A Year of Kaddish

I had an event to cover yesterday, listening to people reminisce about growing up in the North End of Hartford. Sponsored by the Jewish Historical Society of Greater Hartford, the event spanned two sessions: an afternoon for those who graduated from high school between the 1930s and early 1950s; an evening for those who graduated between the mid-1950s and 1970s.

Going to the evening event meant skipping the minyan, no matter which shul I attended, and I was prepared to do just that. But then, as I finished dinner, I realized that the first part of the program, which I had sat through in the afternoon, would be no different in the evening. Same slide show, same introductory talk, same comedian who had grown up in the North End. It was only the speakers at the end of the program, people who had grown up there, who would be different and who I wanted to hear.

So I went to Beth El, partly because its service started 10 minutes earlier than Beth David’s and it was closer to the Emanuel Synagogue, where the North End event was being held.

Each shul has its customs. At Beth El, as the ma’ariv or evening service nears its end, just before Kaddish is recited, the prayer leader reads a list of names for whom yahrzeit or the anniversary of death is being observed. The yahrzeits are observed based on the Hebrew calendar. I stood up, prepared to say Kaddish, and listened as Rabbi Howard Sowalsky read the names, paying little attention to them. Then to my surprise, I heard my mother-in-law’s name. “Irene Rosenblum.” I wondered for a second, could there be another Irene Rosenblum. Yes, there could, but then I realized it was her yahrzeit. She had died on June 1, 2005. My father-in-law, my wife, Julia, and her brothers all observe the English date, and though we received something in the mail from Beth El a month or so ago, reminding us of the upcoming yahrzeit, we didn’t pay much attention to it.

But I was glad to be there last night to say Kaddish, not just for my mother, but for my mother-in-law as well. I smiled and shook my head, thinking what were the chances. Especially since my ritual of late has evolved into going more and more to Beth David, just three blocks from home for morning and evening services.  And had I gone to Beth David, I would not have heard my mother-in-law’s name because their custom is to read all the yahrzeits for the week at one time (I don’t recall if it’s Sunday morning or Shabbat afternoon).

I drove away from Beth El, still smiling, still shaking  my head in disbelief. Correction: shaking my head in belief. That must be true, because as I drove away, I said to myself, “This is why I believe in God.”