. I will join them as the prayer is so important to all of us. Thanks for sharing your story.
(9) sandrine, August 5, 2012 4:08 PM
LET THE SOUL GO QUIETLY
I believe in the power of prayers,to let the soul of my Father going. I wished a Jewish Man or Woman tells Kaddish for my Brave Father.
(8) Joel, August 5, 2012 4:05 PM
Excellent experience; Thank you!
As a Jewish Funeral Director I said Kaddish for literally YEARS with my clients....mindlessly repeating the words lyrically as taught. It was not until I lost my own mother that I h ad the same kind of enlightening experience. Now, when I say Kaddish for any of my relatives I stop at each word to experience it's gift to them and to me. I feel the mitzvah of Kaddish and feel their NeShama with me. I grow with each time I say it, and remember why it is important. Todah Rabah!
(7) Stephanie, August 5, 2012 3:32 PM
Thank you so much
Im so glad you shared your story. My 100 yr old grandma passed away January 2004 and because she was religious I decided I would honor her with every morning when I woke I said kaddish, it made the sorrow and loss seem a little more tolerable. Four months later my dad passed away suddenly and while he grew up religious he was more spiritual. I knew without him ever speaking the words that the best way to honor him would be saying Kaddish so each morning for the next 11 months I felt that same sense of connection to my grandma my dad and G-d. I remember when it was coming to an end, I felt what am I going to do, eventually those feelings disappeared and I'm left with the feeling of contentment at doing this for my loved ones which makes me feel they are forever at peace and always looking out for me.
(6) sarah, August 5, 2012 3:06 PM
Thank you. Very moving, and brought tears to my eyes.
(5) anonymous, August 5, 2012 2:56 PM
Beautiful
This was a beautiful article. And to Victor, I say, Yashar Koach and Kol Hakavod. Your father had the right values and it seems you do too. Keep growing and may your good deeds serve as an aliyah for your father's neshama.
(4) Joel, August 5, 2012 2:51 PM
Your article said it all!
Reading this very accurate and precise memory of the 11 month Kaddish, brought back memories for me....from over 12 years ago. But the sentiments are still true today where I've continued to go and try to be part of an aftermoon minyan every day. Not sure why other than the ideas this essayist wrote. Thank you.
(3) Linda, August 5, 2012 2:49 PM
26th of Elul
My father, of blessed memory, passed away the 26th of Elul as well, but, many, many years ago, when I was a youngster. Your wonderful story brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for sharing your story!
(2) Noga Fisher, August 5, 2012 2:30 PM
thanks
and thanks again for your beautiful, healing words. Noga Fisher, Efrat Israel
(1) victor, August 5, 2012 10:57 AM
thank you
I too have had a life changing experience. I lost my dad, a simple plumber from Chicago. He wasn't observant but did send me to Hebrew school. I hated it but went anyhow. Now I know why I went. I myself wasn't that observant, but that has changed in an unbelievable way. Now I catch 2 sometimes 3 minyans a day. Walk 2.5 m miles each way on Shabbos, and have begun Daf Yomi. All to say I love you Dad you were a man of Merit. Thank you Bay Shul of Buffalo Grove IL. Thank you Rabbi Pickholtz.
marcia, August 5, 2012 2:34 PM
Thank you for sharing.You helped explain what I am experiencing.I am always so surprized when I learn that so much of what I do ; and the way I react is because of my upbringing; and the education and values I grew up with. I truly feel I am having a relationship with my father that I did not have before.I am very grateful for his love; compassion;moral's and values; although the road I must follow is alot more challenging than most- I have tryed many times to do things " the easier way( lower my standards); and it never works for me.We really do seem to be destined to lead and follow a code of very high ethics and morals.May G- d please protect and keep our children and us safe on Earth. B.H.
Ann in Canada, August 7, 2012 3:18 PM
Your gentle comments inspired me, Marcia. Someone once told me that my standards were "too high" as I lamented being single for so many years. "I'm only seeking my own kind," I replied to him. HaShem indeed gave us His Law to protect and raise us up. Your Dad taught you well.
Jewish Mom, August 6, 2012 10:18 AM
Stengthening the bond
Victor, that's terrific how you are strengthening the bond with your father by strengthening your bond with G-d. Connecting with G-d is the most satisfying relationship possible and it's eternal to boot! Your father must be bursting with pride.