The Subtle Art of Spiritual Vending

And the Business of Remembrance

“Yizkor” refers to a Jewish memorial prayer. The word Yizkor is Hebrew for “He shall remember.” “He” refers to god. “Remember” means, he will remember if someone requests. “Request” is what this Yizkor memorial prayer is, and it’s recited on Yom Kippur and other major Jewish holidays (though Yom Kippur’s seems to get more attention). So, God will remember by someone reminding or asking for it.

For the many who don’t participate or believe in the divinity or sanctity of Judaism’s religious practices, Yom Kippur may be their lone annual dip into traditional Jewish life – the synagogue, and for some of them, Yizkor is the main draw. While culturally detached and theologically skeptical, they come to dutifully sit, prayer book in hand, whispering to the God they may or may not believe exists, about a parent they knew existed.

Only those who’ve lost a parent are present for the prayer. Everyone else is asked to kindly step outside, curating exclusivity and granting Yizkor a solemn gravity. The prayer is said while the torah scrolls are out of their storage ark and held for full display, creating a “holier” time and space.

Before the prayer begins, often, the Rabbi creates an intermission of sorts with a sermon, to fan the flame of Jewishness and brotherhood.

Let’s look at the prayer itself:

May God remember the soul of __, son/daughter of __, who has gone to his/her eternal home.

Because I am giving charity in his/her memory, may his/her soul be bound up in the bond of life, together with the souls of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah.

May he/she rest in honor on his/her resting place.

And let us say: Amen.

So, no extolling of the virtues of the deceased? Recalling their kindness, wisdom, or excellent kugel recipe? Nope. No space for sentimental biography. No tender recollection. Other than mentioning the deceased’s name, it’s: "God. See this donation? Please do a quid pro quo thing and give them an honorable seat near Abraham." It reads less like a eulogy or memorial, and more like a transactional payoff deal.

It’s almost elegant and certainly convenient. The prayer services the grieving, the deceased and the divine, while simultaneously providing a gentle reminder of the synagogue’s budget.

The traditional narrative is that the deceased’s soul gains additional celestial brownie points if the memory of that person spurs their living relatives to improve their ways. So, asking God to deal benevolently with a beloved’s soul, is presented with a pledge: I’ll give charity following the holiday – something the departed can’t do - in their memory.

Does everyone – especially the once-a-year guys - think there’s a god who hears and attends to their prayer? With a divine celestial hotel and VIP guests? Where their departed loved one can score VIP seats for a couple of shekels?

(You can’t help but) Notice the prayer’s conspicuous specificity of charity as the deed of merit. Not “a good deed,” not “acts of loving kindness,” not “I’ll do a soup kitchen shift.” Charity. Monetized virtue.

Why? If the point is to do something good (on behalf of the departed), why not let the mourner choose what good they’ll do? There are, after all, 613 commandments (aka good things) to pick from. Yet, Yizkor offers no fill-in-the-blank for this portion, and makes the choice for you: your dead loved one’s eternal upgrade, hinges on a donation.

Did the author of Yizkor simply want to boost synagogue revenues by leveraging bereavement?

Someone at the back, objects: Don’t be so cynical. Charity is a top shelf commandment. We’re told (by, again, Rabbis) that “charity saves from death,” (while it should be noted, those Rabbis are no longer alive). Rabbis apparently like using the death bell, to shake out a donation.

Except, some other Rabbis elsewhere say that Torah study is considered equal to all commandments. And so is Shabbat. And they teach elsewhere that every mitzvah is as weighty as every other. So, again, why money?

Maybe, Yizkor serves as a ritualistic lullaby – especially for the non-religious person who doesn’t think about the words or narrative of the service. No need to believe in souls, or God, or the redemptive power of a checkbook. No need for divine scaffolding. No need to understand the words. You say what is traditional to say, which includes (whether to my awareness or not) throwing in a donation while you’re at it. Hey, the synagogue’s electricity bill isn't going to pay itself.

For someone like me, though, who would consider every iota of the religious package as true and relevant, Yizkor’s words, when examined, sounded either like a nursery rhyme or a solicitation in awful taste.

If I want to feel connection with a beloved departed one, I’d rather think about the person, and the (positive) memories I had with the person. I’d conjure their image, read their writings or re-experience their works. Experience them – my memory of them - again, in good spirit, so they live in me in a positive way.

But. If you want to get me to come to your synagogue, and to listen to your sermon, and to donate to your synagogue, you might create a special prayer enabling special connection to the owner of this universe, and in such prayer include a raffle ticket to win special treatment for my departed beloved who now lives with the universe owner.