Kaddish Two Ways

In the end, at the end, there was just love left.


". . . reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph


the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer—


And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn—"

The two oak trees stand wide and strong.

The sun shines though the leafy tops.
And under our feet.  Way under the dirt under our feet, sprawling roots.  Stretching.

I walk the paths.  My feet on the dirt.

Small rounded stones sit.  Lonely.  Resting upon the larger stones.

Always loving.  Always loved.

Row by row by row by row.  By row.

Beloved.

  Beloved.

    Beloved.

      Beloved.

        Beloved.

Beloved.

And what remains, the parts of the sum, of the whole, that linger?

Love.  

Undefinable.  Ever-present.  Binding the circle of people, standing.  Crying.  Smiling.  Holding each other up.

Laughter.  

"She was always laughing.  Ten minutes after the joke, when she was washing the dishes, she would laugh: 'I just got it.'"

"She would laugh.  Oh she would laugh.  She would even laugh at the fact that she was laughing.  Harder and harder and harder.  She could not stop laughing."

Simply being there.  

"I just remember, she was always there."

Providing.

"And there she was, cooking dinner.  Or making me a sandwich for lunch.  No matter what else was happening.  She was there, taking care of me."

"Glorified and sanctified be God’s great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon; and say, Amen."

Then she looked out, at those gathered around the table.  Her table.  Generations.  Her family.  Hers.  And she smiled, her eyes moist and glistening.  

And she said: "Somaya"

("All this, is mine.")

And in the end, at the end, 

  when everything else was gone, 

  when everything else had been stripped away,

there was just love left.