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In Montefiore Cemetery
- University of Pittsburgh Press
- Chapter
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19 In Montefiore Cemetery Although the dying don’t want to talk much, the dead have all the time in the world. However, a vast indifference has replaced our old relations. Emporium of headstones! Since when do you leave old antipathies mid-sentence? Choose silence over bickering? Who among you has ever taken the long view? Talk to you and talk to the wall Bubbe used to say. Just giving me some of my own medicine? I’ll give you something to whine about, father bristled. Now the only whine comes from a chainsaw across the street. Whoever thought I’d miss those dead-end arguments? So now you want to talk, college girl? I take my case to Moses Montefiore, in whose breast the pained cry of misery and wretchedness found an echo. He says, I was a court Jew and a diplomat in my time. My advice to you: philanthropy through planned giving. Volunteer at the Jewish 20 Home for the Aged. Montefiore, I beseech, Where is everyone? Serve a congregation as lavador, washing and preparing the bodies of the dead for burial. Think globally, act locally. Consider those of all creeds brethren. My dead! I miss you! Won’t you give a sign? Make a joke at my expense? Silence, Montefiore nods, is the restraint of wisdom. No tongue speaks as much ill as one’s own. ...