I  have said Kaddish twice a day with a minyan since my father’s funeral this past February. Mostly, I stand with chaverim and my family – my mother, my brother, my sister, and my husband – at Adath Israel Congregation.

For three days during the shloshim (the first 30 days of mourning,) I stayed at my daughter’s house in the Annex due to renovations in my home and sought the comfort that I was used to among a downtown community that was unfamiliar to me.

My husband was excited to join me for the Minchah/Ma’ariv service the first Wednesday evening at Congregation Anshei Minsk in Kensington Market.

Not only had he had his bar mitzvah there, but it seems we own seats there in perpetuity. When my father-in-law passed away, we inherited seat 12 in the men’s section and seat 12 in the women’s section, which were purchased by his grandfather. We even found his name on the plaque in the main foyer – he was a president of the synagogue.

The synagogue still looks impressive from the outside, but the entrance during the week through a side door into a dingy basement was disappointing.

The rabbi greeted us warmly, and when he heard that I was the one saying Kaddish, he announced to the half dozen men milling about that Minchah/Ma’ariv would take place upstairs in the main sanctuary, not in the basement as was the custom during the week.

I was directed upstairs to the women’s balcony, although the only other gentleman who spoke to me – the charming Ben, who we were to see many times in our travels – suggested I just sit at the back or in a separate row of the main floor.

As it was, I was quite content to sit alone, well above the distractions on the main floor. I thought of the many people who had once filled these seats and felt a deep sadness as I looked around at the dust and dirt and grime covering everything.

We waited quite a while for the requisite 10 men, and then began the traditional service.

Thursday morning, I left bright and early for the minyan at the Miles Nadal JCC.

In the course of my research over the preceding days, I had seen a notice in The CJN that said to call Coleman Bernstein for information. Coleman assured me that they never lacked a minyan for their regular Thursday morning services, and not only was I welcome, but I should plan to join them for breakfast after the davening.

When I entered the light-filled chapel, a very nice man introduced himself to me as Coleman, while others busied themselves providing us with siddurim and seats.

There was one other woman in a room full of men, who arrived just after we began Shacharit. Everyone was friendly, especially once they learned that I was saying Kaddish for my father, who was known to many of the daveners.

I felt a wonderful sense of comfort, being surrounded by kindness and warmth, both during the service and at the kiddush/breakfast afterward.

Feeling at home there, I asked if it would be possible to put together a minyan for Thursday night or Friday morning. Unfortunately, they only met on Thursday mornings and Sunday mornings.

But I was in luck for the following morning. The Markham Street Shul (Congregation Shaarei Tzedek) was organizing a minyan for someone who was completing the 11 months of Kaddish, and I would be welcome to join the few men who were going there for Shacharit.

The only minyan I could find for Thursday evening was at the Minsker shul again.

Continued on page 49

Continued from page 48

I went down the stairs, but the rabbi wasn’t there and the man with the beard, black suit and tzitzit who greeted me told me to sit in the office behind the door, while the service was held in the basement room.

I was very pleased to see Ben there, because with his support, the minyan was again moved upstairs, and I had the women’s section to myself.

The few men seemed to be a cross-section of ages and backgrounds, but I’m not sure, because no one else spoke to me.

Eventually, more men drifted in until there were nine people milling around. I was number 10. We waited and waited, and waited.

Forty-five minutes later, I called my husband, who was driving in from Brampton, to come directly to the synagogue, as we were still waiting for a minyan. We began as he walked in, and I saw below me the men’s ranks swell to 10 and then 11 as another latecomer (who had attended Minchah elsewhere at 1 p.m.) joined us for what he thought would be Ma’ariv.

Friday morning, the traditional service started a little late as we waited for the guests for whom the minyan was arranged – but I was welcomed warmly. I sat in the women’s pew, which was one of the four sections of wooden benches surrounding the wooden bimah.

Soon I was joined by the wife of the man saying his last Kaddish and who was leading the service. Small Jewish world – I had last seen him when we were in Grade 10 together. We enjoyed breakfast and reminiscing, and I was very moved by the words he spoke about his mother, a beloved teacher at Associated Hebrew Schools.

Although there are sometimes Friday night services at other venues, that night the only service, billed as a traditional egalitarian service, was at the First Narayever Congregation, a short walk down Brunswick Avenue. I was intrigued by what “traditional egalitarian” would mean.

The sanctuary was comfortable and renovated, but more importantly, the rabbi was warm and welcoming. A young woman chanted the traditional Shabbat service, and she had a lovely melodious voice. I did find the addition of the Matriarchs to traditional prayers distracting and I’m not sure if I agree with it, but the service as a whole was a pleasant, welcoming way to have Kabalat Shabbat.

The Narayever also has a well-attended Shabbat morning service, followed by a full luncheon/kiddush that everyone is invited to. It was very nice to see families with young children enjoying the service, and the nursery/children’s service as well.

As we walked home in the pouring rain, we talked about the downtown Toronto Jewish community as we had experienced it. For Saturday evening, we would be back home at Adath Israel, because there was no minyan to be found south of St. Clair Avenue.

Since our downtown sojourn, we have attended services regularly at Adath Israel, but on occasion at Beth Tzedec Congregation. It is located conveniently, has times that often fit our schedules and never lacks a minyan.

We’ve also been to Beth Radom Congregation for its 6 p.m. Friday minyan, when Shabbat dinner is held at my daughter’s home, and once to Holy Blossom, which is closer to my home and provided grape juice and challah for my four-year-old grandson.

But the warmest and most welcoming minyan is when we make our own on a Friday night at my brother’s home, where he provides the 18-year old Scotch for our “l’chaim” l’chaim.

I think of my dad, Moishe Appleby, of blessed memory, and how he was always the first to make a minyan and lead the service for others. There is a succouring that takes place as we say the Kaddish together. At that time my father is with us, and his memory sustains us as we say, “Amen.”

Cheryl Appleby Jackson is saying Kaddish for her father, Moishe Appleby.