https://www.sefaria.org/sheets/384957.22?lang=bi
(via Rabbi Marina Yergin)
What is the Kaddish?
Multiple versions of Kaddish (Landes, 24-25) - All 5 require the presence of a minyan
- The Burial Kaddish (Kaddish of Renewal) completes a funeral or the conclusion of the study of a tractate of Talmud.
- Kaddish D'rabbanan (The Rabbis' Kaddish) completes a study passage, usually within the worship service.
- Chatzi Kaddish (Half Kaddish) completes a subsection of a service.
- Kaddish Shalem (Full Kaddish) completes the main rubric of the service, the Amidah.
- Kaddish Yatom (Orphan's Kaddish) completes the service as a whole.
...Kaddish is puzzling, even as to the kind of prayer it really is. It is a declaration, rather than the normal halakhic forms of prayer--praise, request, or submission.... The language of Kaddish--not Hebrew but Aramaic--is...striking. Rashi's explanation is that it is formulated in a language that even angels do not speak (Tur, O. Ch. 56) and so belongs exclusively to the Jewish people as its own unique access to God. Alternatively, as the vernacular of its time, the Aramaic of Kaddish provided direct access to this important prayer's meaning. (Landes, 24-25)
In sum, the Kaddish began somewhere in the first century, probably after 70, as one of many prayers calling for the 'coming of the kingdom.' As the concluding part of a study session and a sermon, it was composed in Aramaic, the vernacular at the time. By the eighth century, somehow, it became a prayer to be said after a funeral. And by the twelfth century, a final Kaddish at the end of the service was reserved for mourners. (L. Hoffman, 160)
Who says the Kaddish Yatom?
By focusing upon the Kaddish of mourners, the Halakhah demonstrates its concern for community. It demands a group response to the unique outcry of those most estranged from the community, that they may return to it.
This inclusiveness is seen also in historical developments. Originally, Kaddish was recited by a single mourner only, not by all mourners standing as one. But eventually, after periods of calamity, certain communities permitted the group recitation of Kaddish as long as it was done word for word, so that the congregation could respond to all mourners simultaneously.
A second halakhic extension toward greater inclusiveness is the admission of women to the right to say Kaddish.... The recitation of Kaddish by women in significant parts of the Orthodox community is now an established fact. (Landes, 26-27)
....the importance according the recitation of the original Aramaic has led the Conservative Siddur Sim Shalom and even the Orthodox Siddur Kol Ya'akove (Artscroll) to provide transliterations of this prayer for worshipers who want to say the 'authentic' words even if they cannot read them. (Ellenson, 155-156)
Why do we say Kaddish Yatom?
The text says nothing explicit about death or mourning; it simply affirms faith in God. It thus reminds mourners that life continues despite death, that God still rules overs us, and that God deserves praise for our own lives and for the deceased whom we once knew. Especially after a tragic death, this affirmation may be the last thing that we emotionally want to say, but that is precisely the point: saying it reaffirms the value of life even in the face of death. It also helps us emote about the person we lost. It brings us out of our sadness and anger by having us utter appreciation and praise just when we are tempted to deny the importance of both. In praising God we link ourselves and the one we have lost to eternity. (Dorff, 154)
... in the Mourner's Kaddish, we press our grief into blessing, forcing praise from our mouths at the very moment when we may feel most like cursing God. It's a discipline, like all prayer. The words are not our own, the sentiments do not arise spontaneously from our hearts, the timing is artificial. We may derive no solace whatsoever from the rote recitation of this ancient Aramaic formula, which we do not understand and which, in any event, is so completely divorced from any references to death or loss. Worst of all, perhaps, nowhere does this prayer acknowledge the loneliness of the solitary mourner, who cannot even recite the words without an audience of nine others.
And so the community gathers to embrace the orphan, the widow, the one estranged by death. They force her to choose life, to bless God's will, and to imagine wholeness in place of the brokenness she now feels. (Frankel, 156)
Rabbi Akiva (50 CE - 135 CE, Israel) was a student of R. Tarfon, R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua, but quickly became their colleague. Coming from a simple family of converts, he began his study of Torah at age forty at the behest of his wife, Rachel. At the height of his glory, he is reputed to have had twenty-four thousand students. Yet these students died prematurely, and his prolific teachings were passed on by a small elite following. In the face of Roman persecution, he supported Bar Kochba's revolt and ultimately died as a martyr.
Ari Goldman, “Living A Year of Kaddish”
Kaddish, though said by mourners, makes no explicit mention of the dead. It is an Aramaic poem in praise of G-d, and one of the oldest parts of our liturgy, dating back to the 1st century. [R’ Elie Kaunfer says] But the prayer doesn’t actually name or praise G-d, rather it recognizes that just as we are broken open in our mourning, so too as long as we live in a world where death punctuates our lived experience, G-d’s name is diminished, as it were. And our tradition puts into the mouth of the mourner the words “Yitgadal v’yitkadash shemei rabbah” - a prayer, a request, a hope for G-d to be magnified and sanctified, because G-d is not those things right now. We aren’t there yet. We live in a world where G-d’s name is diminished. Kaddish is a plea for a better world in which G-d is more fully holy, and the presence of G-d more completely experienced. We are not living in that world, and the Kaddish knows it; but it offers us a path to imagine a world beyond our current one. And critically, G-d is in league with us in begging for that world to come soon.
Kaddish was written in Aramaic, the lingua franca of Talmudic times, so that it would be understandable to all. Today, the Aramaic means little to most Jews, but the words and rhythms and alternating responses of kaddish retain their emotional power.
Rabbi Maurice Lamm calls kaddish “a self-contained, miniature service that achieves the heights of holiness.” It “united the generations in a vertical chain while the requirements to gather the minyan for kaddish has united Jews on a horizontal plane.” Kaddish binds the mourner to the past and the present.