Growing up, Yizkor was the time during services when my mom would bustle us out of the sanctuary of our suburban Arizona synagogue, lest we tempt the evil eye by being present during this special memorial service for the congregation’s departed. It was understood that the only people who remained were those who say Mourner’s Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for the dead), because they had experienced the death of a parent, spouse, sibling or child.
People uninitiated into the community of mourners would quietly shuffle out of the sanctuary and would often leave for home soon after. As a kid, this suited me fine. I had a mom-endorsed time to run around the courtyard, schmooze with my friends and, on Yom Kippur, I could peek at what the Sisterhood ladies were preparing for break-fast. Yizkor became this mysterious event.
Five years ago, that all changed for me. My dad died in October 2021 and now, on four holidays (Yom Kippur, Passover, Shavuot and Shemini Atzeret, which is observed this year on Saturday, Oct. 2), I find myself in the sanctuary during Yizkor. What was once shrouded in mystery was now revealed as a relatively brief but nonetheless poignant service where many people weep openly as their loved ones’ names and photographs appear, in my synagogue, during an Oscars-style in memoriam slideshow.
What struck me, more than the music or any prayers, was the sense of being seen by a community of grievers. In our death-averse American culture, grief is hidden away. We’re expected to “get over it,” and never mention our beloved dead, let alone express our grief publicly. And yet here was my Jewish community, offering a container for grief to be witnessed and encouraged.
This container doesn’t just exist for a death that happened years ago. Jewish wisdom offers a structure for grief at every stage. Shiva is the tradition of taking a week at the height of our grief, to step away from our regular lives and let friends, family and neighbors take care of our basic needs and offer comfort. The Kaddish prayer and the annual yahrzeit memorial offer moments to express our personal grief through the first year and beyond. Yizkor is the part of that structure that invites us, four times a year, to stand shoulder to shoulder in a community of mourners.
Compare that with what many Americans experience. A few days of bereavement leave. A casserole or a card in the first week, if we’re lucky. And then an expectation that we’ll be back to normal, as friends and colleagues stop checking on us. Mourners learn to keep their grief to themselves, as they move through anniversaries, holidays and ordinary Tuesdays.
That was the case when my dad died. While I’m professionally Jewish and belong to a synagogue, many of my local friends are Jew-ish, and have never experienced Jewish grief customs first-hand, including Yizkor. I’m the one who leads the Passover seder, and I’m the one who hosts Rosh Hashanah dinner. What happens when “the person who organizes everything Jewish” is the one who needs support?
What I, and so many of us, need are spaces where grief can be expressed and even welcomed. Where someone can speak the name of a loved one out loud, cry without apologizing, and be surrounded by others doing the same. Yizkor offers this container. It’s not complicated, but it depends on people being willing to stay in the room.
Making it easier for more people to stay in the room creates a world where no one has to grieve alone. That’s the work I do at Shiva Circle. Death affects all of us, and Jewish wisdom and ritual can offer support, if we know where to find it.
In a few days, we’ll gather as a community for Shemini Atzeret, the holiday that comes at the end of Sukkot. While there aren’t many rituals associated with Shemini Atzeret, it is another time we recite Yizkor and identify ourselves within the community of mourners. Even if it’s not in your usual synagogue-going repertoire, I invite you to not only show up for Shemini Atzeret, but to stay in the sanctuary when it’s time for Yizkor. You don’t need to have lost someone recently, or to know the words. Sit with the people and notice what it feels like when grief is allowed in the room. Then ask what it might look like if your own community, Jewish or not, made that possible all year round.
My Jewish Learning is hosting a Shemini Atzeret Yizkor on Saturday Oct. 3 at 12:30 pm ET.
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Source: Jewish Telegraphic Agency
