- Jewish Gift Books
- Holocaust Books
- Jewish Inspiration & Jewish Self Help Books
- Jewish Biographies
- Jewish Children's Books
- Jewish Cookbooks
- Jewish Dating Jewish Marriage Books
- Jewish History Books
- Jewish Holidays Books
- Jewish Law Books
- Jewish Novels and Contemporary Reading
- Jewish Outreach Books
- Jewish Prayer Books
- Jewish Spirituality Books
- Jewish Thought
- Jewish Woman Books
- Jewish books for Young Adults
- Judaism 101: Judaism Basics
- Mishnah and Talmud Books
- Jewish Parenting & Teaching Books
- Jewish Story Collections & Anthologies
- Targum Juniors
- Torah/Bible Commentaries
Recently viewed in our store...
DID YOU START COOKING?
The only cookbook
you'll need this Yom Tov!
ONLINE PRICE: $13.49
Living Kaddish
Incredible and Inspiring StoriesRabbi Gedalia Zweig
Living Kaddish
When we say Kaddish for our loved ones, we are elevating their souls, sanctifying G-d’s name, and fulfilling one of the greatest mitzvos.
This is a veritable world tour of incredible and inspiring stories collected from devoted Jews who, against all odds, fulfilled their commitments to perform one of the greatest mitzvos - saying Kaddish for their loved ones. Essential for everyone saying Kaddish and to offer loved ones. Also includes a practical guide to Kaddish, Kaddish FAQ’s, the Hebrew Kaddish with a complete English translation.
Book Excerpt from Living Kaddish
 |
Living Kaddish:
A collection of incredibly inspiring Jewish Kaddish stories - essential for every Jewish house of mourning and anyone interested in this far-reaching & important mitzvah.
|
Kaddish Behind Door Number 3
Martin H. Sokol
Brussels, Belgium
In November 1993, the American Thanksgiving holiday weekend and my mother’s yahrtzeit coincided. Our son, Joe, had recently graduated with honors from college and elected to go into the family leather merchant business. I suggested he learn the technical components of leather tanning by attending a well-respected leather school in Northampton, England, outside London. When my wife suggested we visit Joe during Thanksgiving, it made sense. I would lose little business time, it would be fun, and, of course, we missed our son. The only problem, it occurred to me, was that I had to say Kaddish for my mother while in Europe.
Our visit to Joe would include business. I worked in international leather trading, and one of our important suppliers was Europe’s oldest tannery, located in Belgium. The tannery manufactures high-grade leathers to leather goods companies such as the Louis Vuitton group.
Davening in London was no problem, and we chose a hotel within walking distance to London’s Marble Arch Synagogue, and coincidentally also to Buckingham Palace. In London, I would daven shacharit and ma’ariv. The only question was minchah. Would I be able to find a minyan in Brussels?
I davened ma’ariv and shacharit at the Marble Arch Synagogue and immediately upon arrival in Brussels asked the concierge where I could find a synagogue. He gave me an address. I immediately hired a limousine, and the three of us were driven to the shul.
When we arrived, all the doors were locked. I searched around the building and finally found a bell on a door. After a few rings, someone answered - an elderly man whom I assumed was a caretaker. He informed me that his synagogue rarely had a minyan, and unless someone reserved one in advance, there was none. He suggested another street where I would be more likely to find one.
It was getting late. I had not expected the delay. We gave the new address to the chauffeur and drove on. When we arrived at the street where my minyan was supposed to be, there was no synagogue to be found. We went up and down the street a few times, but no building indicated it was a synagogue.
At the point of giving up, I noticed four men leaving a store and entering a car. I walked over to the car and asked in English if they knew of a synagogue in the area. They replied that there were none in this particular area and asked, “Why would you want a synagogue?” Since they were all wearing either hats or caps, I took a chance and asked them if they knew what Kaddish was. They smiled and said, “Of course. We are all Jews.” After briefly explaining that I needed to say Kaddish for my mother, one of the men said, “Follow my car.”
My chauffeur thought I was taking a risk following strangers, but I told my wife and son, “How risky could it be following strangers to a minyan?”
Soon we arrived at a commercial district where streets were made of cobblestone and all the buildings were old warehouses. Dusk was approaching. It had rained only an hour before, and the area was totally devoid of people. One of the men got out of the car, pointed to a gray steel door, and said, “Go in there,” and then quickly sped off.
I told my wife, Judy, and my son to stay in the car and walked up to the steel door. There were no signs on the building, not even an address. Just an old brick building with a gray steel door and a buzzer, which I rang. The buzzer responded. I opened the gray door, which was hinged to a strong spring, and it shut quickly behind me.
I was now in a vestibule made of thick bulletproof glass, the same glass bank tellers often sit behind. Immediately after entering, I heard a stern, no-nonsense voice with an Israeli accent ask over a loudspeaker, “Who are you?”
I replied, in typical Jewish fashion, with a question of my own. “Where am I?”
The speaker replied, “What do you want?”
“Someone said I could find a minyan here. I want to say Kaddish for my mother. It’s her yahrtzeit.”
Two men quickly came into view. Both held Uzi submachine guns. One came out into the vestibule area.
He proceeded to ask me some questions. He asked to see my passport. And then he asked me a series of questions that pertain to Judaism that only a Jew would know. I don’t recall the questions, but they went something like, How old was I when I was bar mitzvah? When is Shabbat? How many questions do we ask on Passover? Things like that.
I passed the test, and the guards said I could enter the area behind the bulletproof glass enclosure. I asked if I could bring my wife and son, who were waiting for me in the car.
When I returned to the car, I told my wife and son that someone inside said I would find a minyan inside, but I didn’t see any people except for two security guards holding Uzi submachine guns. “Don’t worry, I believe they are Israelis,” I said.
When the three of us entered the building, the security guards buzzed us through the two doors, and then buzzed us through a third door where they said I would find a minyan .
I opened the third security door and what I heard and saw reminded me of a scene out of the Wizard of Oz, the one where Dorothy enters the Technicolor fantasyland of Oz and the movie changes from the “real” world of black and white to color.
Behind the third security door was a totally different kingdom.
Music - Jewish music - was being played. Behind the third door, children were laughing and singing. Mothers and fathers were doing the same. Where was I?
I walked over to one adult and asked in French (I don’t speak French, but this much I knew), “Do you speak English?”
The man replied, “Yes.”
“Where am I? What is going on?”
The man looked at me very suspiciously and quickly went over to another group of men. They approached me and asked what I was doing here. I replied that someone said I could find a minyan there because I wanted to say Kaddish for my mother. The story of my search for a Kaddish minyan ends here.
The factory building was a yeshivah. That Sunday was the celebration of its opening. The site was probably chosen for security purposes. A few months earlier the leader of the Brussels Jewish community was shot and killed by PLO terrorists. The Jews of Brussels had to be cautious.
When I found out where I was and thought of the strict security these children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors had to endure, I was unable to speak. Tears filled my eyes. My throat was choked with emotion. I could not stop thinking that fewer than fifty years after the Holocaust, Jews were once again in danger in Europe.
When I returned to New York, I recounted this Kaddish saga to my friends, but the story, for at least a few months, was always interrupted with a pause. Even today, emotion gets the better of me when I think of that dismal factory building, the three security doors, the Israeli guards with Uzis contrasting with children dancing and singing Hebrew songs.
For me, the experience symbolized our long, troubled history.
Kaddish is said to remember people we loved who are no longer alive. The guards remind me of how, throughout history, when we chose to fight back, we lived. The children help me to remember that we have survived and that there will always be another generation who will remember, who will fight to retain our precious heritage, who will say Kaddish.
Buy Living Kaddish at a special online price at www.targum.com