I always mumbled the words of the Mourners Kaddish, I didn't know them. Why? I didn’t have a need to, I didn’t have someone to say them for. The day I found out he died. That day broke me. The morning of Saturday, September 14, 2025. From checking my phone to dropping it to the floor after hearing of the last night's accident. The accident that cost his life.

That pain of that morning was the most I had felt in my entire life. I sobbed, I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Grief was something I had yet to experience. I knew I eventually would, as everyone does. What I didn't know is that it would be for a friend. A friend who had brought such a light into this cruel world. That same afternoon, it was the first time my Mourner's Kaddish had a recipient. Sitting in my bed, I googled the words to the prayer. Stumbling on my Hebrew, through tears and sniffles, I said them for him. No, he wasn’t Jewish, and no, that didn’t matter.

Before I went to sleep that night, I recited the Kaddish again for him, for all the memories we shared and how lucky I was to have known him. Every night after, reading from my phone until I had the words engraved in my brain, I recited the Mourner's Kaddish for him. I didn’t know why it was, and I still don’t know, but the words of the Kaddish provided me comfort through my grief and still do.

The Mourner's Kaddish went from one of the least to the most meaningful prayer in my Jewish identity. A constant through the mess, pain, and confusion that is grief. As a steerer for my region's Fall Convention, I was tasked with co-planning and running a Saturday morning Shabbat service. Leading this service meant leading the prayers, and I was the only one of three designated steerers who knew the Mourners Kaddish.

I didn’t think I would be able to do it, I was terrified, to say the least. I had never said the Mourner’s Kaddish with another person since his death, let alone led it for a mix of 90 Alephs and BBGs. When the conclusion of our service approached, it came time to recite the Mourners Kaddish, I went up to lead. I didn’t mumble the words, the sea of voices reciting the Hebrew were powerful as one, and all my fears of leading washed away.

Despite all of the pain of this world, there is community. A community of people with their own struggles, their own fears, their own joys, and their own sorrows. This community uplifts, and it's so so beautiful. “He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.”

I miss you every day, B.