Mommy wasn’t from an observant background. She couldn’t read from a siddur but she rarely missed going to synagogue on Shabbat, and certainly never missed going on a holiday. I often stood by her side as she prayed. She learned to recite one or two of the prayers in Hebrew but mostly she prayed in English.
Mommy often cried when she prayed. Sometimes the tears seemed spontaneous and I wondered what it was that made her cry. Other times it was predictable; She cried at every Hallel while she sang King David’s words, “From the straits I call out to God…” Each time the cantor reached those words I inevitably looked up at her to see if this time she could make it through the two lines without crying. She never did. Each time I watched the tears slowly slide down the sides of her face and drop onto her prayer book. I knew that Mommy was calling out from her own straits, whatever they were.
There was another point in the holiday services that she would always cry. Those tears I never saw. I was never once at her side when she cried them. Those were the tears she cried during the Yizkor Club.
Outside the doors, I would hear nothing. The Yizkor Club meets in silence.
The Yizkor Club meets several times a year, on Yom Kippur, Shmini Atzeret, Passover, and Shavuot. They meet in every synagogue, in the middle of the prayer service, and everyone who is not a member of the club is asked to leave and invited back only when the Yizkor Club is through. Outside the doors, I would hear nothing. The Yizkor Club meets in silence.
After the Yizkor Club was finished, I would dutifully return to my seat to find Mommy, her eyes a little watery, her nose a little red, and her cheeks a little damp. It was obvious she had been crying.
It isn’t actually called the Yizkor Club. But as a child I had always thought of it that way. It was something exclusive, something that Mommy was a part of but I wasn’t. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized the Yizkor Club is a “club” that no one wants to join. Its members have all experienced the death of a loved one. They all have a gaping hole in their heart.
Mommy had been a member of the Yizkor Club since before I was born. She became a member when her father, Poppy Boy as he was lovingly called by his grandchildren, died. Mommy kept Poppy Boy’s memory alive through pictures and stories, her words painting vivid illustrations of his life. I always felt that I had known him, even though we never met. When she spoke about his strong hands, I could almost feel his long fingers curled around my little hand, squeezing just a bit too tight. When she described how dignified he was, I could almost hear his charming English accent.
It seemed that everything about Poppy Boy was special, including his yahrtzeit, the day he died. It's the same day as Moses', the seventh day of the month of Adar. Mommy pointed this out to me on more than one occasion. And so, on that day, the seventh of Adar, Mommy would light a yizkor candle in her father’s memory. In all of my years watching Mommy light that candle, it never once occurred to me that I might be doing the same for her on that same day.
Thirty-three years after Poppy Boy died, on the seventh of Adar, I got the call from my father telling me that Mommy only had minutes left. Mommy, who cradled me, fed me, sang to me, and wiped away my tears. Mommy, who laughed with me, danced with me, played with me, helped me with my homework. Mommy, who listened to my stories, listened to my heartache, walked me down the aisle, and watched me begin my own journey of motherhood. Mommy, the woman to whom I owed my very existence, the woman who was always there. Only minutes left and I was over an hour away away.
And then, just minutes later, I was told it was over. She was gone. I lost my friend, my role model, my teacher, and my advocate in one instant. Suddenly I was transformed from a grown woman to a little, broken orphan girl. I just wanted my Mommy.
I can’t begin to describe the swelling pain, the emptiness and longing I felt for Mommy the very first time I walked through the doors of Yizkor Club. The club for the broken hearted, for orphans, widows, people who lost a brother or sister, or worst of all buried a child. The club that no one wants to join. Armed with my prayer book and a wad of tissues I stepped into the room.
At that moment, I found a new understanding of Mommy. I understood the tears that Mommy cried. I felt the emptiness and the loneliness she must have felt. I prayed, no, pleaded for God to remember Mommy for the good, the way she must have prayed for her parents. But there was something more. There was also a tremendous comfort that I never expected to find behind the doors of the Yizkor Club.
Everyone in that room was bound by something so deep, so real.
Without uttering a single word, it was clear that everyone in that room was bound by something so deep, so real. We all experienced the impact of a loss and therefore can appreciate life in a way that others cannot. We don’t simply know that we are mortal, we feel it. We understand just how precious every moment, every opportunity, every relationship, and every mitzvah is.
During yizkor, we not only pray for our departed loved ones, but we vow to give charity in their merit, thus elevating their souls to loftier levels. This vow is serious and after the holiday is over, the charity is given without delay. Mommy can no longer do mitzvot and raise up her own soul, but I can do it for her. So my relationship with Mommy is not over; it is different.
Now I stand in her place in the Yizkor Club, and continue a legacy of honoring the unforgotten souls of our family. I cry for losing something irreplaceable and my prayers float through the gates of heaven, each time, upon fresh tears. I ache for Mommy and at the same time find comfort in the fact that even death can not separate us, for our souls are forever connected.
L'ilui nishmas Chaya Dena bas Avraham Yaakov
(25) Harriet Ciraolo, March 16, 2019 10:53 PM
Beautifullly written and touching. Take care
(24) Anonymous, February 21, 2013 7:06 PM
thank you...
"We all experienced the impact of a loss and therefore can appreciate life in a way that others cannot." was the line that resonated the most for me. Losing both of my parents in my thirties, I felt I was the only "orphan" among my friends. I find those who have not experienced loss tend to dwell on petty, inconsequential things in life. It is a cliche...but life is too short for that.
(23) cs, February 20, 2013 7:44 PM
I knew Sarah's mother and she was truly an inspiration - always growing and a catalyst for so much good . Her family & community are the beneficiaries of so much greatness. Sarahs's description of Yizkor was all the more meaningful to me and brought tears to my eyes, as i knew the wonderful person she is grieving for.
(22) MDG, February 19, 2013 10:42 AM
FYI, there are ways to honor a parent after they r gone
We can still honor them even after they have moved on to The World to Come - we can give Tsedaka and learn in their memory and in general when we live as observant Jews it makes them go up even higher I heard a Shiur about this and try to give Tsedakka as an "Ikuy Neshama" every day - it is also comforting as I sometimes feel badly that I couldn't show them honor anymore Really nice article - thanks you
(21) Anonymous, February 19, 2013 2:45 AM
56 Years & Counting
My siblings and I lost our mother over 56 years ago. So, I was in shul for Yiozkor long before I understood what I had lost. We were by far, the younget Yizkor reciters in our shul. My memories of those years (please remeber I was a little girl) wsas of just wanting to escape and be outside, to be a regular perosn -not a Yizkor Zogger. Almost every person saying Yizkor was a World War 2 survivior and the wails, tears and sometimes heartbroken screams was very hard for me to listen to. Now, as an adult who has now been saying Yizkor for my father for over 18 years, I have come to terms with Yizkor and I even add Tefillos for members of my extended family some who unfortunately have no children to say Yizkor in their memory. What I find the most intersting is that I always fel so sad for people who join the ranks of Yizkor sayers, especially anuone younger than I am. Children are of course the hardfest to see, but even adults, I wish always that no one was joining this club amd I feel worse for them than I feel for myself for I have no recollection at all of ever not saying Yizkor.
(20) surie k, February 18, 2013 9:02 PM
Yizkor
Your elequent article articulated a special tefilla so beutifully. As a daughter of Holocust survivor, i remember as a small child, leaving the services during Yizkor. None of us had grandparents(maybe 1 or 2 Americans) in our shetebel. My Mother would say she prayed for her parents and all her little brothers and sisters. And now I'm in that placein shul davening for her,her sisters , and brothers. Ye He Zechronam Baruch.
(19) Aubrey, February 18, 2013 4:47 PM
I appreciate and identify
Sarah, thank you for the simple eloquence and generosity of spirit you have displayed in this dedication to your mother. I have lost my biological mother, two wonderful "adopted" parents, and an adopted sister. It is tough to endure the loss of those who are in so many ways responsible for your own life and how you address the world. Your essay should be in the lore of every Jewish household. It can direct the less observant to a reason to observe their Judaism; it can deepen the dedication of those who are more observant; and it can enhance the meaning of remembrance for every human being, regardless of religion. Beautiful job. I will hang onto this. Love always.
(18) Sheldon Dan, February 18, 2013 4:28 PM
My wife and I can relate to this
Growing up, I remember my parents observing yahrzeits for their parents, brothers and sisters. I also remember the "Yizkor club" at our shul, when I would go out during Yizkor. When I met my wife, her mother had passed away recently, but she was observing yahrzeit for both parents, her maternal grandparents, and a bachelor uncle. Now, I have joined the Yizkor club with the passing of both my parents. I now observe the yahrzeits of my wife's relatives, both sets of my grandparents, and my parents. I think the time it has hit hardest was when I saw my father's yahrzeit plaque at shul for the first time. I completely broke down. But somehow observing Yizkor for the first time for my mother at Pesach last year was comforting. Yom Kippur was the first time I said Yizkor for my father. I miss them very much, as my wife does her parents, and I appreciate the author's words regarding her mother. Thank you for your article.
(17) Rebecca, February 18, 2013 4:12 PM
Unspoken language
I remember the first time I stayed for Yizkor. I was in the military, at Fort Sam Houston surrounded by many other young men and women. It was like a stampede when they paused to allow those who did not stay for Yizkor to depart. More than once, a head tilt or extended hand invited me to leave with them (I later found at least one acquaintance thought I was waiting for a pause in the traffic) I would shake my head slightly, and the soldier or airman's eyes would widen a moment and then a look of sympathy on their face. I never had to say a word, but they knew that me, a seventeen year old soldier had lost someone dear to me. In my case my father. It was amazing not to have to explain, again and again as I seemed to earlier that year when members of my basic training course were choosing father's day gifts. Just a moment of understanding.
(16) Helen, February 18, 2013 5:05 AM
Your story was very moving and it brought tears to my eyes as I thought about my mother.
(15) Marilyn Kocin Zlotchew, February 18, 2013 2:14 AM
Joined the club before "eligible"
In a Conservative congregation I started to stay for Yizkor when I was in my thirties because I had lost grandparents...When my father died I was 60. I am so glad I did not waith that long to start saying Kaddish....Some members of the congregation had asked me why I stayed and after I told them they joined me. If you actually read the Yizkor service you see that anyone who has lost any relative or friend can join.
(14) Donna Perel, February 18, 2013 12:04 AM
Been a member since 1975...
I became a member of the club when I was 16. I stayed in while all my peers and many of their parents left the shul. I stayed with tears streaming down my face looking at those who remained who were so much older than I was. Over the years those remaining in are closer to my age. Some have been members only recently. This past year one of my son's friends joined the club along with his many siblings. Now I don't know who I shed tears for. Maybe I am longing for the peace that comes along with knowing that what ever Hashem does is for the best.
(13) Anonymous, February 17, 2013 11:23 PM
Beautiful
(12) hazelgreen, February 17, 2013 9:48 PM
Beautiful!
Dear Sarah...Thank-you for opening your heart to share this intimate of experiences. I,too, share the Yahrzeit of MY mommy on the SAME day--the 7th of ADAR. Lighting the candle last nite at sunset was the 2nd time I did this for her-she passed in 2011 much in the same "quick and elegant" manner as YOUR Mom.And yes, it made me once again, realize and renew my deep connection to Hashem and to Mom's beloved soul. Again, thank-you for sharing your heart---it totally touched mine. Yasher koach!
Deborah, February 18, 2013 11:19 PM
May your mothers Neshama be with the Tzadikim in Gan Eden under Kanfei Hashechina- today-her yahrzeit day
(11) Anonymous, February 17, 2013 8:50 PM
Thanks
Thanks for your candid and touching article. I too am part of the 'yizkor club', and I love that Judaism has a way for people to reconnect with their lost parents and to grieve with the community. Just wanted to point out a proofreading slip: "They all have a gaping whole in their heart;" you mean 'hole,' right? Thanks and Hamakom yenachem.
(10) yisroel Tzvi Serebrowski, February 17, 2013 7:45 PM
Having known Mrs. Frankel a"h for many years; as her Rabbi, student and admirer, I can only imagine the great simcha and nachas that this poignant article is giving her neshama. A better article has never been written.
(9) leah, February 17, 2013 7:17 PM
touching
What a beautiful piece. May the neshama of your mother go ever higher to Hashem.
(8) Aviva, February 17, 2013 7:06 PM
A legacy as a Jew
Was moved to tears reading this. But it is a beautiful traditional that we Jews do. Since it will be experienced by all of us at one time or another, I fond find it comforting, & also feel a deep spiritual cleansing,especially because I say it for all Jews.who who have no one to say Kaddish for. B"H
(7) ari Clark, February 17, 2013 6:51 PM
Yizkor Club
I wa not able to be there when my father died and the sense of irrevocable loss remains with me . I thank G-d that my two sons were with him till the end
(6) Judy, February 17, 2013 6:40 PM
Yiskor Club
Today, the 7th of Adar is also the 51st anniversary of my Mother's death. I went to say kaddish this morning, and when I returned and read your column I broke down and cried. My mother was hit by a car and killed instantly. I was 19 years old and was to be marred 4 months later. They say it gets easier to accept as the years pass, but she never knew my children and now grandchildren. I do miss her more than ever. Thanks for your wonderful incites. Judy
(5) C.D.Urbach, February 17, 2013 6:13 PM
Me2
My mother passed away at a fairly young age. Isn't it amazing how we never forget a parent....no matter how many years go by? To me it proves that there is truly a whole world beyond this one; one doesn't feel a "presence" in one's life if that entity does not exist at all...somewhere! And that certainly applies to G-d as well.
(4) Shimon, February 17, 2013 5:06 PM
How fitting that I read this touching article on the 7th of Adar, my father's yahrtzeit. I'm sure it will be both inspirational and uplifting to your readers. Thank you.
(3) Joel Blady, February 17, 2013 4:30 PM
Beautifully moving...it brought tears to my eyes!
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story. I certainly can relate having lost both parents as well.... but it became more relevant to me after my mother the second parent died...I too now understand her tears during Yizkor each year...I too am a now lifelong member of the Yiskor Club....I wish I weren't...but that cannot be....fore I MUST continue her legacy o memories for those who died long before I was born....I am now her proxy....Rest well Momma Shayna....I will remeber and carry the torch of memory for you....intil WE see each other again! (I Thank you gor your exquisite words....I will long remember them & treasure & share them).
(2) Robert Lowy, February 17, 2013 3:59 PM
My words exactly
Sarah put it precisely. I now belong to a Reform synagogue where no one is asked to leave. Some do and other "Non-members" stay for the service. We also say Kaddish as a congregation so that no mourner is ever alone!
Bob Rabinoff, February 18, 2013 12:39 AM
Staying for Yizkor
I also grew up in a Reform synagogue and stayed. Later, when I found out the reason that people don't stay, it was moot for me. But even on ordinary days, not Yizkor and not a Yahrzeit, I always say Kaddish for those who don't have anyone to say Kaddish for them. Growing up in the 50's one was always aware that there are many in that situation.
(1) Susan, February 17, 2013 3:21 PM
Thank you
I lost my father O"H when I was a teenager but it wasn't until my mother O"H passed away nine months ago that I had the feelings you expressed. Thank you for putting your thoughts out there for all of us to share.