Virtual Minyan

Today’s the first anniversary of my father’s passing. It’s weird not having him around. Not being able to call. Not being able to tell him good news. And not being able to talk about things we shared in common. And things we didn’t.

When my dad grew up in London and Leeds during World War II, his family was very poor. My grandfather was a tailor, and my grandmother a milliner. They eked out a living, but some years just barely. In order to do better, and live a comfortable life, my dad had to pass the 11+ (a test every child had to take which would determine one’s entire academic future), get into the academic track of the English educational system and get a scholarship to college (Oxford). All of which he did.

And to live that better life, he chose to do something “practical” — become an academic, studying (and helping to pioneer) an esoteric branch of theoretical physics known as double-beta decay. Which led to theorizing about neutrinos, muons, quarks, and all sorts of strange particles.

When I was growing up, my dad wanted the same things for me that his parents had for him — that I become a doctor, lawyer, or academic. Being independent-minded, I went into journalism, despite a certain knack for math, physics, chemistry and those kinds of things. My dad never could quite understand why I didn’t follow in his footsteps. I told him not long before he died, that he was right: If I’d gone into one of those other fields, my professional future would certainly have been easier. That said, I don’t know that I would make different choices, were I able to do it over.

I’ve been thinking about the old man a lot the last few weeks. Friday, October 13, 2006 was not a lucky day for our family. Traveling to Washington, DC in a hurry to see my father one last time, I got stuck in the Atlanta airport. My flight was delayed an hour. And then we spent another 45 minutes sitting on the ground waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for flight clearance to DC, because the airspace was closed in our nation’s capital for an air show.

By the time I got to DC, I was 2 hours late. By the time I made it to my dad’s house, I was about 3 minutes late. He couldn’t hold on any longer. It was early afternoon, about 3 p.m. Eight in the evening in London and Leeds, where he grew up. In his native country, the sabbath had already begun.

One thing we used to share when I was growing up, was going to Friday night services. My dad and I had different parts of the services that we might call our favorite. For me, it was always the Mourner’s Kaddish, which is a prayer said by those mourning the loss of a loved one, oftentimes a parent or spouse. I don’t know why I like the Kaddish, exactly, except that in Aramaic (it’s an ancient prayer, not even written in Hebrew) it’s very poetic and beautiful. Interestingly, it really doesn’t say anything about death or mourning. Instead, it praises and extols the Creator.

To say it, there is supposed to be a minyan, which is a group 10 adults (traditionally men, but in my world everyone is welcome). I don’t know the reasoning behind the number 10 to define a minyan. In order to say certain prayers or services, a minyan needs to be present. I probably learned years ago why a minyan is 10 people, but the logic has been purged from my long-term memory banks. However, I like to think it’s because with 10 there’s a sense of community, a sense of being part of something greater. And with at least 10, there can be a great comfort in knowing the community is there with you.

On the anniversary of a person’s passing, the children are supposed to light yahrzeit (anniversary) candles. For me, the candle is a nice reminder that my dad’s spirit lives on. Not in the afterlife sense, but just that a part of him is always with me.

Normally, one lights a yahrzeit candle on the day of the Hebrew calendar where the anniversary of a loved one’s passing falls. But it’s easier for me to remember this date, instead. Here in cyberspace, I have a community, even though I don’t actually belong to a congregation. So, with that, I’ve already lit a yahrzeit candle for my dad. It’s time to say Kaddish. Anyone who wishes to join in is welcome. In English, it goes something like this:

Magnified and sanctified is the name of the Lord
In the world that He created according to His will
May His kingdom come in your lives and your days
And in the days of the entire house of Israel
Swiftly and soon
And all say: Amen

May His great name be blessed always and forever
Blessed and praised
Glorified and exalted
Honored and extolled
Adored and lauded
Be the name of the Holy One
Blessed be He
Beyond all the hymns and praises and consolations
That are ever spoken in the world
And all say: Amen

May there be abundant peace from heaven
And a good life
For us and for all Israel
And all say: Amen

May he who creates peace in the heavens
Create peace for us and for all Israel
And all say: Amen