His Shivering Life

He thought back. To an earlier time. But the memory was fragmented. In pieces. Collided with other memories. Just out of reach. Accessible to him only during rapid eye movement. In a room. No, in the womb. Then whispered to. During a full moon. In June. Yes. That was the memory. In the womb. He recalled. Something…somebody…shouting. Then hushed whispers. Being yelled at while he was in the womb. Then whispered to. How lonely. Rapid breathing, heart beating, sweats, panic, gasp for breath, alone, shouts and whispers, “Who’s he anyway? What’s he mean to me? What’s he ever done for me?” Then silence. The sound of a clock? Or is it the beating of a heart?  A song? Voices in discord? No harmony. There’s no melody either. And very little rhythm. But sounds nonetheless. Guttural sounds.  Guzzling sounds. Guy sounds. It was Good Friday that day, even though my birth certificate says Easter Sunday. The rabbi had to drive in from Teaneck to perform the mohel. He had a bad back. Garlic breath. Eyes kept blinking because he’d just been fitted with contacts. Told us he didn’t think they ground them properly. Everybody said he looked like he was crying when he snipped my foreskin off. I, for damn sure, was crying. That I remember. Who wouldn’t? Nerves for days down there. And Rabbi Watery Eyes deadens the sensation for me forever. The family celebrates. Hard salami served on rye bread. Herring, lox, bagels, Bailys, challah, creamed cheese, kosher dills, Manischewitz wine, and schnapps. Secular Jew born on Good Friday (or Easter Sunday), take your pick, who wants to argue?

 

Reviews

[Rosie C]

Fascinating piece.

I did enjoy this insightful read. The title caught me by surprise. And it has given me a peak of how strange life can be for those born in such circumstances.

This would make a great short introduction to a chapter of a story.

Captivating, intense and it has got me hooked.