I did not go to the Trans Day of Remembrance again this year. I decided to hold sessions instead. I wanted to lend my support to clients today. I wore my “I stand with trans students” T-shirt and had a full workday. Now, home, I am overcome with a longing to publically wail in horrified anger at the senseless loss of life this year. I wish that I had been back at my old synagogue, CSZ, in San Francisco, at the candlelight vigil with the congregation, returning to the comforting four walls of the building and having a time of prayer and reflection, my queer Judaism echoing amidst the mourners. I wanted to go and read the Kaddish, the prayer one says for those close to them who have died. The prayer is said during services at a synagogue, during the first week of the death. It is repeated each day during the first 30 days afterward and each day after that for an entire year. Mourners recite it during the death anniversary week for the rest of one’s own lives. Even though I was alone, hidden among the relative safety of my home, I felt compelled to connect with my community. I looked up the words of the prayer, and I said it to myself. Wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, as if trying to steel myself from the pain, I spoke my peace.
In solidarity, in memory, and in hope for the day when we won’t have to mourn the hundreds lost to despicable violence for simply being themselves,