The poor Yarmulke was clearly out of its element on the young man’s long curly hair. Its precarious perch, and the several times that it nearly fell off, were as clear an indication of this fellows comfort in the Orthodox shul as were his several prominent piercings. I sat behind him, wondering what brought this sandal-clad Jew with only one of his shirt buttons closed into our shul. When he rose to say Kaddish, however, the mystery was solved. I spoke to him after services to welcome him, and discovered that his mother had died as a young woman, and that he made an appearance every year to honor her memory in the way that meant the most to him.
After a parent dies, a son is obligated to say Kaddish for one year. Kaddish is prayer declaring the greatness of God, and praying that the world recognize it. There are so many who have been brought back to Torah observance through Kaddish – people whose lives have taken paths not boasting a Shul, have had to make their respective ways to one after feeling loss.
It is amazing what trial and loss can awaken in man. Contented and secure, so many of us often do not realize the necessity to reach out to G-d, and connect with Him in any meaningful way. But those very same people who find happiness outside the shul somehow cannot find a method of dealing with loss there. The mysteries of life are awakened when one is having a hard time. Those who are happy generally continue doing what makes them happy, while those beset with misery look for change. They explore, and seek change.
It is a tragedy of the Jewish experience throughout history that we have not managed well in prosperity. We managed to remain faithful to our Divine mission through pogrom and blood libel, but when it came to prosperity, we have somehow fallen short. Rabbi Yosef Yaavetz, one of the great Torah giants who witnessed the expulsion of the Jews from Spain observed in his work Or Hachaim (p. 8) that those who retained their rock-like faith in the face of the persecution of the Inquisition, willing to lose everything including their lives for the noble mission of the Jewish people, were the simple, uncultured, unlearned Jews, who did not occupy places in society. Those who had begun assimilating, even while following the Torah, were the first to abandon the Torah when things got tough, for they were already to far gone. It was not just the Inquisition that was pulling them to abandon their role in G-d’s plan – now their positions, estates, and lifestyles beckoned to them. Those who didn’t have it that good, had nothing pulling them from God other than murderous devils. And they retained their faith.
It is such a shame that we often maintain our relationship with G-d and truth out of lack. It is out of pain, and a sense of emptiness that we seek G-d initially. Must we always lack? Once we are fulfilled – can we then engage in the relationship with the same gusto? The
King David called to God often. In good times, “As I raise the Cup of Salvation, I call to G-d” (Psalms 116:13), and in hard times, “I have found trouble and pain. So I call to G-d.” (ibid 116:3-4) It has been said by great Rabbis that we must not only sing to G-d in good times, but also in the harder ones as David did. But this young man coming to say Kaddish in his time of pain taught me that it can be much harder to call to G-d in good times than in bad. To teach ourselves to recognize that it is G-d who is running the show when we are successful and happy, and to pray with the same fire then, is the beginning of relating to G-d from within our relationship with him. Then, should the time come, G-d forbid, that one will have to recite the Kaddish, he will not be calling to G-d to search for Him, but rather to pick up the conversation where they left off during the good times. After all, it is all the same conversation.