My father-in-law passed away a few months after we married. My husband was all of 22 years old and suddenly thrust into a lifetime of saying Kaddish. It especially struck me that he could not join me outside of shul at Yizkor, during each of the Yamim Tovim where Yizkor is said communally. It was sad… Yizkor should be for “old people” to say for ancestors in remembrance of their holy neshamos. I felt so fortunate to have my parents and even when they were both in their 80s and I had a number of children, I would be so grateful to leave shul with my children. There is no turning back from Yizkor – it is a permanent reminder that our close loved one is gone and our supplication for their neshama is all we can offer. It is also a stark reminder of who is an orphan. Joining in Yizkor is a public notice that one has lost their parent and that their life is always with a void.
Life does not slow down and at the age of 84 my father unexpectedly passed away. I only have sisters, so how Kaddish would be said for him was a distressing thought. Except there was my husband. He took it as an honorable obligation to say Kaddish all year and at each yahrzeit for my father. I was extremely comforted in that. Now it was my turn at Yizkor. I watched my children exit the shul and I concentrated on the sad reminder of my loss, and of my powerful ability to create zechus for my father’s neshama. There was an understanding I now had, of my husband’s humble participation in Yizkor services for the 25 years of our marriage. Six years later, my mother passes away. Again my husband took the roll of Kaddish-reciter for the full year and every yahrzeit. As my children left the shul, my time in the Yizkor services became more meaningful, more focused and with a host of prayers on my lips for a lifestyle that would bring merit to our dear departed parents.
Our children proudly learned Torah, and did acts of mitzvos in the merit of their grandparents’ neshamos.
Then tragedy struck our family. It was the morning after Simchas Torah. A joy filled chag together with most of our children. At 56 years old, my husband was suddenly gone.
How quickly our children’s lives can change from the bliss of youth to the weight of awesome responsibility. Now my sons were saying Kaddish. Three times a day, every day their voices were heard, the words memorized… my heart would cry… my heart was pained… to hear these young voices emotionally pray the words of Kaddish for their father.
Every action, every hour of learning, chesed, brachos, tefillos were done for their father’s neshama to merit a closeness to the Kisei HaKavod. That was all that was left for them to do for him.
Pesach was approaching with sad anticipation. It was a comfort to be all together. On Acharon shel Pesach I prepare to go to shul for Yizkor but this time I have all my sons and daughters accompanying me. I do not watch them innocently exit the shul, but my daughters are standing next to me. They should not need to be here I cry silently. I lift my head and look around. I am struck by how many young people I see standing for Yizkor. My tears flow freely – they are all too young to be saying Yizkor.
