The following article is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Dov Avraham ben Shmuel and Shoshana Raizel bat R. Sholom HaKohen. Thirteen and fourteen years later, the tears have not stopped flowing and the love has never ceased.
Contrary to popular belief, Mourner’s Kaddish is not a prayer for the dead and, in fact, makes no mention of death; rather, it is an affirmation of the Jew’s belief that, even in tragedy, G-d is righteous and just.
Although Kaddish is mostly written in Aramaic – the vernacular of the Jewish people two millennia ago – some Hebrew words appear in it. Some scholars claim it was originally written in Hebrew and only later translated so that the masses could understand it.
Most authorities agree that Kaddish dates from the time of the Mishnah and was not designed to be a synagogue prayer but, rather, a devotion recited in the beit medrash after Torah study. The earliest connection between Kaddish and the souls of the departed date to the post-Second Temple era and the heichalot texts, a collection of documents primarily in Hebrew and Aramaic that deal with mystical themes pertaining particularly to G-d’s chariot-throne (the “Merkavah”).
One such text relates that when Jewish sinners in purgatory say “Amen” to King David’s recitation of “Yehei shemei rabba mevarach le’olam u’lealmei almaya” – “May G-d’s great name be praised for all eternity,” G-d tells the angels, “Open for them the gates of the Garden of Eden so that they can come and sing before Me.”
The origin of Mourner’s Kaddish, however, which is steeped in antiquity, is still very much debated. Many sources erroneously link it to the era of the Crusades when the mass murder of Jews inexorably linked individual loss to the universal bereavement of the Jewish people. The oldest version of Kaddish is found in the ninth-century siddur of Amram Gaon, who was the first rabbinic scholar to fix a complete prayer liturgy. Later, in Machzor Vitri, a liturgical guide composed in the 12th century, R. Simcha ben Samuel of Vitri (d. 1105), a student of Rashi, cites the following famous etiological tale, the most common of several forms of the story:
Upon encountering a wretched ash-covered naked man running under a load of wood in a cemetery, R. Akiva (a second-century tanna) offered to help him by paying his debt. The man responded that he was actually dead and is sent out each day to chop and carry wood as punishment for favoring the rich and killing the poor while serving as a tax collector.
He explained that the gravity of his transgression was such that the only way he could secure release from his eternal punishment was for his son to stand before a congregation and recite “Yehei shemei rabba mevarach…” He cried that, when he died, he left behind a pregnant wife but, even if she delivered a boy, he had not a friend in the world and there would be no one to teach Torah to his son.
When R. Akiva arrived in (the nearby) town and asked about the decedent, all the townspeople yelled, “May his bones be ground to dust.” When he persisted in his inquiry, they told him that a son had, in fact, been born, but that he was an uncircumcised heathen. R. Akiva found the boy and, in the face of great and sustained resistance, ultimately succeeded in teaching him some basics. The boy then stood before a congregation and recited “Yehei shemei rabba mevarach…,” after which R. Akiva had a dream in which the dead man appeared to him and said that, as the result of this one act by his son, he was released from eternal damnation.
The earliest known mention of an orphan reciting Kaddish for the dead is arguably in Sefer HaRokeach by R. Elazar b. Yehuda of Worms (1176-1238), who writes that according to Ashkenazi custom the orphan rises and says Kaddish, after which everyone leaves the synagogue. His student, Isaac ben Moses of Vienna (1180-1250) – the Ohr Zarua – writes that the custom in Bohemia and throughout the Rhineland was for the orphan to recite Kaddish, now called Kaddish Yatom, or Mourner’s Kaddish. He also notes with some disapproval the custom in France, where the Jews were not careful to ensure that Kaddish was recited by an orphan which, he observes, is inconsistent with the story of R. Akiva.
Machzor Kol Bo, first printed in 1699 and of disputed authorship, retells the R. Akiva story and observes that it “was on this basis that the custom of reciting Kaddish became widespread.” By this time in history, even people mourning family members other than their parents were reciting Mourner’s Kaddish (although only for 30 days as opposed to 11 months for a parent).
There are significant differences amongst congregations regarding which mourners may recite Mourner’s Kaddish aloud. In Sephardi synagogues, mourners have traditionally risen and chanted it together. Rav Yaakov Emden, in his renowned 18th-century siddur, approves of this Sephardi practice but stresses that mourners must recite Mourner’s Kaddish in unison as the very purpose and effect of Mourner’s Kaddish – the public sanctification of G-d’s name – is undermined if each mourner recites the prayer at his own pace.
There are numerous sources, which I will not cite here, for the proposition that the essence of Kaddish is for the entire congregation to respond as one, “Amen, Yehei shemei rabba…” Suffice it to say that the importance of this communal response was so great that the Talmud (Sotah 49a) proclaims: “Since the destruction of the Temple, the world has been sustained by ‘Yehei shemei rabba.’”
The original custom in Ashkenazi synagogues was to avoid the problem of a cacophonous mass recitation by designating one mourner to recite Kaddish on behalf of everyone. However, as mourners would sometimes physically assault others contending for the right to be the designee, a strict order of priority developed over time: the highest priority was (1) a mourner during shivah; followed by (2) a person observing yahrzeit (3) a person during shloshim; and (4) a person mourning a parent within the 11 months of mourning.
Most contemporary Ashkenazi congregations, however, have adopted the Sephardi custom of all mourners jointly reciting Kaddish. Remnants of the old Ashkenazi ranking system remain today only with respect to the designation of a mourner to lead the synagogue service, which includes additional recitations of Kaddish said only by the chazzan.
In this incredible responsa written in German, Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) answers a question posed by the gabba’im of the Wurzburg community regarding whether it is permissible, either generally or under special circumstances, for more than one person to recite Kaddish at the same time:
Frankfurt/Main, January 27 [18]79
To the Honor of the Gabbaim of Wurzburg
…
Kaddish as a rule is to be recited by one person only; it is the sacred custom of our synagogue, and should not be changed. This practice is also in accordance with normative halacha. If a group of people wished to recite Kaddish together, either one of them would have to say it aloud while the others recited it quietly or they would all have to recite it aloud together. But a Kaddish that is recited silently isn’t considered a Kaddish because the person is commanded to sanctify His name publicly. … And if two or more people recited Kaddish together, it would violate the general halachic rule that it isn’t possible to discern two voices sounded simultaneously [Rosh Hashanah 27a]. The exception to this rule is only atypical prayer excerpts because they are rare and will inspire special attention, but Kaddish [which is said regularly] is not in that category.
With all respect, S. Hirsch
Born in Hamburg, Germany, Rav Hirsch (1808-1888) attended public schools, where he was strongly influenced by Schiller and Hegel. He studied under Rav Yaakov Ettlinger, the Aruch LaNer, before entering the University of Bonn, where he studied classical languages, history, and philosophy. He later became chief rabbi of Moravia and his departure from that position to assume the spiritual leadership of the fledgling independent kehillah of Frankfurt-am-Main bore dramatic consequences, not only for the Jews of Frankfurt but, indeed, for all Western Jewry.
R. Hirsch is best known as the intellectual founder of the Torah im Derech Eretz school of contemporary Orthodox Judaism, pursuant to which Torah knowledge is synthesized with “worldly endeavor,” i.e., secular studies and the knowledge of civilization is integrated into a broad religious world view. Its salient construct is the “Israel-Man,” an ideal enlightened Jew who is at once an uncompromising believer in the divine authority of the Torah and the Oral Law and a cultured member of the modern world who studies secular philosophy, arts, and sciences.
It was in the Germany of R. Hirsch’s day, when Jews were being granted progressively greater rights, that authentic Judaism first confronted the challenges of modernity. He viewed Jewish immersion into general culture as the default approach, not as something the Torah discourages. Thus, in virtually all his writing, he argues that Torah im Derech Eretz is not merely achievable, but actually constitutes a philosophical imperative if Judaism is to triumph.
He foresaw that Torah im Derech Eretz would become even more essential as Jews moved further from the protective insularity of the shtetl to living and working in secular society. Moreover, as he cogently argued, a Jew can only discharge his holy duty to serve as an “ohr la’goyim – a light unto the nations” – if he is conversant with the ways of the world.
Although undoubtedly a child of the Haskalah (“Enlightenment”), R. Hirsch was also a loyal adherent of Torah and rabbinic law and almost single-handedly checked half a century of unbroken ascendancy of the German Reform movement, as he vigorously opposed its belief that halacha could be changed as a process of historic development and battled against the religious philosophy of compromise promulgated by the newly emerging Conservative movement.
He offered a beautiful and powerful vision of traditional Judaism to young German Jews who viewed their Judaism as little more than an impediment to their participation in the broader secular society. Even today, modern Orthodox Jews, whether they realize it or not, are essentially “Hirschians.”
However, R. Hirsch had many opponents, some of them quite vituperative, and he was bitterly criticized for, among other things, adopting many controversial practices, including permitting a (males-only) choir, shaving his beard, and delivering sermons in German. Many argued that he himself approved of secular studies only as a hora’as sha’ah, a temporary dispensation necessary to save traditional 19th-century Torah Jewry from the ravages of assimilation, and that the doctrine of Torah im Derech Eretz has no contemporary legitimacy.
Among the great religious leaders who agreed was the Lubavitcher Rebbe, R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, who had himself studied mathematics, physics, and philosophy at the University of Berlin and at the Sorbonne. In a letter to a Yeshiva University professor, he wrote:
While it is understandable that the direct descendants of Rabbi Hirsch or those who were brought up in that philosophy should want to disseminate his teachings, I must say emphatically that to apply his approach to the American scene will not serve the interests of Orthodoxy in America … [you] should again re-examine the whole question and see if the Rabbi Hirsch approach should be applied to the American scene. My decided opinion is, of course, that it should not….
R. Hirsch’s legacy is not only his general philosophical gestalt, but his renowned religious works, including particularly his commentary on the Torah, which epitomized his exegetical approach and is commonly used today in many Modern Orthodox synagogues. His other great works include The Nineteen Letters of Ben Uziel, a brilliant defense of traditional Judaism in German, the first of its kind when it was published in 1836, and Choreb (1838), a rationalist explanation of the 613 commandments.
