kaddish.com

kaddish.com

by Nathan Englander

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Overview

The celebrated Pulitzer finalist and prize-winning author of Dinner at the Center of the Earth and What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank delivers his best work yet, a streamlined comic masterpiece about a son’s failure to say Kaddish for his father.
Larry is the secular son in a family of Orthodox Brooklyn Jews.  When his father dies, it’s his responsibility to recite the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead, every day for eleven months.  To the horror and dismay of his sister, Larry refuses—imperiling the fate of his father’s soul.  To appease her, Larry hatches an ingenious if cynical plan, hiring a stranger through a website called kaddish.com to recite the prayer and shepherd his father’s soul safely to rest.
Sharp, irreverent, hilarious, and wholly irresistible, Englander’s tale of a son who makes a diabolical compromise ingeniously captures the tensions between tradition and modernity—a book to be devoured in a single sitting whose pleasures and provocations will be savored long after.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781524732769
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date: 03/26/2019
Sold by: Random House
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 224
Sales rank: 78,999
File size: 598 KB

About the Author

Nathan Englander is the author of the story collections For the Relief of Unbearable Urges, an international best seller, and What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, and the novels The Ministry of Special Cases and Dinner at the Center of the Earth.  His books have been translated into twenty-two languages, and he is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, a PEN/Malamud Award, the Frank O'Connor Award, the Sue Kaufman Prize from the American Academy of Arts & Letters and was a Finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in 2013. His play The Twenty-Seventh Man premiered at the Public Theater in 2012. He is Distinguished Writer in Residence at New York University and lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife and daughter.

Read an Excerpt

1


Mirrors covered and front door ajar, collar torn and sporting a shadow of beard, Larry leans against the granite top of his sister’s fancy kitchen island. He says, “Everyone’s staring at me. All of your friends.”

“That’s what people do,” Dina tells him. “They come, they say kind things, they feel uncomfortable, and they stare.”

It’s only hours after the funeral and, honestly, Larry hates himself for bringing it up. He really thought nothing could add to the despair of his father’s loss. But this, this quiet, muttering stream of well-wishers has made it, for Larry, all the worse.

What he’s taking issue with is the look that he’s getting. It’s not the usual pained nod one naturally offers. Larry’s convinced there’s a bite to it—condemning.

He doesn’t know how he’ll survive a week trapped in his sister’s home, in his sister’s community, when every time one of the visitors glances over, Larry feels himself appraised.

And so he keeps raising his hand to the top of his head, check­ing for the yarmulke, sitting there like a hubcap for all its emo­tional weight. Its absence at his own father’s shivah would be the same as standing naked before them.

Sneaked off into the kitchen with his sister, their first moment alone, Larry unloads his complaints in a hiss.

“Tell them,” he says, “to stop looking my way.”

“At a condolence call? You want them not to look at the—” Dina pauses. “What are we, the condoled? The aggrieved?”

“We are the grievances.”

“The mourners!” she says. “You want them not to show that they care?”

“I want them not to judge me just because I left their stupid world.”

Dina laughs, her first since they put their father into the ground.

“This is so like you,” his sister tells him. “To make it negative, to complicate what can’t be any more simple. This bitterness in the face of what is pure niceness is on you.”

“On me? Are you kidding? Are you really saying that—today?”

“You know that I am, little brother. I love you, Larry, but if you choose, even, yes, today, to throw one of your fits—”

“My fits!”

“Don’t yell, Larry. People can hear.”

“Fuck the people.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“I mean it,” Larry says, thinking that “fit” may not be a com­pletely inappropriate word.

“Go on then. Curse at the terrible people who will cook for us, and feed us, and drive carpool for me all week, and make sure that we don’t mourn alone. Yes, curse at the nice men who washed our father’s body and prepared the shroud, and laid the shards atop his eyes, and now come to make a minyan in this house.”

“Spare me, Dina. It’s my mourning too, and I should get to feel at home, in your home, as much as them.”

“Who’s saying different? But you have to understand, they aren’t used to it, Larry. Used to what you do.” Dina takes a breath, reorganizing her thoughts. “Memphis Jews are even more conservative than the ones we grew up with. In Brooklyn, even the edgeless have an edge. Here, if you’re going to be radi­cal, people may, a little bit, stare.”

Larry is now the one staring. He stands before his older sister, giving her the best of his blank looks. About what he was doing that anyone could think radical, Larry has no clue.

“Tell me you don’t know,” she says. “Honestly, tell me it’s not on purpose. That you’ve actually forgotten so much.”

“Honestly, honestly, I don’t. I”—and here Larry was going to swear, which Orthodox Jews are forbidden to do. In defer­ence not so much to his sister, but to the opportunity to prove his innocence (that he is not as odd a duck as they think him, that he isn’t doing anything anyone could consider wrong), Larry rights his sentence and, with a stutter, ends it on the word “promise”—“I promise,” he says.

“You really need me to tell you?”

“I do.”

Dina rolls her eyes as she has since Larry was old enough to understand what it meant, and likely before. She explains what she’s sure he knows and is—without a doubt—doing on purpose.

“You step out into the yard. You read a book,” she says, with true sisterly fury. “You sit, like it’s nothing, on a regular chair.”

Larry straightens up at that, pushing with his hands against the counter, stepping back into the radius of his offense.

He gives himself a moment, letting the blood flow to his cheeks, his face reddening, as if, like a chameleon, he can change color at will.

“It’s no reason to treat me like a freak,” he says. “They’re just stupid rules.”

But even as he says it, rebellious little brother that he is, black sheep, and, yes, apostate, Larry understands that for Dina, they’re much more than that.

For him to step out of the house. To read a page for pleasure. And, above all, to reject that special shivah perch—the low chair, the wooden box, a couch with the cushions removed. It is too much. That ancient pose, the mourner sitting slope shouldered, ashen faced, and close to the ground, it represents for Dina pure sorrow.

“A stupid chair isn’t what makes it mourning,” Larry says, doubling down.

Though he knows, for his sister, a chair absolutely did.

***

There lies Larry, wedged in his nephew’s narrow bed, in his nephew’s narrow room, freezing under a thin polyester comforter in Dina’s arctically over-air-conditioned house.

Sleep does not come on the first night of mourning, when Larry, mustering all his Zazen-based mindfulness, cannot disen­gage from the shock of his own thoughts.

He wants to scream “Daddy.” And he wants to scream “Mommy.” And it’s that pure regression, on top of the grief, that has him so alarmed. A grown man, frustrated with his frus­tration, wrestling to keep his hurt pent up.

If Larry wasn’t already headed there on his own, Dina had nudged him the rest of the way back to childhood by sticking him in an eleven-year-old’s lair, instead of settling her thirty-year-old brother in the more uncle-worthy den.

But the den is where their father had taken sick during his Passover visit. It’s where he’d convalesced between the many trips to the hospital, until his final, fateful admittance. That room was blocked off in Dina’s mind.

And so this skinny bed for Larry, on which he flips to face the glow of his nephew’s aquarium.

Its watery light bathes him while illuminating the wall oppo­site, the fish gliding before a shelf of giant trophies, the likes of which Larry—in his sporting years—had never won.

And now he does not want to yell for his parents, but yell at his sister, furious over what, he couldn’t exactly say. Maybe it’s the light of the tank, turned blinding, keeping a sleepless man awake? Maybe it’s because, in their already tiny family, his big sister hadn’t been able to make their father not die? Or because, when he was his nephew’s tender age, Dina, older, wiser, hadn’t been able to stop their flaky mother from running off to Marin County with Dennis, her ridiculous, new-age husband—the newlyweds fresh from a marriage that took place the very day their dear father held the get in his hands.

Their mother had literally gone from her divorce in rabbinical court straight to a chuppah in Prospect Park. She’d forced Larry to hold one of the supporting poles, while Dennis broke the glass, stomping it with his fat, Birkenstocked foot.

Larry shakes his head at the memory, and, pressing a pillow over his face until he sees stars, he figures he’s maybe mad at Dina simply for representing all that was left of the only family unit he’d ever known.

Now it was the two of them, alone.

Except Dina is not alone. She has her husband, and her three kids, and the hundreds of religious clanspeople who’d pour in all week. These southern, Memphis, Gracelandian Jews who’d never give up or go away.

Larry, overcome with exhaustion and emotion, with the end­less exploration of his sorrows, gives up and crawls from bed. He yanks the fish tank’s plug from the wall with a force edging on violence and sighs with relief as a restorative darkness floods the room.

Feeling his way back under the boy’s blanket, tucking himself in, Larry floats toward sleep in that wonderful blackness.

But he can’t let go, haunted as he is by thoughts of death and of dirt, of gravel thrumming against coffin, and the literal specter of a soul formally separated from its body—his father’s ghost on the loose. With Larry’s own body stretched out in that narrow casket of a bed and chock-full of superstition, it’s as if he’d dug up his old religious self just as his father was buried.

Eyes closed, he tries again and again to let himself drift. But his ears train themselves on the fish in the tank, concerned with their well-being.

More and more, Larry worries that by pulling the plug, he’d turned off the whole contraption, that he’d somehow suffocate the fish, or undrown them, or whatever the term is for stop­ping things that breathe underwater from doing whatever it is that they do.

He can’t, quite obviously, hear them swimming, so he instead tries to isolate the sound of the water filter—separating it from the unfamiliar electrical hum of the house. But everything is overpowered by the drone of whatever tireless compressor is anchored nearby, and forcing all that icy air through the vent above his bed.

So Larry opens his eyes again, stirring further, and strains his vision against the darkness, hoping to make out the smokestack of bubbles rising from that stupid aquarium’s pump.

He is—and he knows it’s not rational—fully terrified that the family will wake to another set of funerals, all of them his idiotic, avuncular fault. He pictures them all crunched into the bathroom in their funereal clothing, now poised over one of the house’s stately, silent-flush, rich-person toilets. Larry’s nephew will preside while his two nieces, like pallbearers, hold a fish-heavy skimmer, the kids watching those murdered charges tum­ble off to their maker, just as they had with their grandfather the morning before.

Every time sleep comes, the fish pull Larry back, until he drags himself from bed to plug the damn thing back in.

With the light burning, Larry gives himself over to the end­lessness of the night, lying there missing his father—loving his father—who, white bearded and full of faith, had been the only one from Larry’s old life, from their cloistered community, who saw his true nature, loving Larry for exactly who he was and cherishing the man he’d become.

“I want you to know,” his father had said, from his hospital bed, “that you, in this world and the next, will be fine.”

“You think?” Larry had said.

“Do you know what I think?”

“I’m asking.”

“I think the World to Come is just a long table where every­one, on both sides, sits, men and women—”

“Pets?”

“No pets,” his father said.

“None?”

“Fine,” his father said. “Under the table, the dogs and cats. But no birds. I can’t picture it with birds.”

“Fair enough,” Larry said.

“This long table, with its perfect white cloth, is set not with food and drink, but with the Torah, copies for everyone, so that you can read to yourself or learn in pairs.”

“I can picture that.”

“And you know what happens at this table?”

“What?”

“All you do for eternity is study. Nothing else. No interrup­tion. No day, no night, no weekend or holiday, no y’mei chag or chol. For it is the afterlife. Time unbroken—all of it given over to one purpose.”

“Sure,” Larry said.

“This is why, for the souls gathered, that single place serves as both Heaven and Hell.”
Here his father had gulped at the air, fishlike himself.

“It goes like this,” his father said. “If you have a good mind and a good heart, if you like to learn Torah and take interest in knowledge, then studying for eternity is, for you, Heaven.”

He had looked to his son, and Larry had nodded.

“And if all you want is to waste time on narishkeit and bunk stuff, to think your greedy thoughts though the money is gone, and to think your dirty thoughts though your schvontz is buried down below, then for you that same table is torture. Then sitting there, with your bad brain, you find yourself in Hell.”

Larry considered the idea, poised at his father’s side.

Partly, he’d thought it was funny, and thought about making a Larry-like joke. But being his father’s son, Larry also took it seriously. He was awed at the notion and somehow afraid.

His father, who could read him like no one else, reached out with his liver-spotted hand and, laying it atop Larry’s, said, “I’m sure, in that place, for you, it would be Heaven.”

Larry had gasped, not from surprise, but choking back the rush of comfort he took in his father’s ruling.

“Trust me, Larry, it’s all right that you don’t believe. This period in your life—it feels like it’s forever, but if you’re lucky, life is long and each of these forevers will one day seem fleeting. You think when I was your age that I could have pictured this? That it would be 1999—the edge of a new millennium—and I’d be saying goodbye to a handsome, grown son at the end of my days? I can tell you that even back then, I already felt old and thought I knew it all.” His father gave a weak squeeze to Larry’s hand. “You’re a good boy. And I pray that I don’t see you across from me until you reach a hundred and twenty years. But for you, my boychick, when it’s the right time to take your seat, that table will feel like a blessing without end.”

Reading Group Guide

The questions, discussion topics, and reading list that follow are intended to enhance your reading group’s conversation about kaddish.com, the brilliant new novel from Nathan Englander, author of Dinner at the Center of the Earth and The Ministry of Special Cases.

1. Discuss the theme of faith as it is portrayed in the novel. How does each character’s faith manifest itself? Does faith always manifest itself in the same way? Do you feel that any one character’s faith is more “legitimate” than others? Why or why not?

2. While Larry is staying at his sister’s house for his father’s shiva, he decides to watch pornography on his laptop and immediately feels guilty. He is haunted by the image of a particular actress in one of the videos for years to come. To what do you attribute this woman’s staying power in Larry’s conscience? What does she come to represent to him?

3. When Larry looks at the photo of Chemi, he thinks to himself, “See how this young man, alone in the beit midrash, struggles to assimilate some Talmudic idea” (44). Shortly after, he begins to weep, and he later identifies this moment as the one in which he chose to return to Judaism. Why does Chemi’s photograph have such a profound effect on Larry? Why is his choice of the word “assimilate” significant?

4. Consider Larry’s decision to take on Shuli as his new name. What does this name symbolize to him? Is it his intention to leave his life as Larry behind forever? Is he successful? Why or why not?

5. Explore the novel’s depiction of the interplay between technology and religion (Judaism, in particular). Are the two at odds with one another? Has Judaism been, in any way, enriched by technology?

6. Why is Shuli so affected by the news of Gavriel’s father’s death—and by the boy’s refusal to say Kaddish at school? To what extent does he identify with Gavriel? Why does this boy’s story inspire Shuli to try and make contact with Chemi?

7. Compare and contrast Shuli and Miri’s observance of Jewish law. How does Miri make sense of Chemi’s guilt? His past? Does she agree that Shuli’s search for Chemi is justified? To what do you attribute any key differences in their understanding?

8. What does the Internet represent to Shuli? Why is it simultaneously so alluring and so repulsive to him? As you answer this question, consider Shuli’s beliefs about where knowledge comes from.

9. Explore the dream Shuli has about his father in the hotel in Jerusalem. How do you interpret the absence of each man’s elbows? How does this dream deepen our understanding of Shuli’s connection to his father? Of his sense of guilt?

10. On page 151, Englander alludes to the biblical narrative of Jacob’s ladder: “Reb Shuli lies down, with a bag under his head for a pillow, better off than Jacob and his stones.” He again references this story on page 176, writing, “Shuli knows just when to turn and when to go straight, when to climb or descend a staircase.” In what ways is this allusion significant?

11. Examine the dream Shuli has after he discovers the truth about Chemi. Which rituals does he perform at the beginning of the dream, and what do they signify? Who appears to him in the dream? How does each person present himself or herself, and how would you characterize the interactions Shuli has with each of them? What is the Heavenly Tribunal, and why does Shuli suspect that the three individuals he encounters constitute the Tribunal? How do you interpret the conclusion of this dream sequence?

12. Why do you think Shuli decides to spend the last of his money on an elaborate Kiddush cup for Gavriel? What does he hope to communicate with this gift? Do you think his message will come across to Gavriel? Why or why not?

13. Discuss Shuli’s decision to remain in Israel and say Kaddish for all of the people for whom Chemi neglected to do so. Do you think Miri will agree to move there with him, or has their marriage reached a breaking point? Is this the ending you expected? Why or why not?

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kaddish.com 2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
HnLA 11 months ago
I enjoyed the Reviews more than the Book Interesting concept, but weak ending. I could not recommend it to my more conservative relatives, as there are a few things that are too racy for them, and they seem unnecessary. I was going to give the book to my female cousin who teaches in a boys Yeshiva (there is someone like her in the book), but did not think she would really appreciate the book. As I said, interesting concept, which I got from the book reviews I read.