I first recited Yizkor in 2020, after my father passed away. I was 63 years old—older than many folks when they first begin saying this ancient memorial prayer. Until then, Yizkor had always been something I observed from the outside.

In the various synagogues in which I have prayed for more than six decades, there was always a well-established custom: those not reciting Yizkor would step out of the sanctuary for the five or ten minutes while the prayer was being said. As a child, of course, I welcomed it. It was a break in the service, a chance to run around and play with friends in the hallway. Later, as an adult, it became an opportunity to shmooze—to chat casually with others who, like me at the time, were fortunate to still have their parents, siblings, and children alive.

It was only when I crossed that invisible line—first for my father, and later for our daughter—that I began to understand what Yizkor truly meant, and why it holds such a powerful place in Jewish life.

I had always been a regular synagogue attendee. But Yizkor revealed something new to me. On the holidays when it is recited, I noticed dozens of people appear who otherwise came only on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. What was it about this brief memorial service, recited just four times a year, that drew them in?

I think the answer lies in a........

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