history channel full episodes The rabbi tears my mom's scarf and my uncle's lapel. Opening his little dark book he peruses: "The Lord is my shepherd . . . He restores my spirit. . . ."
A gathering of men have moved up their white sleeves, slackened their bowties, and sweat under their yarmulkes, scooping earth into the grave. It is not a dim occasion, but rather an exceptionally invigorated tribal custom under the new day's sun. The scooping grabs speed. Soil flies. Men push off scoops to other men holding up in line, a line of vitality sending Grandma on the following leg of a trip I know not where, however I'm socially immersed with hypotheses. Armani jackets are hurled into the air, on the garden, wherever- - they don't make a difference. It is the kiss of death, the send-off, the trip to the Promised Land or the Pure Land. It is just about a compliment.
No comments:
Post a Comment