The Message, Volume 10, Number 18, January 1983 Page: 2 of 6
This periodical is part of the collection entitled: Hidden Selections of Houston’s African American and Jewish Heritage and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Rice University Woodson Research Center.
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. . . Rabbi Jack Segal
1
Editors
Beautiful Selection of
Kiddush Cups
Mon.-Thurs. 11-4 p.m.
Friday 11-2 p.m.
Sunday 9-12:30 p.m.
RABBI SEGAL’S COLUMN: (Continued from last week).
“THE KADDISH PRAYER - HAS IT BECOME A DEAD’
ITEM FOR JEWS IN 19827’
THE MESSAGE of Congregation Beth Yeshurun (USPS 968-500)
is published weekly, Sept. - May, three times in June
and twice monthly in July & August by Congregation
Beth Yeshurun, 4525 Beechnut, Houston, Texas 77096
Second Class Postage Paid at Houston, Texas.
Postmaster send address changes to Congregation Beth Yeshurun,
4525 Beechnut, Houston, Texas 77096
Secondly, those who regularly recite the kaddish really are in a
special small community — and they understand each other. The man
who has lost his father to cancer cannot quickly forget those last few
difficult months. The woman who has lost her child to disease or
through an accident cannot enjoy the chit-chat of other women about
new dresses or putting a swimming pool in the backyard. But the
members of this small group who recite the kaddish regularly — and
together — understand each other. At the minyan no Jew stands
alone in his bereavement. He has a support group.
The mourners at the daily minyan are united by an umbilical cord
of fond memories of the past, but also of broken dreams that were to
be for the future. They are united by a bridge of laughs from days
gone by, but also of tears from the nights of the present. However, they
feel comfortable with each other and they help each other.
Several years ago, while in Tel Aviv, my guide said to me, “Jack,
I’ve made arrangements for you to visit Bet Halochem. It is a Com-
munity Center for severely wounded Israeli veterans.”
I accompanied my guide to Bet Halochem and he introduced me to
the director of that institution. During our meeting I asked the
director, “Why is this Bet Halochem so important? There are other
Community Centers in Israel. Why must there be one for the severely
wounded?”
The director said to me, “The severely wounded veterans feel
comfortable here with those who have similarly suffered. They have
something in common with each other — even if it is pain. Having an
amputated limb here is not an exceptional sight, but when one of the
members goes to a public beach and removes his prosthesis so that
he has to hobble on one leg everyone stares at him. Here, there is
warmth of community, of knowing that one is understood — not pitied.
“Here, in 1973, after the Yom Kippur War, as soon as a new am-
putee arrived we matched him with an amputee and his family from
the ‘Six Day War.’ We try to teach the severely wounded veterans,
‘You are not alone.’ We try to teach them that they are part of a large
family — and we care for them. We try to teach them that together we
can overcome the pain and the hurt, the anguish and the tears.
“The new amputee saw how the one from the ‘Six Day War’ had a
job and a family, and his wife talked to the other wife and learned of
the problems that she would face — and how they could be solved.
It is an oversized family that we have here — and there is great
warmth at our institution. ”
So, too, I say that it is the same feeling that exists amongst those
who regularly recite the kaddish at the minyan. It is a special com-
munity — of friendship and loyalty, camaraderie and warmth.
My friends, every year I travel with a Beth Yeshurun Astro Group
to Israel; however, I always instruct our travel agent that we must
fly by El Al Airlines. True, many people complain that some of the
stewards and stewardesses are occasionally abrupt, the restrooms
leave much to be desired, and the planes are a bit too crowded; how-
ever, to me, El Al is the best.
Just think of it, when you travel by Texas International Airlines,
or Pan American Airlines, or T. W. A. the first thing you do when
you board the plane is take a magazine, newspaper, or book and read.
You do not talk to the person next to you and you surely do not talk
to the person one, two, or three rows in front of you. To you, they are
simply numbers on a computer. You have nothing in common with
them.
But when one boards El Al, what happens? All pandemonium
breaks loose. One turns to the person next to him, or five rows in front
of him, and says, “What’s your name? Where are you from?”
If the reply comes forth, “Schwartz from Chicago,” you very often
hear the comment, “I know a fellow Schwartz from Los Angeles and
my brother-in-law lives in Chicago.”
New friendships are quickly developed aboard El Al, and in a few
minutes one has loads of things in common with those whom he
previously did not know. There is a community of spirit; there is a
community of friendship; there is a community of camaraderie; there
** a community of intimacy — the same that one eventually achieves
a minuan while regularly reciting the kaddish.
Thirdly, there is something unique about the kaddish. How strange
it is — in the entire Mourners’ Kaddish the word “death” is not even
mentioned once; however, the word “life,” “chayyim,” is mentioned:
“Yehay sh’lama raba min sh’maya vechayyim alaynu v’al koi Yisra’el
v’imru, amen,” “May there be peace from heaven, and life for us, for
all Israel — amen!” — and I think the reason should be obvious.
The kaddish is not a prayer for the dead. It is a statement for the
living. The kaddish is not a prayer to keep us sad and in mourning. It
. .......................................................Ricki Frankfort
Myrna Rudolph
Congregation Beth Yeshurun is a non-profit organization.
SISTERHOOD GIFT SHOP
TW
+ I
is a pledge from the living to go on living again. It is a beacon of
hope, a lighthouse of faith helping one traverse the dark days of
anguish.
The kaddish merely praises God. It says, “I can still praise God
even though I continue to suffer — because even though I hurt I also
remember the happy moments that I shared with my beloved one. I
remember the laughs and the love, the tenderness and the smiles. I
remember not only the grief, tears, and sorrow but also the joy and
the delight and the merriment of the past. I will not concentrate on
‘death.’ I will do everything possible to bring myself back to the
artzot ha-chayyim, the land of the living.”
My friends, quite often I am approached by people after a funeral
and I am asked, “Rabbi, can you give me the name of someone who will
say kaddish for my father during the coming year?”
When I hear this, my first reaction is to try to get the mourner to
attend services and personally recite the kaddish, if not every day, at
least once a week on the Shabbat. But if the mourner says, “No!”, I
usually give that individual the name of someone who attends the daily
service regularly, who can recite the kaddish.
However, I must admit that I feel that the purpose and the intent
of the kaddish is negated when this is done. I feel that the dead do not
need the kaddish. It is the living, the chayyim, who need it. It is not God
who has to hear the kaddish. It is the survivors who have to speak
the kaddish.
I remember when I was a rabbi in Portland, Oregon I was ap-
proached by a physician whose father had died a few days earlier.
The doctor said to me, “I need someone to say the kaddish for my
father.”
When I suggested that he attend services, if not daily, at least on
the Shabbat, he said to me, “I can’t. In the morning I am in surgery
twice a week. Twice a week I like to go late to my office. Hence, I do not
rise early on those days. Twice a week I golf during the mornings, and
on Sundays I like to take it easy. Therefore, it should be obvious that
the mornings are out.
“During the afternoons I cannot come to the service due to the fact
that it disrupts my schedule. Therefore, rabbi, I would appreciate if
you would get someone to recite the kaddish for my father.”
True, I arranged for somebody to recite the kaddish for his father;
however, that person never knew the man who died, never shed a tear
for him,' and never grieved for him — but he did say the kaddish
regularly for him.
My friends, the young women who lost her son regained much of
her self identity, composure, and peace of mind by reciting the kaddish:
1. She saw others who had also gone to the brink of despair but had
been able to overcome that problem;
2. She found warmth and friendship in a small group when she
needed that support;
3. She eventually realized that the kaddish was to help her, the living,
not the one who had passed away.
I truly hope that those who have lost a beloved one will not ignore
the recitation of the daily kaddish but will embrace it, thereby show-
ing respect for the deceased and for themselves.
Amen!
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Congregation Beth Yeshurun (Houston, Tex.). The Message, Volume 10, Number 18, January 1983, periodical, January 28, 1983; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1294234/m1/2/?q=war: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Rice University Woodson Research Center.