Stumbling on Gravestones

Being alert to today’s lunar eclipse, I did my best to be cautious today. We woke up at 05.00 a.m., I wrote my morning pages, packed everything we need for a two days vacations at Grandpa’s place, did laundry and cleaned the house, so that we will come back to a neat house, and drove all the way down from the Galilee, in the north of Israel, to Ramat Hasharon, near Tel Aviv.

We first went to meet our past neighbors in Neve Tzedek, where I lived for 36 years. We met Ilana, the neighbor next door, who is like a mother to my sons, and few other neighbors, passed through the Carmel City Market, to hug Calanit, my friend from the flower shop, and went to Grandpa.

After having the meal I brought with me, we had a nap and went to Sharonit, the public swimming pool of Ramat Hasharon. We had a wonderful time there. Michael and Daniel both dived and swam very nicely. They even borrowed three plastic hoops from the swimming teacher who worked with a child nearby, threw it into the water and dived to find it. I watched them carefully. But I also watched the swimming teacher, a tall beautiful guy in this 20’s, his smooth belly so beautifully carved that I wish I will surf on it.

When we went out of the swimming pool I asked the lady in the office for his phone number. I might call him. He was so fond of my boys. He said that when they will grow up they will be models, and I told him that I raise them on my own, because I gave birth to them by a surrogate mother. I hope this gave him enough information as exposition for a love story. Let’s see what will happen soon.

We then went to the biggest playground of the city, that was built where there was a military industry unit before. The playground is vast and sophisticated. It has many rope ladders on which a child climbs to huge frightening slides. The boys had great fun while I was standing beneath them, watching their steps.

The old graveyard of Ramat Hasharon in front of this playground. It is a small cemetery, hidden within trees and greenery. I did not visit this place since the birth of my boys. This is the place where my grandmother Sheindle is buried, her sister Rachel and many neighbors of my childhood neighborhood. This neighborhood was built by a group of survivors, from Novoselytsia, the place of birth of my father, which became the place of disaster, grief, and loss.

I visited Novoselytsia ten years ago. It is a Ukrainian village located on the borders of Rumania and Austria. I went there during the writing of my former novel, “When the Dead Came Back,” wishing to see the childhood home of my father and the graves of my great-grandparents.

I have found none. And I was so devastated then, that I stood in the middle of the old Jewish cemetery of Novoselytsia, raised my hand to the sky, and said: “Dear grandfather Solomon and grandmother Sera, I could not find your graves, so I will read the Kadish Izkor for you and for all of the Jews who lay here.” And I did.

After that, I took a bottle of Ukrainian beer that I have found there. I filled it with the graveyard’s soil, and swear that this soil will always accompany me. This bottle stands on my desk in Kibbutz Tuval. It also became the tool with which my protagonist, Solomon Feldman, awakens the Dead in my former novel, without knowing that that’s what is going to happen.

So today, I told my sons that after we had fun in the playground, I would like to pay a visit to my grandma Sheindle, who lay in the nearest cemetery.

“I am afraid it might cause me nightmares,” said Michael.

“If that is what you feel, let’s skip it,” I answered.

“Why do you want to visit her?” he asked.

“Because I haven’t been here since I came to her to ask for her help before your birth,” I smiled at him. “You see, before flying to India, to your birth, I came here to ask her for help, so that I will give birth to beautiful healthy kids, and she helped me.”

“So let’ go and visit her,” said Michael.

We went inside. My grandmother is buried in the last row, under a huge eucalyptus tree. This is the place where I began my writing career. I was only six years old when she was deadly hit by a motorcycle. My parents have told me that she went to the skies. Only after my bar mitzvah, my 13 years old Jewish ceremony, I was allowed to participate in her yearly memorial.

When I first saw her grave, with her name on it, I was so shocked, that when we got back home I took a notebook and pencil out of my school bag, and wrote for the very first time of my life. It was a poem to grandma.

Since then I never stopped writing.

This is the reason why I wrote in my will, that I want to be buried in the empty slot side to side with my grandma. It is vacant, because my grandfather married another woman, and was buried near her.

This is why it was so important for me to visit my grandma’s grave today, and show her my boys, whom she has blessed for their birth and guards to those days.

I lit the Shabbat candles every Friday night. And I do what my deceased mother has done. I bless the candles and then close my eyes, visualize each and every member of our big family, and ask my mother and two grandma’s to bless us and guard us all.

     Michael and Daniel stood on the stone which covers the empty slot near grandma. I took out my cell phone, to memorize them standing there. While taking the photo I took one step back, to get a wider photo – and stumbled on the grave behind me.

I fell on my back among the graves. I could hardly get up. I got wounded. But I also got the photo and did what I had to do – show my boys where my grandma lays, and putting small stones of remembrance on her grave, her sister grave and on Shabtai and Sera Frieser graves. Those were our dear neighbors, a childless couple. They had a greengrocery in their home, and they always kept tons of peach kernels, with which I and my brother played against Judith, the neighbor’s daughter, who had a trick to win the game again and again.

I did not write a single word in my next novel today. But I feel that this post is pure prose. If you enjoy reading me, please go into my crowdfunding campaign at https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/a-single-gay-father-s-writing-retreat-lgbt#/ and back it.

Thanks.