kaddish in two-part harmony
A conversation between an anthropologist and a musician along with a growing virtual minyan, on themes of death and dying, grief, ritual, and the interplay between music and words.about
Category Archives: tzaddik stories
the stones I cannot place
My mother’s ‘passing’ has crippled my writing. And apparently that’s not all. It would be unfair to blame her, per se, because that would be rude. But I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that she’s had a hand in it. Some … Continue reading
and death is so much closer than it was—a kaddish for rebecca fromer
The house is empty. I’m not sure what to do and death is so much closer than it was— The phone isn’t ringing starting 5 AM and every ten minutes or so thereafter Even the delusions have stopped having culminated in … Continue reading
Posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony, tzaddik stories
Tagged death, fear, kaddish, mothers, Mrs Tzaddik
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like an addiction, it’s hard to stop—
I can’t quite take the pictures down. Can’t quite stop staring at them. Can’t call it an altar exactly, but I know others do. Others have. And others will. How do we stop mourning and put the pictures away? And … Continue reading
Posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony, Seymour Fromer z"l, tzaddik stories
Tagged dads, letting go, Mira Z. Amiras, mourning, Seymour Fromer, tzaddik
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the tzaddik and the automobile of art maintenance
Everybody knows about the tzaddik’s cars. They were fairly famous. His vehicles impersonated him. They imprinted on him. Everybody remembers particular stories about his cars. Only I don’t know all of the stories. And that really bugs me. I guess … Continue reading
Posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony, Seymour Fromer z"l, tzaddik stories
Tagged collector, dads, Magnes Museum, Malkah, Seymour Fromer
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secrets of the tzaddik
He wanted it spelled ‘poppa’ not ‘papa.’ He was definitive about that, but not about much else. I always wondered why. It seemed anachronistic, that spelling, but maybe that’s the point. He was from a different era. How could he … Continue reading
Posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony, tzaddik stories
Tagged dads, love, Malkah, parenting, secrets, tzaddik stories
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the man in the pink suit
When the family lived in Los Angeles, the tzaddik showed early signs of what was to come. Only it was a bit more theatrical down there in Southern California. The tzaddik produced an opera, believe it or not—the opera David, … Continue reading
Posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony, Seymour Fromer z"l, tzaddik stories
Tagged dads, Darius Milhaud, Leonard Bernstein, Malkah, music, opera, tzaddik
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kaddish, pain, and ascension
I was very moved by Erin’s kaddish for the old Bay Bridge — which, of course, wasn’t about the bridge at all. And I thought, oy, what a can of worms this kaddish has opened. Daily kaddish may well be … Continue reading
the letters
Clearing out biofather’s house. Inventory of everything imaginable. Mostly art, of course — but there’s all the detritus. Up in the studio, where the paintbrushes lived. And the rolls of silk paper and chops and engraving materials. Chemicals. Chinese watercolors. … Continue reading
my father’s favorite boys speak up
Did the tzaddik walk into a bar? Did he drink a beer? Did he watch the World Series on that day? So. The answer appears to be (I’ll cut to the chase) — no, he did not. The whole tzaddik … Continue reading
a tzaddik walks into a bar…
They were driving between X and Y — who knows where they’d been. They were rushing. Last game of the World Series was about to start, and they weren’t anywhere near getting back on time to watch the game. Continue reading
Posted in essays, kaddish in two-part harmony, Seymour Fromer z"l, tzaddik stories
Tagged abstinence, alchohol, alcohol, Bronx, Islam, Malkah, Seymour Fromer, tzaddik stories, World Series, Yankee Stadium
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