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KADDISH EREV SHABBOT-A JUDGMENT AGAINST GOD I have been really hesitant to post this on my general LJ. It gets down to my most fundamental and cherished spiritual convictions, but is couched in terms that presume a certain knowledge of both traditional and progressive Jewish practice, legend and lore. It recently appeared on the LJ group, liberaljews, and was well received. There. It is poetry from the heart, a primal scream first inspired in the early 1960s by one of many plays about ‘the Kaddish of Rabbi Levi’ and by the first version of Leonard Bernstein’s Symphony Number 3, “Kaddish”. It is not about Zionism, except to the extent that Judaism is inherently the story of the people of Israel, whether in Finland or America or Venezuela. I hope it will be received in the spirit in which it is conveyed, a sharing of my spiritual core with a broader readership.
“let me say there was a Levi Yitzhak from Berditchiv and he according to a prayer song he composed brought the Master of the Universe to a din toyra on Yom Kippur”
I never say Kaddish, the prayer for the dead.
Never. I stood mute at my father’s funeral, angry at
God, wishing I was an atheist; life must be so simple for
such as these; Simple, that a godless void absorbs so
cruelly, simple for Those who live as if this were not a dream of
God, more idea Than machine.
Ah, thou ghost in the machine, I stood mute,
angry beyond All hymns, and I thought back ten years past,
Leonard Bernstein’s Third Symphony; was the great man also angry
at God? Fresh memory in blood, “To the Beloved Memory
of John F. Kennedy.” The Kaddish, Rabbi Epstein drones on, “Yeetgadal v’ yeetkadash sh’mey rabbah (Cong.
Amein). May His great Name grow exalted
and sanctified (Cong. Amen.) B’almah dee v’rah kheer’utey in the world that He created as He
willed. v’ yamleekh
malkhutei,b’chahyeykhohn, uv’ yohmeykhohn, May He give reign to His kingship
in your lifetimes and in your days, uv’chahyei d’chohl beyt yisrael, and in the lifetimes of the entire
Family of Israel, ba’agalah u’veez’man
kareev, v’eemru: Amein. swiftly and soon. Now respond:
Amen.” but I hear the voice of Felicia Montealegre, she intones her
husband’s lyric,
“Are You listening, Father? You know who I am: Your image; that stubborn reflection of You That Man has shattered, extinguished, banished. And now he runs free, free to play With his new-found fire, avid for death, Voluptuous, complete and final death. Lord God of Hosts, I call You to account! You let this happen, Lord of Hosts! You with Your manna, Your pillar of fire! You ask for faith, where is Your own?”
And I scream, inside, almost out, the legions Of elders and family and business people, Hundreds stand by, I catch the pall of death
on Charlie Hudson’s face, frozen I am inside, The coffin neatly carried by six. Ah, ah, What is this? A quarter century passes, and
Alex and Cousin Rita and I alone with the third
assistant Rabbi From the A.A. bury my mother, he says Kaddish, I sit mute again, wiser but no less
angry. After, I say to him, “You should have said
the Ashkenazi version. She was of that dead stock, And I know its no longer P.C., but do we have
to Finish Hitler’s work, and kill the Yis-gadal? The young man looked perplexed. We should all die, perplexed, They say. But why should I care, I do not say Kaddish? I have no excuse for God. Not even that He is Not.
“L’eylah meen kohl
beerkhatah v’sheeratah, beyond any blessing and song, toosh’b’chatah v’nechematah,
da’ameeran b’al’mah, v’eemru: Amein praise and consolation that are
uttered in the world. Now respond: Amen. (Cong. Amein). (Cong. Amen).”
No place to hide. I muse at
“Look at it, Father: Believe! Believe! Look at my rainbow and say after me: MAGNIFIED … AND SANCTIFIED … BE THE GREAT NAME OF MAN!”
Brave words, o, Conductor, but what shabby mortal beasts Do we dignify so, I cannot let go Of either God or Man? Nor forgive Either, in my rage, speak not of peace When there is none but the grave. For the Haughty, for the Slave. Equality of the conqueror Worm. They tell me Rabbi Levi Yitzchok On the Day of Atonement On Yom Kippur, would not say Kaddish, But, pounding his fist upon the bima, Pounding, I say, called Yahweh Almighty to A Bet Din, a Court of Judgment. “A Din Toire Mit Got”â A Judgment Against God”, and even God had to listen, to this brave Tzaddik, this Holy Man, Reb Levi Yitzkhok ben
Meir of Berdichev. God, it is said, won his case. O.J. gets off. Again.
So, I follow the new Reform, the Gates of
Prayer, So far removed from that Union Prayer Book and The blaring organ played in the balcony by
that nice Gentile lady, when I was a boy, we were busy Running from the goyim, by passing for white. Somewhere the train stopped running, and Moshe
Dayan Rode tanks into Egypt, did not stop at Sinai Knocked on Nasser’s fucking door, and we
stopped Playing Sunday-go-to-meeting Judaism; Lox and bagel Judaism; And, with determination, reclaimed Ourselves, our heritage, without a trace Of superstition, save one: A god who we must not anger, even With our grief: A proper Sistine Chapel god, scowls In High relief. Kaddish instead of Shouting. Praise instead of fists, Let me tell you people, tell you God, It is still like this: I never say Kaddish. I am a mourner’s Heretic. I stand respectfully mute. Respectful of those who mourn, but Angry at God Almighty still:
“Oseh shalom beem’roh’mahv, hoo ya’aseh
shalom, He Who makes peace in His heights,
may He make peace, aleynu v’al kohl yisrael v’eemru:
Amein upon us and upon all Israel. Now respond:
Amen.”
And I scream for the world. Agony. Resolve. I will heal the World.
“Now behold my Kingdom of Earth! Real-life marvels! Genuine wonders! Dazzling miracles! … Look, a Burning Bush Look, a Fiery Wheel! A Ram! A Rock! Shall I smite it? There! It gushes! It gushes! And I did it! I am creating this dream! Now will You believe?”
Leonard Bernstein “Kaddish” Symphony No. 3
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