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essays kaddish in two-part harmony Seymour Fromer z"l tzaddik stories

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 what I really want is to know everything. Collect everything. Every shred of memory. I […]

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony tzaddik stories

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 not be?  Maybe the word  ‘poppa’ made him feel warm and fuzzy, and maybe  ‘papa’ […]

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony Seymour Fromer z"l tzaddik stories

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, by Darius Milhaud—at the Hollywood Bowl. He even borrowed back the bible story engravings that […]

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony tzaddik stories

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. Favorite everythings: scissors, cameras, even silk cord.  That was all upstairs.  But then I ventured […]

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony Seymour Fromer z"l tzaddik stories

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 walks into a bar story that I told, turns out to be almost completely off. […]

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kaddish in two-part harmony podcasts

daily kaddish: for don sr

The funeral for our neighbor Don, Sr. was this afternoon.

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony Seymour Fromer z"l tzaddik stories

my father’s favorite boys

Fred and Harold and my dad were like the Marx Brothers. Or the Coen Brothers. Or the Brady Bunch. Or. Or. Or maybe there was nothing like them at all.  A team. A pack. A family. A coven.  A comedy show. My father loved ‘those boys’ with all his heart, and all his might and […]

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kaddish in two-part harmony podcasts

daily kaddish: for the biofather

A real kaddish in two-part harmony, at last. With Kjersti scratching the Afghani kelim underfoot. A kaddish for Milton G. Nobler—painter, chemist, Renaissance man, and very flawed human being — just like the rest of us.

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony Seymour Fromer z"l tzaddik stories

the tzaddik and the negotiator — a mother’s day meditation

Malkah was in such awe of the tzaddik that she spent most of her time with him asking questions, and nodding at the wisdom of his responses.  Of course, his responses generally started with the need to do more research.  Look things up.  Even go to the library, when he was stumped.  But most of […]

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essays kaddish in two-part harmony tzaddik stories

closure, or something like it — a kaddish for milton g. nobler

People say you need closure.  But does that mean that there are no more stories to be told? I woke up this morning with two imperatives: 1) a sense of real or imminent closure, and 2) the need to tell this tale.  It’s a tale biofather told me, and I’m pretty sure he never told […]