Der Totentanz

Have any of you ever been to an Irish wake?

No, no, I don’t mean a wake that happens in Letterkenny or Duleek. I’m talking about those wakes, possibly mythic now mind you, where everyone’s rat-arsed and, by turns, weepy and euphoric in their memories of the dearly departed.

They’re all dancing to Uncle Aedan’s rendition of Jailhouse Rock, remembering the last time Aunt Letitia was in stir for offenses against the crown...and shit.  And then the stories, so many stories, flattering and not so much, good times and not hardly, all had with the much-too-soon-to-that-cold-grave friend.

This, THIS is how I want to go out. Yep, I’m just THAT anal -- so much so that I’m aiming to plan my so-long-and-thanks-for-all-the-fish party.

Possibly, I’m just THAT much into having a good time and don’t want to quit well after the rest of me has laid down for the last time. Possibly I’m a control freak. Probably both. Hell, I’ll already have exited stage left (stage left...of course) so I won’t know who's dancing, who's zooming who and what tunes are being spun but I want to imagine.

I’ve never actually been to so rollicking a send off. The ones within my family have been informal but staid -- Irish and Italian sides both.

Apart from that, well, I paid a shiva visit one evening after Hillel’s father died. I had no idea what to expect though I’d anticipated a kind of a solemn-ish version of the, possibly mythic, Irish wake. You know, instead of jitter bugging out to Bei Mir Bist du Schoen there’d be thought filled, quiet Waltzing Matildas with murmured wishes for peace in Hebrew and Yiddish. Possibly I've got that tuneage backwards but mebbe not.

So then -- back at sitting shiva. Yes, yes on the much activity and wonderful support from all. There was a quorum times 5 packed into the living room -- a total SRO happening (Aba Bromberg was a rabbi and entirely molto fab dude -- the man had a following). The joint was packed to the rafters -- children spinning and whizzing by with Imas chasing after them. Much Kaddish went down as well as, I imagine, a bunch of other stuff too. Dunno -- it was my first time and I don’t know much Hebrew. (that last bit being an understatement of cosmic proportion.)

No dancing and raucous storytelling though, at least not while I was there. I’d kinda had my heart set on a mazurka or, possibly, a boureka. Mmmmm.

Not sure if it was then or at the bris of one of his sons but I have a distinct memory of he and I hustling off to the kitchen for a shot or three of Jami.  You know, to calm the nerves, celebrate, mourn and....something.


Eh, we probably did that on all those occasions. We’re traditionalists!