From the American Scene:
A Summer Kaddish
Sh’loshim, the first sorrowful month of mourning. I now began a new schedule of living, arising each day a full hour earlier than was my custom. Then from their embroidered velvet sack I would take the t’filin, now cleaned and made ready for use again. Patiently our rabbi had re-introduced me to their windings and the prayers that went with them.
You know the story well enough. Many of us attend services only three times a year. I had gone nearly every Friday night and on an occasional Saturday morning. Now all that was changed by the thrice-daily recitations of kaddish—each morning, afternoon, and evening. My whole life had to be re-ordered. More than once, I was obliged to daven minchah and ma-ariv in strange places, under strange conditions, in order to recite kaddish before and after sundown.
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