I was very tired today and decided to skip morning services since we will be attending Shabbat services at Rodeph Shalom and I will have a chance to say Kaddish then. Technically, the services are for Maariv (night services) and should count toward tomorrow, not today. But since -typical for reform, and this I do not like- RS's services are 6pm to 7pm; before sundown. So the Kaddish counts toward today, not tomorrow. Anyway ... I skipped. At peace with saying Kaddish tonight? Yes! But... what I did not expect was the feeling of guilt at letting down my Kehila (group/congergation) at Chabad Penn. Without Lucas and me there would have been only eight men yesterday. So today, it could happen that they do not make Mynian. I also felt guilty about having to ask Lucas again if I went. I tossed and turned in bed and by the time I realized the guilt was eating at me it was already 7:30 and too late to get there. What surprised me about this is the selflessness: I was concerned about them not having a Mynian; not about me. That is a giant step for me!!!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
July 28, 2011
Chabad at Penn House - Pine St.
Lucas and I drove Elias to the airport at 5am and went back to sleep at 5:45, I had set up my iPod alarm for 6:45, still undecided about attending morning services. The alarm woke me up twice. It was 7am by the time I got out of bed and decide to make a run for it. The warm summer breeze caressed me as I rode my bike. I took the longer way (adds 1 minute) through Clark Park because staying on Baltimore Av. for the second block of the up-slope form 43rd St. (the block from 42nd to 41st) really tires me out. More so after yesterday's 6 hour hike in the Poconos. I got there at 7:30. To0day is Torah day; I can arrive late and still say Kaddish. A surprise expected me on the steps of the house. Peter, with his Tallit and Tefillim on, exclaimed "Thomas is here." A smile fleetingly appeared, only to be follow by a languid face. "we are only nine; can you get your son?" Poor Lucas, went to bed at 2:30am, got up at 5am to drive Elias to the airport and now I was going to wake him up at 7:30. "there is a woman here that came to say Kaddish. She in the Shloshim" The first thirty days of mourning are very important. Lucas did not answer. I called Patricia asked her to see if Lucas would come and if she could drive him, bringing his bike as well. She roamed the house looking or Lucas. "There are two persons in his room sleeping face down on the floor. I can't find him".... let me see if he is in the family room....it must be one of those two... " some moaning “once is fine, but twice is too much ..." I hear him complaining. "He is coming" said Patricia. Seven minutes later he gets out of the van completely asleep. “We saved the day!!!"
June 1, 2011 – 11th day
The haggard look, unkempt beard, dreary, tired eyes; he came out to greet me with warm demeanor. His jacket on, buttoned; the left arm though, outside of it, the right jacket sleeve hanging on his back. “You must be Thomas” the rabbi said. It is actually Tomás, but I said nothing. “Yes, we spoke on the phone yesterday” I responded, “I am coming to say Kaddish.” “I am Rabbi Levy” extending his right hand, the one in the sleeve. “we are almost there, there are nine of us.” I leaned my bike on the wall. We were standing in the porch of the Victorian summer mansion, turned student fraternity, turned Chabad house on Pine Street. The white columns, 30 feet high framed the entrance. A sweet summer morning breeze whispered by, barely shuffling the leaves of the trees above us. This was a grandiose entrance. Through the window I saw a group of men. “This is their synagogue” I thought. A room, just a room. Traces of the summer mansion’s ere splendor transpired through the building’s architecture. None was left once you stepped into it. Airy rooms with high ceilings, big windows looking onto trees; the walls, once white, had shades of grey. Not dirty, but used. Very used. The first room, to my left, had two rows of tables and a third large table against the far wall. Tallit Bags were scattered on them. Opened, some with tefillim bags next or on top of them. Most of the bags were large with a thick transparent plastic cover meant to protect them for years to come. I imagine it is customary to receive this bag at one’s Bar-Mitzvah and carry it all the way to one’s grave. According to the Mishna unless the tefillim are not fit for use, one shouldn't bury them but give them to someone to go on using them after he passes away (Magen Avraham quoted in the Mishna Brura (39:26). I had no idea who he was before this very moment. His full name is Avraham Avli ben Chaim HaLevi. He lived in the 17th century. His parents were killed in the Chmielnicki massacres of 1648; he wrote commentary on one section of the Shulchan Aruch).
The tefillim I brought are borrowed; I gave mine to Rabbi Goldman yesterday. He volunteered to take mine to be checked and fixed to Brooklyn. The black color was coming off in some places, revealing a transparent plastic material that, although supposed to be a hard rectangle, was starting to bend. He lent me the ones I am carrying now. My own tefillim are not the ones from my Bar Mitzvah. Those were too small. My uncle, the one I am saying Kaddish for, gave them to me as a present about ten years ago. They were never checked since. For all I know they have never checked period. It might happen that Rabbi Goldman’s cheker (probably a Sofer) finds them non-kosher as Rabi Goldman he did with my front door mezuzah several years ago. I did not ask how much this would cost. I think $50, maybe $100. But a quick Internet search quickly reveals that “Inexpensive tefillim, those with a cost price of $300 or less, are at high risk to be found needing repair or to be not kosher even when new. These should be checked even more often. “(than twice every seven years.). I am bracing myself.
I am about to open my bag and put the tallit on when Rabbi Levy urges me “Come to the next room, you are the tenth guy.” Turns out I made mynian. With less than ten men one cannot recite certain prayers nor say Kaddish. I find this very comforting. To be in the company of others when mourning. They may not even know my uncle’s name, they may not even know who I am saying Kaddish for, but at that moment when my throat closes on on me, when tears begin to appear in my eye’s corners, when mourning swells inside me ready to burst, I am not alone. A half a tear slides down the fold next to my nose, disappearing before reaching my lips. I am proud to be the tenth man. I came for them to provide me the opportunity to say Kaddish and it turns out I am the one giving them the opportunity to conclude their prayers. Isn’t this great?