Dad and I were talking about the “kaddish in two-part harmony” project the other night, and he muttered something about spending a career dealing with death. I’d never quite put it together that his thirty years in the Social Security Administration had had him dealing with death all the time—well, duh! So I asked him to write a guest essay about what that was like.
Month: April 2011
daily kaddish: for don, sr
A kaddish for our neighbor don, sr; we just learned of his passing two weeks ago.
daily kaddish: chez rebecca
Today Mira and I visited her mom, Rebecca, for a mini Seder, and I recorded a kaddish afterward in her great room. Wow.
daily kaddish: mohammed bouazizi
Mira dedicated this kaddish to Mohammed Bouazizi, whose humble reaction to bureaucratic humiliation set off the revolution in Tunisia, which set of revolutions in Egypt and Libya.
daily kaddish: plague of jazz
I didn’t have the energy to engage with what’s important. Instead I played a frippery on the Kaddish—an escapist kaddish that was jazzy in the sense of a plague. Not good jazz, not fun. No, the jazz you play when you don’t feel real jazz.
the bookstore
So. The bookstore the other day — One of Malkah’s favorite things to do on planet Earth was to go with the tzaddik on his frequent forays into the dark and gloomy bowels of used bookstores. Holmes Books, in San Francisco, was one of their favorites together. The tzaddik would give Malkah a whole…
daily kaddish: for Farzad Bastoft
A Kaddish for Farzad Bastoft, in reply to Mira’s, and with thoughts of the hopelessness of US foreign policy in the Middle East.
a kaddish for farzad bazoft, and also saddam hussein
I never met Saddam Hussein. But I wanted to. We were guests, actually, of Tariq Aziz — who was Foreign Minister at the time. Little known fact: they both share a birthday (one year apart): April 28th. It was my birthday. And we had just been detained. Pulled from the Baghdad airport just as we…
daily kaddish: for easyness
Tonight’s Kaddish is for the sense of loss we feel when easyness begins to require attention.
the inheritance
First they told me I was inheriting the biofather’s art supplies and his own paintings. Biofather was a Chinese painter. Then they found a new copy of the will, and next to my name was one word, in his handwriting — with an arrow to be clear: OMIT is what it said. And I thought,…