Desk Report:
Contents
Celebrating Día de los Muertos: A Multifaceted Tradition
Embracing a cross-cultural journey, I’ve found profound solace in a ritual that defies cultural boundaries, uniting us in the universal act of remembrance. It’s not about the religious affiliations of our loved ones; it’s about cherishing their memory.
The Significance of the Mourner’s Kaddish
The Mourner’s Kaddish holds a special place in my heart. It’s more than just a lament; it’s an expression of gratitude, a tribute to the benevolence and sanctity of God.
Traditionally, I refrained from reciting the Mourner’s Kaddish in my religious services because most of the departed souls in my life weren’t Jewish. As a convert, I lacked Jewish relatives who could fully appreciate the depth of this prayer. I once contemplated saying the Mi Sheberach for my Catholic uncle during his hospital stay, but uncertainty loomed. Would my Catholic uncle, and God, embrace my prayer?
An Exception to Tradition: Día de los Muertos
Día de los Muertos, a Fusion of Faith and Tradition
During my early school days, I encountered a unique sight in my great aunt’s living room amid Halloween decorations: an “altar” for Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. This Mexican tradition, dedicated to honoring and remembering departed loved ones, has gained widespread recognition, partly due to Disney’s “Coco.” Today, it shares shelf space with Halloween decor in stores.
The roots of this holiday lie in Catholicism, closely intertwined with All Hallow’s Eve and All Saints’ Day. November 1st is All Saints’ Day, while November 2nd is All Souls’ Day, commemorating ordinary people who have passed away. In Mexican culture, All Souls’ Day evolved into Día de los Muertos, merging Catholic and pagan elements.
Central to this celebration is the “ofrenda,” an altar adorned with photographs of the departed. It features marigolds and sugar skulls, and on this day, families congregate in cemeteries and homes, leaving food on the altars and hosting joyous gatherings. It’s a time for reflection and for welcoming the spirits of loved ones, as if they could join you at the table for a meal.
The Evolution of My Ofrenda
As a child, I was captivated by the holiday, especially the iconic skull imagery. But I hadn’t yet experienced a profound loss, so we never established an ofrenda in our home. Then, my uncle passed away.
My initial ofrenda in my college dorm room was modest, adorned with a picture of my uncle, his funeral card with the Serenity Prayer, a few small sugar skulls, and a Diet Coke bottle (his favorite drink). On Día de los Muertos, I stood in my dorm room, unsure of how to commemorate this moment in my own way. I found myself reciting the rosary, reverting to familiar prayers I had abandoned long ago. I was no longer a Catholic, but it felt appropriate to say the rosary on this Catholic holiday in memory of my uncle, who had left us not even a year prior.
Over the years, my ofrenda evolved – sometimes more elaborately adorned, sometimes not displayed at all. Nevertheless, I always marked the day, even if only in my thoughts. Taking a moment to remember the departed held immense significance for me. It might mean nothing to recite a prayer I no longer believed in for a deceased relative, but it mattered to me, and that was reason enough to persist.
As I journeyed through my conversion to Judaism, my rabbi and I discussed various holidays, including Halloween. Some congregants refrained from celebrating it due to its Christian origins, while others deemed it innocuous, given its secularization.
I momentarily overlooked the Catholic roots of Halloween. It occurred to me that my Día de los Muertos traditions might not seamlessly align with my Jewish faith. I asked my rabbi, “Can I say Kaddish for non-Jews?”
Her response was thought-provoking: “It depends. How would they feel about it?”
I couldn’t be certain, as those I had lost never had the chance to witness my transformation into Judaism.
A Unique Fusion: Embracing Día de los Muertos as a Jew
On my inaugural Día de los Muertos as a Jew, I grappled with the convergence of these two rich traditions. I’ve always been Mexican-American, and as far as I know, my family has always been Catholic. However, I’ve embarked on a different path, choosing to live a Jewish life. Could I continue celebrating this Mexican tradition with its Catholic roots as a Jew?
In my dining room, I created an ofrenda, adorned with photographs of my uncle, my great-grandparents, and even my husband’s departed relatives. Día de los Muertos, while a Mexican tradition, need not be confined to those of Mexican descent. My husband is now my family, and his losses are mine as well. So, I spread a tablecloth, placed pictures of our loved ones, paper marigolds, ceramic sugar skulls – and a yahrzeit candle.
On Día de los Muertos, I lit the candle and recited the Mourner’s Kaddish.
In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter that the people I loved and lost were not Jewish or, in the case of my husband’s family, Mexican. What truly matters is that I remember them, honor them, and take a day to reflect on their memory and thank God for the privilege of knowing them, for the time we shared.
When my uncle passed away, we celebrated his life, just as he would have wanted. We wore sports apparel to his funeral – Dodgers jerseys and Lakers t-shirts. We shared anecdotes, laughed, and cried. Every year on the anniversary of his passing, I watch a Dodgers game. His baseball cap adorns my ofrenda. Remembering him is less sorrowful now, as I focus on the memories we created and the time we spent together. Instead of mourning what was lost, I am grateful for what was.
On Day of the Dead, I have chocolate to honor my great-grandmother and a pair of her knitting needles, placed beside my uncle’s Dodgers hat. I remember them as they were, as I knew them. I light a candle and remember. And now, I also recite the Mourner’s Kaddish, a prayer that transcends boundaries and brings solace on this special day.
