The tzaddik grew up in the Bronx, across from Yankee Stadium. That must say a lot about him, but I’m not sure what exactly. His family lived in a shvitzy little apartment, overcrowded with uncles and cousins and such. That was in addition to mamma, poppa, the tzaddik and his two younger brothers. Of course,…
Tag: lamed-vavnik
epitaph for a tzaddik
New Orleans. With the voudon priest. Again. He gives me a reading. And one of the things he says is: “Don’t go to the cemetery. He’s not there. Go to the place where he still resides. The place where he still lives.” And all I can think of is well, where is that? Where is…
a kaddish for Caprica
Something was bound to go wrong on the Tzaddik’s first Yahrtzeit. It was a day I had hoped to bring my mother to the cemetery for the first time — for she herself had been too gravely ill to understand at the time that he had actually died. In the next room. In her house….
the tzaddik and the vavlings
A tzaddik walks into a bar, and … I really want to start that way, only the Tzaddik didn’t pick up the vav in a bar. The tzaddik has only been in a bar once in his life and that was when he was stranded (with a vavling, actually) in the middle of nowhere and…