Inconvenient (On My Father's 4th Yortzeit)

 Dear Dad,

As your 4th Yortzeit approaches tonight, the word that comes to mind is inconvenient.  Nothing about your passing has been convenient or comfortable for me - that I'll acknowledge - but let's review for a moment what these last few years have been.  That first year, your death thrust me into a year of aveilut and a whirlwind of Kaddish that interrupted nearly every facet of life (including all my dates with Saleh).  Your second Yortzeit fell on my birthday/Maggie's naming party and the third was in the middle of a global pandemic.  And this year... I'm waiting to go into labor any time now - I don't know if I'll be in shul tonight to say Kaddish or at the hospital meeting your new grandchild.  Inconvenient is an understatement!  I've made all the plans within my power... and now the decisions are up to Baby and Hashem - as they always were.  I guess one important lesson from these last 4 years is about how many things are outside of my control, whether I like it or not! 

On the other hand, the last few years have also been filled with blessings - Meeting Saleh, Marc's and my weddings, the birth of your 2 (almost 3 grandchildren) and more.  Would that you could have been here for all of them... For example - I wish you could have heard me speak at Seudah Shlishit at the end of that first year... I could have chosen any topic - it didn't need to be about missing you!  And on your second Yortzeit, wouldn't you have rather held Maggie in your arms than had her named for you?  And the pandemic... well - I can't really lay that one at your feet, but I imagine that you and Uncle Paul could have figured something out if you'd put your heads together... maybe you're working together on a solution even now so that we can celebrate your new grandchildren properly - safely surrounded by loving family and friends!

Bottom line is... I'm still missing you - especially now that I'm on the verge of (finally) becoming a parent myself.  I can't believe it's been 4 years... and what years they have been...!  I'm not mad anymore (at least not right now) and I recognize that missing you won't really go away, but gosh it's inconvenient.  

Thinking of you with love...

All of us 

In loving memory of Maury Joseph Fechter - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel (24th Av)

Yortzeit Reflections: Sensitivity, Community & Chutzpah

Remarks shared at Congregation Ohab Zedek during Seudah Shlishit on August 4, 2018, on the occasion of my father's first Yortzeit - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel.  May his neshama have an Aliyah. 

There’s a saying that “the days pass slowly but the years fly.” I cannot believe I’m standing here today on my father’s Yortzeit, marking a whole year without him. It’s been a whirlwind year, with so many milestone moments, both related to remembering my father and adjusting to the new normal, as well as preparing to step into another new chapter in my future. I’d like to take a few moments now to reflect on what I have learned through this year of saying kaddish in shul regularly….

My father was one of the kindest, gentlest people you could ever meet. He was a quiet man, unassuming, sensitive soul, who loved to help people heal, both personally and professionally - he was a dental craftsman, skilled, caring and devoted to his art… I learned recently that he even talked about dentistry in his sleep. And my choice to say Kaddish this year, which started as a final gift that I could give him, actually turned into a gift for myself as well.

People have said some interesting things this year… well, people say interesting things all the time… and most are very well-meaning. One of the things I’ve heard a lot lately is how much extra time I’ll have on my hands once I don’t have to rush off to shul anymore. It’s true, I won’t miss springing out of bed at the sound of my alarm so I won’t be late for Shacharit - picture the cartoon Goofy landing on a pincushion - arms and legs taught and suspended inches above the mattress. I won’t miss barrelling, (yes barreling.. there’s simply no other word for it) down 95th street like an offensive linebacker, frightening dogs and people out of my way as I raced down slippery marble stairs just in time for Kaddish (I’m so grateful that there are now rugs to absorb the water and make that descent just a little less treacherous). I won’t miss interrupting dates and dinners to catch the last minyan - its hard to forget the night we left my future in-laws waiting in the restaurant between dinner and dessert while we headed down the street for Maariv after Tuesday night learning!

But there are plenty of things I will miss - and plenty of unexpected things I gained - from a year of saying Kaddish every day in all sorts of familiar and unfamiliar minyanim: and of these, the main categories are Chutzpah, sensitivity and community.

First of all, I have to say that my choice to say Kaddish was not a political statement of any kind, and certainly not an attempt to prove a point about women in Orthodox shuls, although I learned a lot about this topic too. It was not even a commitment to say Kaddish “all year,” but a choice I made (and continue to make) one day at a time. But as a woman choosing to say Kaddish, I surprised myself with a chutzpah I didn’t know I had, barging into Kollels and Chabad houses and collecting men for minyan during conferences and house parties. I advocated for myself with Rabbis and gabbaim, mourners and other congregants with the goal of ensuring a place to stand during the service and a pace for Kaddish that was reasonable enough to follow. Of course, what I felt to be “barging in” was in reality more of a gentle and respectful "acquaintance making" in my father's style, but it still felt strange on many occasions to wait for a mechitza to be set up or to wonder with trepidation throughout the entire service to find out whether Kaddish would be recited at the end. I developed a habit of doing research, calling ahead and arriving early any time I was too far from my “comfort minyanim” - OZ is one of these- where I knew what to expect. I even printed up “Kaddish cards”- business cards that could be easily passed through the mechitza to the minyan leadership, which included my father’s name and yortzeit, along with my blog address, for easy reference. These proved to come in very handy during the year, and my only regret is in misprinting the Hebrew month in which I printed them (after shloshim) instead of the actual Hebrew date of my father’s yortzeit - 24th of Av!

Chutzpa.

I also watched myself seek out other male mourners and advocate for my needs by asking the men to speak louder, stand near the mechitza, or adjust their pace. On one occasion I even asked certain gentlemen why they felt it necessary to wander through the women’s section during davening…. I’m not sure everyone was pleased with my requests all the time, and while at times I was quite embarrassed by my “big mouth,” I did feel a certain sense of satisfaction because of the way the community rallied to make small but powerful changes that made my Kaddish experience increasingly comfortable, and therefore more meaningful.

Sensitivity is the second lesson, and as I’ve already alluded, there are so many things that one notices when one finds oneself in the same place for an extended period of time. Firstly, I noticed how arranging my work schedule around minyan time allowed me an element of relief in knowing that my davening would happen at a specified time that day. While I certainly disliked the initial sprint to get there, once I was in shul, I had the rest of the time to simply be… to be present, to think, to reflect, to fume, to strategize and to feel. I noticed some minor things such as how the shadows fell differently on my siddur depending on whether the mechitza was two inches to the right or left of usual, and how other seemingly small things, like word choice, had a major impact on how welcome I felt in a certain minyan. I learned that idle conversation next to the mechitza adversely impacts the quality of my davening, while a single “amen” to my Kaddish lifts my spirits for the rest of the day. I’ve learned that cameraderie in the recitation of Kaddish offers a band-aid to my suffering soul, while company in shul by women NOT saying Kaddish offers a comfort beyond the power of words, as well as a sense of normalcy in a period of upheaval and stress.

I learned to be sensitive to my family’s reactions to our shared tragedy and to how other people reacted to my outward display of grief. I learned to be sensitive to my wonderful fiance and his likes and dislikes, and to recognize his beautiful acts of generosity and patience through a tumultuous year of dating riddled with kaddish. And I learned to be sensitive to myself - to my own feelings, wants and needs and to be more direct and blunt than I have ever had cause to be in the past - and that advocating for myself, with a sensitivity to where the other parties are coming from, was an important step not only for me, but for any women and any mourners who will follow me (but not until 120 on all sides). I also recognize now, from the other end, that a community as a whole cannot be expected to feel the acute mourning experience of the individuals reciting kaddish on a perpetual basis. That said, I have sincerely appreciated the way my comments and requests have been received with empathy and sensitivity in most circumstances. I recognize that it was much easier for a woman to recite Kaddish in 2018 than it has been in years past, but we as a community still have a way to go. Even so, I’ve never been more grateful for Jewish community and I hope that my reflections here and in my blog will serve to help women feel even more comfortable, both here at OZ and in all the communities where we travel.

Mourning is a funny thing - as an Avel, one is supposed to separate onself from the community in celebrations, concerts and other happy gatherings. On the other hand, saying Kaddish requires one to step into the public eye to daven daily with a minyan. The overtures of this community, the connections I made this year, and the relationships formed will always hold a special place in my healing heart, including people in this room who don't even realize the impact they have made by their simple presence in shul. I appreciate every person in every city who turned to face me while I recited Kaddish, who offered a verbal response, or who simply stood still and quiet during the recitation. I am forever grateful to the men who either recited their Kaddish loudly or stood near the mechitza so I could hear them to recite Kaddish together. I am especially grateful to those Chazzanim who paused to breathe at the periods during Aleinu so that I could finish the last paragraph before launching into Kaddish at the end of the service. There are no words to express how I felt as certain members of this community took me under their wing, some even offering to interview the guy I was then dating to make sure he was going to treat me right sincemy father could not do so.

During this year I found myself in dozens of shuls in at least half a dozen states which showed me the breadth and depth of our greater Jewish community. With countless hours in places I’d never otherwise have ventured into, I learned about sensitivity and kindness in the most unexpected ways. Men I never met volunteered to recite kaddish along with me so that I did not need to recite it alone. Some communities had clear policies on women and kaddish and encouraged me to recite it ‘loud and proud’ (as we say in school). Men set up movable mechitzot upon my arrival in places unaccustomed to having women present. Rabbis reflected on the wording of annoucements and updated policies based on items I brought to their attention. And I met and shared memories with dozens of women who kept me company during their rotation of yortzeits and aveilut, finding myself surrounded and enfolded by a club no one wants to join that is built upon the poignancy of shared pain and effort of memory. I thank all the women who have come before me to pave the way and those who have kept me company through shared loss and commitment and every person, man and woman, who supported, encouraged, assisted and inspired me.

I’ve had countless hours to reflect on the whole experience, and have a blog dedicated to my thoughts on various topics related to Jewish mourning and women in shul in general. I welcome your feedback and encourage you to share the posts widely if they resonate with you. Regular synagogue attendance is no small feat - I admire anyone who manages to do so, since it required me to reorganize my entire schedule to achieve - but the benefits of community, connection, consistency, relationships, schedule, routine, etc. - are many.

My father was a man of few words, and I had a lot of time this year to reflect on their power. More than anything else, I’ve learned that words can hurt and words can heal and sometimes there are no words and sometimes words have no meaning and sometimes it’s important to say the words regardless - because the saying of them is one positive thing you can do to recognize the memory of a loved one, no matter what it takes to make it happen, because eventually, their meaning will penetrate and because the time it takes to say them is valuable time for reflection about loss and life and love.

In memory of my father, Dr. Maury Fechter - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel, I hope that these words will in some small way help to inspire chutzpah, encourage sensitivity and build community in the minds and hearts of all who hear them.

Balancing Security and Visitor Access

From a security perspective, it goes without saying that synagogues and religious institutions in this day and age need to be cautious about security.  There are numerous strategies that I've seen exployed at the many shuls I have visited on this Kaddish tour, including live security guards, cameras, and pass codes, among others both visible and not.  These institutions want to ensure that the individuals entering their premises are there for genuine and appropriate reasons.  And they have every right to be selective in whom they admit and whom they do not. 

From a Jewish perspective, it is a beautiful mark of community that someone can join a minyan anywhere in the world and find familiar texts and rhythms included in the service.  I am constantly I awe of how the routines of halacha, and minyan in particular, bring together individuals with diverse languages, perspectives and experiences to achieve a common goal.  I continue to be amazed at how the word "Kaddish" is a universal password that elicits warmth, compassion and welcome. 

Except when it's not...

And when that exclusion is a function of circumstance and security features operating all too well. 

Last night, my fiance and I tried to catch a late Maariv at a synagogue we had not attended before.   We elicited help via Facebook to identity a likely minyan in our target area.  As we arrived (on time due to distance, rather than early as is my usual practice at new venues), we observed several men walking toward the entrance.  We felt we could relax, we made it in time. We parked the car and approached the entrance ourselves.  Unfortunately, by the time we reached the doors, they were locked.  Ringing the bell on the intercom did nothing, as the office wss closed at 9:45 PM.  There was no number pad in sight to try the usual suspects.  I even approached someone sitting in a parked car, having no idea if he would be friend or foe, to see if I could glean any information.  

I was not looking for the pass code.  Why would I, a visitor on one occasion so far, need access to sensitive security information?

What I did wish, was for a way to alert the people inside the minyan that there was someone outside who wanted to recite Kaddish.  We had no way to reach anyone or seek help until the service was over.  

For ten minutes we stood outside, trying every means we could think of to gain access.  When I finally saw movement in the lobby, I sprinted to the door to ask to be let in to say Kaddish.  I was answered with regret that the service had ended. 

To the credit of the congregation, when they heard what happened, almost everyone there filed back into the chapel to say a chapter of tehillim so that I could say Kaddish at the end of it.  I am grateful for this kindness and show of support and acceptance after the unfortunate ordeal.

And now I wonder... what is the solution? 

If this happened to me, it can happen to others, and I can't imagine I'm the first to miss a service for lack of communication with the minyan.   The reality is that while catching a minyan is not a life and death situation, minutes still matter and emotions are particularly raw. 

So perhaps the synagogues that rely on passcodes for access might consider a sign for visitors, with a phone number of someone inside the minyan, or a bell, that can alert those inside that someone would like to join.  The synagogue office is typically not open during minyan times, so an alternative point of communication is important.  Perhaps this visitor information about communication could also be posted on the website. 

Ultimately, the question remains for each institution to wrestle with: how can it ensure the security of its members while also opening the door to visitors who genuinely wish to connect. 

Insensitive Speech for $1000 - Please Keep Your Judgements and Backhanded Compliments to Yourself

I know that it can be hard to find the right words of comfort in the face of someone else's grief.  There are times when I struggle to know what to say or how to help.  Choosing words is not always easy, however, I've come to discover that there are some comments that cause more harm than help.  

I'm sure that there are good intentions behind these comments.  However, on reaching the recipient, they can be less than complimentary or even exclusive.  You may note that some of these comments are gender-specific or may affect a woman very differently than a man hearing the same words. 

If you find yourself leaning toward any of the statements on this list, please consider the nuances and alternate meanings described below.  As a general rule of thumb, be mindful of the questions you ask any mourner, but certainly, don't ask a woman any questions you would never think of asking a man. If you can think of additional comments that would be preferable, please share so we can enhance this list with constructive advice for those who seek it.

Charged Comment: Is anyONE in the Shloshim?

• This one really caught me at the beginning of my foray into Kaddish.  Fresh out of the shiva house, I would be waiting for the service to begin, perhaps chatting with someone else in the synagogue, and all of a sudden, the word shloshim caught my attention as surely as a "squirrel!" running through the room.  Yes, I'm in the shloshim, I responded immediately in my head.  Then realizing that the men were looking for a MAN to lead the service, I realized on the second beat that those asking were not computing the fact of my presence or my pain in being both summoned and excluded at the same time.  

Try this instead: "Does anyONE have a chiyuv (obligation)?"

• In an Orthodox setting, the halachic obligation to lead a service, pray with a minyan, falls squarely on the men.  While I am choosing to recite Kaddish regularly this year to honor my father's memory, I do not have the same obligation as a man to lead the service and I accept this differential by choosing to attend an Orthodox synagogue to recite Kaddish.  Thus, this is the best way to make this announcement in this setting (in my opinion) and encompasses both Shloshim, Yortzeit and the year of Aveilut.
• Another option: "Is anyMAN in the Shloshim?"  
• This question at least acknowledged my presence in the room and my pain in being bereft of my parent.  The anyONE question tries to be inclusive, yet does not address the elephant in the room which is known by any who choose to pray in an Orthodox setting.  Being direct and acknowledging the obvious goes a long way.  

Charged Comment: "Wow, you go to Minyan 3 times a day!  That's a lot!"

• This comment hits in two ways, depending on who is speaking.  One perspective hits like a backhanded compliment: "Wow, that's so impressive that you make the effort to go so much!"  In my head, I want to respond: "Ok, thanks, but I'm not going because I want to... I'm going because it feels like the right thing to do while I'm mourning my father."
• The other side comes across more as a judgment "Why are you bothering to go to synagogue so often? Don't you know that women aren't obligated in this?"  To which I want to respond: "Yes, I do know, and I've encountered many challenging situations as a woman entering a man's space to say kaddish.  It's definitely not easy, and often more challenging for me than for the men who are in the same position.  And yet, it still feels like the right thing to do for me at this time to honor my father as I move through the mourning process.  So please keep your judgments to yourself." 

Try this instead: "That takes dedication."  

• Keep it neutral, and try to keep the judgment out of your voice.  If you want to continue the conversation, try one of these.  I have plenty to say about the experience itself, but I'd rather not feel the need defend my choices in casual conversation.
• What have you learned?  
• What have you found meaningful? 
• What challenges have you encountered?

Charged Comment: "Don't you have any brothers?"

• There are many ways to answer this, but all of them ask me to defend my choice to recite kaddish myself.  I am my father's child - why shouldn't I honor him by saying Kaddish? 
• What if I don't have any brothers?  Does that mean I should outsource Kaddish to someone outside the family simply because I am my father's daughter and not his son?  Why can't I also honor my father by saying Kaddish as his CHILD?  
• What if I have a brother who is choosing a different path?  For starters, it's not your place to remind me of this.  Families come in all shapes and sizes and choices and your judgment that my brother should be saying Kaddish instead of me (or in addition)... well, maybe it's not something I haven't thought of before.  Maybe that's one more hurt that I'm feeling, at the same time as I'm saying Kaddish for my father.  
• What if I have a brother who IS saying Kaddish?  Am I not my father's child too?  Why should Kaddish be limited to only one of my father's children because he is male?
• And finally, why is MY family situation YOUR business?  I came to you to find an opportunity to say Kaddish with a minyan.  Please save your judgments for a more opportune time (or never). 

Try This:  Just don't ask.  If curiosity overwhelms you, perhaps ask "Do you have any company in saying Kaddish for your father?"  But read the knee-jerk responses above before deciding whether satisfying your curiosity is the best choice for the moment. 

Charged Comment: "Wow, look at all the beautiful women in Shul today!"

• This is another backhanded compliment.  Because women are not halachically obligated in daily communal prayer, those who do attend often do so because they are saying Kaddish.  As such, your comment is tantamount to "Look how many beautiful grieving women we have in shul today!"  I'm sure this is hardly what you mean to say, as I'd like to believe that you would never want to call attention to our pain.  Yes, there is some beauty in the camaraderie that forms when people come together to achieve a certain goal, but the response to your comment, at least in my head, reads: "yes, I'm here today, because I'm saying Kaddish.  I wish I didn't have to be here for this reason, and I wish even more that you didn't feel the need to remind me that I'm here in Shul today because my father is not." 

Try This: NOTHING.  

• Don't say anything.  It's not your place to comment.  Move on. At the very least, comment on the camaraderie that you see or offer to be a listening ear.  Perhaps try "It's good to see you today, how is saying Kaddish going?" or even better... if you happen to be an officer of a Shul, ask how the Shul can make saying Kaddish easier for women in the future.  Now THAT would be a help, more than a hindrance!

Charged Comment: "How much time do you have left (to say Kaddish)?"

• Ouch.  This one really hurt in ways I didn't see coming.  First of all, it required me to calculate how long it has been since my father passed away and how much time remained of my marathon year of Kaddish.  As exhausting as it is and has been, contemplating the end of the year (or the eleven months) cut like a knife, as it forced my feelings of loss and fear of the end of this structured mourning period into sharp, unwanted focus.  
• Though it seems like a long time, now that I'm past the halfway point of the year, every additional day that I get to go to Shul and recite Kaddish for my father feels like a gift... a last lingering connection with my father.  I dread the day that will mark the end of this period of intense and daily remembering and begin a chapter of a new normal where my first thought on waking up is something other than "Daddy" and the idea that there is still something concrete that I can do with my feet/body/words/&soul to honor him. 
• Of course there are times when I, myself, look forward to lazy Sundays and sleeping in perhaps a little later some days of the week.  Don't think for a moment that it's not hard some days and weeks.  I have not yet figured out (at the 7-month point) what role prayer/minyan/shul will play in my life after the end of this year.  It's hard to wrap my mind around the idea of "THE END" juxtaposed with the challenges I'm currently facing.  Please know that I don't mean to jump down your throat with my response to your innocent question - these thoughts are just something I need to express somehow, some way, and this blog has become my forum for doing so.  I hope I will not be quite so stark in person!

Try This: "How long has it been?" 

• This may not seem substantively different than the first comment, but it allows me to stay in the moment and focus on what I have done until now, rather than on the dwindling time I have left to continue to do it.

If you have caught yourself using any of these charged comments in the past, don't waste time feeling bad.  Just try to choose your words more carefully going forward.  I appreciate your all of efforts to help, especially when your intentions are good and the words just don't come out as you or I would have wished.   Thank you many times over for all of your love and support in this difficult time. 

3 Wishes - for minyan related peace of mind

Nearly 7 months of attending daily minyan to say Kaddish for my father has given me much time to reflect on the minyan experience itself, among many other related topics. 

Thankfully, my experiences have been overwhelmingly positive, and the bumps in the road have been relatively minor, all  things considered.  If my small gripes here and there have painted a negative portrait of a woman's experience in shul, and wish to apologize to any institutions or individuals who have been maligned by my processing these experiences in a public forum.  

At the same time, the conversations on Facebook and otherwise have helped me to distill three distinct wishes that would make the experience so much easier.

Three Wishes:

1. A place to stand/sit/daven
2. Security in knowing that there will be opportunity to recite/hear Kaddish when the time comes
3. Knowing that there will be time to recite Aleinu before Kaddish begins

Let me explain each in greater detail:

1. A place to stand/sit/daven

Knowing before I arrive that there is a designated space for woman would greatly mitigate the anxiety I feel before attending a new minyan.  Wondering what I am walking into, pushing myself to arrive extra early to allow time to setup, negotiate for, or locate the Women's Section adds an additional element of discomfort/anxiety/anticipation on a regular basis.  Once I know the lay of the land, the second visit is always easier!

How synagogues can help: 

• note on the website that there is an accessible, regularly available Women's section - or a listing of whom to reach out to in advance to make arrangements before arrival 
• post signs pointing clear directions to the Woman's Section for visitors who might not know the building
• have a woman's section set up, free of men, at every service, whether women attend regularly or not.  I can't count how many times I have been the only woman in attendance, and there have been times that I have not been able to arrive early.  
• The anxiety of arriving late coupled with not knowing whether there will be a place to stand can be overwhelming at times and has nearly caused me to miss out on Kaddish. 

2. Security in knowing that there will be opportunity to recite/hear Kaddish when the time comes

For a woman who is not, in some communities, permitted to recite Kaddish aloud by herself, there is an added element of wondering whether there will be someone in the men's section available to recite Kaddish in the appropriate time.  At Mincha and Maariv, the Kaddish occurs only at the end of the service.  On days when I recognize fellow "club members" in the crowd, I know that time will be allotted for Kaddish and that I will be able to hear and follow along without difficulty.  When I don't recognize anyone in the crowd, I find myself anxious throughout the service wondering whether there will be someone present to recite Kaddish.

How synagogues can help:

• Note on the website the Shul's policy when it comes to Kaddish -
• Whether a woman can recite Kaddish alone or accompanied
• Whether the Shul has a custom of reciting Kaddish regardless of whether a male mourner is present (there are many reasons for this, but not knowing whether or not this is the case in a particular minyan has caused me no small angst over time). 
• A sign, a flag, a nod, a conversation... to let me and/or other women know that Kaddish will be recited and what our responsibility is vis a vis the Shul custom: recite alone, follow along quietly, follow along aloud, etc. 
• Make sure that the men reciting Kaddish in various areas in the room are synchronized, so that women can easily hear and follow.  If possible, mourners stationed near the mechitza allow for the easiest follow by women mourners. 

3. Knowing that there will be time to recite Aleinu before Kaddish begins

Different leaders lead at different paces.  That said, many seem to rush through Aleinu at breakneck pace.  Given that Aleinu is almost always followed by Mourner's Kaddish, would it not make sense to slow it down just a smidge so that mourners can complete the Aleinu without racing against time? 

How synagogues can help:

• Create a policy whereby Aleinu is given an extra beat or two on a consistent basis so that mourners looking toward Kaddish might be able to predict the amount of time allotted and pace themselves accordingly.  
• Extend the the leader's repetition so that mourners have a bit more notice in advance of Kaddish.

Based on conversations with other mourners, I think that if synagogues took steps to grant us these three wishes, our experiences saying Kaddish would be greatly ameliorated.  Any additional steps they can take toward smoothing the way in these three categories would be vastly appreciated.  

Men: Please Don’t Sit in the Women’s Section!

This is a pubic service announcement for all men who choose to sit in the

women’s section out of convenience, comfort, curiosity, or just sheer ignorance.  

You may never have thought about it before and your sitting in the women’s

section may be completely accidental on one particular day - but it matters.  

Or you may be someone who likes to spread out, and you see a whole empty (for now)

section where you won’t have to share a row with another man.  But the fact that

so many men seem to make this choice on a regular basis truly baffles me.  

In many Orthodox synagogues, men have 75-90% of the space at their disposal

on a weekday, so I wonder why some decide to also claim the tiny corner reserved

for us women.  

To all of you, I ask this question:

Have you (man) ever stopped to consider how your choice could affect the

women for whom that section is designated?

Please take a moment and try to imagine how you might feel if, already

running late for Mourner’s Kaddish, you arrive at shul and need to

displace one (or several) men from the women’s section in order to join the service.  

Outcome:

• Those few moments of movement may prevent you from reciting the Kaddish!  
• The discomfort of the encounter itself may last a few moments into

your prayer, affecting your mood and your ability to focus on the words and your intention.

• Now imagine if that woman was your own mother or sister or wife or daughter...

And when this happens again and again, it takes a toll.  

After 4 months of Kaddish, there are probably about an equal number of times

that my simple presence has displaced men from the women’s section as not.  

I’ve tried to be polite and non-judgemental about it, asking “Is this the Women’s

Section?” when I arrive, instead of “Can you (man) please move from this section

designated for me (woman) so I can stand here to say Kaddish for my father.”   

But after five encounters in the last two days, I’m tired of being subtle.  From now on,

I plan to ask the men WHY they choose to sit in the women’s section.

Here’s a tip:

If you can’t answer that question with something other than “Oops” (really?!) or “I was

going to move when you got here” (not helpful) -- or anything that will make me feel better

about displacing you by my simple presence and potentially missing the Mourner’s

Kaddish that I came to recite… well, please, please, PLEASE… just DON’T sit in the

women’s section!

Final note to all the men out there who want to help:

Please spread the word among members of your gender and help reserve the

women’s section for women.  We may not always manage to arrive at the beginning

of the service, but it’s doubly hard to run late and then negotiate for a place

to stand.  Your help with keeping the women’s section clear of men will be

invaluable to all women who ever enter a synagogue to pray.

Kaddish - A Daily Ordeal (and How Shuls Can Help)

Reciting kaddish daily after the death of a close family member can be trying at the best of times.  FIRST, there is the tetris challenge adjusting your schedule around changing minyan times.  THEN comes the feat of arriving at the start of services, which can be likened to running to catch a train three times a day.  FINALLY, there is the stress of keeping up with the chazzan, so as to be ready to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish in the appropriate places in the service.  While these three challenges are shared by all, after this point, the experience diverges for male and female mourners.  

Male mourners may be faced with the chiyuv, the obligation, to lead the service and catch a few extra kaddishes in memory of their loved one.  They may receive diverse feedback regarding the pacing, speed and volume of their performance, which can be confusing at best, or hurtful depending on how it is offered.

Female mourners have a different set of challenges.  On any given day, most of the following thoughts flit through my head during the service:

• OK, I’m here… I’ve entered (or found, or constructed or negotiated for) the women’s section.  Will there be a minyan for the early kaddish?  
• Will there be anyone saying kaddish on the men’s side?  I don’t want to say kaddish aloud on my own unless I know that the Shul will support me in doing so.  
• Do I need to alert someone that I’m here to say kaddish?  How can I get their attention?
• Will I be able to hear the man’s kaddish? Will I be able to keep pace?
• What if I miss a beat and pause at different intervals than the others.  Will anyone answer to my kaddish? Or will I be greeted by silence?
• I wish I didn’t have to be sitting here alone.
• Oh good, company!  … but I hope she’s not here to say kaddish too...
• Oh no… glad to have company, so sad we have to meet under these circumstances.
• I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb; it feels strange and uncomfortable to hear my voice in a shul service.
• Will they think I’m trying to make a “statement?”  
• I never asked for ANY of this!
• Gosh I miss my father…

How a Shul Can Be More Friendly to Women Saying Kaddish

• Ensure that men do not sit in the Women’s Section.
• Make sure that the Women’s Section is unlocked, with lights, air conditioning, and siddurim available to all who arrive at whatever time they arrive.
• Ask the male mourners (or at the very least one male mourner) to stand near the women’s section so any women saying kaddish can keep pace with him (it can be hard to hear a group scattered throughout the room and keep pace with one person).
• Arrange for someone on the men’s side to recite kaddish at the minyan every day, on behalf of anyone who needs to follow along (and may not make themselves known in advance).
• Delegate a gabbai, officer, or member at large to welcome women when they arrive and/or at least be available to notice if a woman tries to signal that she is there to recite kaddish.
• Create “notification cards” in the women’s section that can be passed to the rabbi or gabbai to notify them that a women is planning to recite kaddish at this minyan (so that the minyan can make whatever preparation necessary to ensure that kaddish is not skipped or rushed through).

How a Shul Can be More Accommodating to All Mourners

• Set a consistent pace:
• Designate one individual to recite Kaddish loudly and set the pace for all. This could be the Chazzan (Leader) or someone with a loud voice.
• Designate a central location from which Kaddish is recited by all (preferably near the woman's section so women can easily hear and keep pace).
• Announce "Kaddish" so that mourners can collectively begin at the same time.
• Make an effort to minimize talking during this time, as well as noises that emanate from movement (chair scratching, doors closing, etc.), because this makes it more difficult for mourners to hear each other and keep pace.

• Recommend that the Chazzan breathe (pause) before finishing Aleinu - to give those reciting Kaddish a chance to finish or come to a good stopping point before the Kaddish that follows.

• Have copies of both the Mourner's Kaddish and the Rabbi's Kaddish available separate from the siddur (so that a mourner arriving just in time has quick and easy access to the words).
• These pages can include transliteration for those who need and a note of when kaddish is recited by that specific minyan.

• A little preparation makes a big difference:
• Letting a new arrival know when during the service Kaddish is to be recited is very helpful (also managing expectations by giving a heads' up that there may not be a minyan for the first Kaddish will go a long way).
• Announcing page numbers (so the text can be quickly found).

• Encourage congregants to turn toward and respond when Kaddish is recited.

Saying Kaddish as an Orthodox Woman in a Shiva House

Regardless how liberally minded one is, if she connects to the Orthodox arena, she will never have recited kaddish before… not once.  According to Halacha (Jewish law), Kaddish is one of three prayers that are considered D’varim She’B’kdusha, which require a minyan (quorum of ten men) to recite.  Therefore, these prayers are omitted from Women’s Tefilah services that involve women only, and always led by men in the presence of a minyan.  (The other prayers are Barchu and Kedusha).  

The experience of reciting Kaddish aloud, in a mixed setting, and waiting for a response from that same mixed group of people can feel shocking, surreal, uncomfortable and any number of other emotions.

^ Clergy should be cognizant of looking out to make sure the woman reciting Kaddish has the correct place in the siddur, knows when to begin and how to proceed, and helping to set an appropriate pace for the rest of the congregants who are reciting the Mourners Kaddish.  The woman’s voice will likely not be loud enough (by nature or by design) to rise above those of the men and demand attention.

~ Friends can help by standing nearby and offering moral support and a response where warranted.

~ If you are in shul and a woman is saying Kaddish, turn toward them, or even sit closer.  There’s a good chance they will welcome your proximity - I know I have.

Uncomfortable Experiences to Be Prepared For:

• “Yechupitzville, Population One”: Standing by oneself on the far side of the room from the rest of the minyan (in lieu of a mechitza).  Even well-meaning close relatives who love you may not understand how it feels to be deported to Siberia.  
• ~ friends visiting a shiva house where a woman is saying kaddish can make an extra effort to stand near her (or as close as is comfortable if they are male) to offer moral support.  
• “What am I, chopped liver?”: Watching any male mourners surrounded by supportive community members for the recitation of the first Kaddish, while you are left alone to fend for yourself.
• Hat tip to my neighbor who noticed me standing with a siddur, intending to recite the kaddish, and made a point of standing near me to help me find the right page and offer moral support while I worked my way along.
• “Yoohoo, I’m over here!”: attracting attention of those leading the minyan to submit the name of a “sick or recovering relative or friend” for a Misheberach (prayer for the sick).  This is especially tricky if everyone in the room is hard of hearing…
• “You’ve got to be kidding!”: waking up early to get to minyan in time for the early kaddish (~2 minutes after start time) only to have it skipped due to lack of minyan (bring tissues for such an occasion, especially first day out of the house after shiva).  
• A few tips and tricks:
• Keep a stack of post-its and a pen nearby
• Write the name of the sick friend on a Post-It and leave strategically around the room before the service begins (keep an extra stack nearby for when those Post-Its you placed are not found when needed)
• Use your speaking voice - when the men announce "kaddish!" from a huddle reminiscent of football practice, call out “What page?!”  That will remind them you are present and perhaps inspire them to wait for you to catch up.  Otherwise you may never find the place in time.  

*Kaddish at the Funeral - know before you go (if possible)

The kaddish recited at the funeral is longer, more complex, and different from every other kaddish that is recited.  It is only recited at the funeral, by the mourners (immediate family), and should be taken very slowly.  

^ Clergy should be cognizant that some of the mourners may be encountering kaddish for the first time, and give some guidance regarding

• when to begin
• how fast to recite
• where to find the text (before the train leaves the station).