The Earthquake Child by Elayne Klasson

Author:Elayne Klasson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press

Chapter 9

The Ballplayer

2006

Joshua was sixteen on the tenth anniversary of Ron’s death, and already in trouble with thefts and drugs and running away. On the anniversary, Eleanor asked Joshua to visit Ron’s grave with her. She explained that when his father had died, he’d been too young to recite the kaddish, the memorial prayer. Once he was thirteen, however, and had had his bar mitzvah, it was traditional for the son to take on that responsibility. In Judaism, that was what a son was called: the kaddish, the father’s legacy. Since Max was the stepson; it fell to Joshua to recite kaddish for his father on the anniversary of his death.

“But I’m the adopted son. Does that count? I wasn’t born Jewish.” Joshua searched Eleanor’s face.

“Oh, Joshua. Of course it counts.” She found that his question annoyed her. “When you were born, your dad made sure you had a proper religious conversion. You’re a real Jew and you are definitely your father’s son.”

Joshua hesitated, then agreed to come to the cemetery and say the prayer.

She parked outside the iron gates of Home of Peace. They walked together and found Ron’s grave, Eleanor’s heels sinking into the soft earth. She clutched a booklet printed with Jewish prayers said at the graveside: the mourner’s kaddish and some psalms. The words were transliterated, the Hebrew written out phonetically. She wasn’t sure how much Hebrew Joshua remembered from his own bar mitzvah. She knew she herself was rusty. She began reading:

Yis gadol v’yis kaddash

sh’mey rabbo,

b’ol’mo di’vro chir’oosey

v’yam lich mal’ chu sey

, b’cha ye chon

u v’yo me chon u v’cha yey

d’chol bes yisroel, ba ago lo u vis man ko riv,

v’im roo, Omen.

Joshua joined her and they recited together. Eleanor was surprised that her son didn’t once look down at the paper, but said the kaddish prayer flawlessly in his newly deep voice, looking off into the distance. She herself read the transliterated words from the paper, stumbling over some, especially the middle verses, until she got to the familiar concluding lines:

O seh sholom bim’ ro mov,

Hu ya aseh sholom,

o’leynu v’al kol yisroel,

v’im’roo, Omen.

Just as it had been at Ron’s funeral, it was an unseasonably warm November day, though now the cemetery was quiet. Ten years before, this section was newly opened. There had been gaps between the graves. Now, there were more headstones filling the area. Eleanor usually came to Ron’s grave on the anniversary of his death. She supposed this section had gradually filled in, but she hadn’t noticed until today. It startled her that although there were many graves all around Ron’s, the plot immediately to the right of her late husband’s was still empty. She had not reserved the plot for herself. She was only forty-seven at the time of Ron’s death. She didn’t want a cemetery plot. Were they keeping it open in case she changed her mind? Should she be thinking about it?

Joshua wiped away a few tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt as he looked down and read the words on his father’s grave.

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