Trees at Death

by Sue Goldstein

Poised at the precipice where life looks at the hole that death creates; where my mother’s body is suspended in the polished casket held by a lowering device, primed for the slow descent. The rabbi intones, declares, prays, and then produces a small plastic packet. Snips off a corner: “it’s from ‘the land of Israel,’” he says, pouring a small amount into my palm. I hold the stolen soil of Palestine and stare into the grave. Through tear-blocked eyes I watch as my hand slowly releases the dirt to fall onto the box.

Continue reading →