Russian-style tombstones. The portraits of the dead were etched on the granite. Some of the smiles were hideously spooky, perhaps even too scary for a Halloween midnight cemetery visit. I didn’t know any of these faces. These were the graves of recent émigrés, most of whom had come to this country already middle-aged or old. They had tried to eke out at least a few final pleasant years in the paradise of the United States. “What about here?” I asked my uncle, the designated decider of all things practical in my family.
“No way!”
“Why not?”
“Look at who is already buried next door.”
“Sam Wasserman. So?” I looked at the tombstone, the letters in Hebrew telling me his birthplace. I thought of him years ago standing on the
bima
, the synagogue president for what seemed like forever. “He was born in Poland, like you, like your sister. He’s
landsleit
.”
“That son of a bitch was the reason Cynthia and I couldn’t get married in
shul
. We had to rent a hall because of that bastard.”
“You’ll be buried thirty yards away.”
“Yeah, but every time I visit my sister I need to be reminded of him? And all those years not letting your mother read the Torah because she was a woman. Like we were Orthodox or something. Like we were still back in Poland. Your mother knew
Tanach
better than that bastard ever did!”
I was not going to get anywhere with my uncle in this mood. “OK. It’s important to you, I know. Pick a place.”
My uncle walked between the sparely populated tombstones, carefully inspecting all the names. If he was cold, it didn’t show. But me? After twenty-five years in Tuscaloosa, I was shivering despite the long cashmere coat borrowed from my uncle. He stopped and started again and again. Finally, a look of satisfaction appeared on his face. “Here. The Ornsteins. They will be good neighbors.”
CHAPTER 7
From A Lifetime in Mathematics by Rachela Karnokovitch: Hunger
T here are far too many people who know this feeling, far too many children. At any given time on this planet, maybe a billion people will be experiencing what we felt. Hunger. I hope you’ve never experienced it. I don’t mean, “I’m hungry. I need to open the refrigerator and get something.” That kind of signal is actually good, your body telling you it is tuned to your needs.
I mean pure hunger, not a transmission from your brain to get out of your chair and find some fuel for your body. Pure hunger is something different entirely. I’ll try to explain to those who haven’t felt it, but doubt I’ll succeed.
I want you to follow my instructions. Take your eyes off this page when I tell you to do so. Look at the room around you. Wherever you are, simply open your eyes and look, listen, smell, and think whatever thoughts come your way. Maybe, since you likely are a mathematician if you are reading this, you are thinking about a problem you have been incrementally inching toward completing. I know you and how you think, don’t I?
Take it all in. Then imagine all of your awareness disappearing. Your eyes work, yes, but they don’t really see anything. Your brain won’t let you process such information. The smells, they are gone, too. Your ears, they work simply to warn you of danger. Your thoughts, all of them are so uncomplicated and pure. Your mind cares nothing for mathematics. All is about the numbness inside you. This is what I mean by the purity of hunger.
You are truly in hibernation. Everything has slowed, because any processing, physical or mental, requires energy, and that, if you are truly nutrient-deprived, is precisely what you don’t possess.
Stop here. Now take your eyes off this page. Forget about my story. Try to imagine this purity of absence. Do it. Try to do this for five minutes.
Now you’re back. Maybe you can understand now, although I sincerely doubt it. But if you have managed to feel just a sliver of pure hunger, it’s horrible, isn’t it? Also, it’s not like
“No way!”
“Why not?”
“Look at who is already buried next door.”
“Sam Wasserman. So?” I looked at the tombstone, the letters in Hebrew telling me his birthplace. I thought of him years ago standing on the
bima
, the synagogue president for what seemed like forever. “He was born in Poland, like you, like your sister. He’s
landsleit
.”
“That son of a bitch was the reason Cynthia and I couldn’t get married in
shul
. We had to rent a hall because of that bastard.”
“You’ll be buried thirty yards away.”
“Yeah, but every time I visit my sister I need to be reminded of him? And all those years not letting your mother read the Torah because she was a woman. Like we were Orthodox or something. Like we were still back in Poland. Your mother knew
Tanach
better than that bastard ever did!”
I was not going to get anywhere with my uncle in this mood. “OK. It’s important to you, I know. Pick a place.”
My uncle walked between the sparely populated tombstones, carefully inspecting all the names. If he was cold, it didn’t show. But me? After twenty-five years in Tuscaloosa, I was shivering despite the long cashmere coat borrowed from my uncle. He stopped and started again and again. Finally, a look of satisfaction appeared on his face. “Here. The Ornsteins. They will be good neighbors.”
CHAPTER 7
From A Lifetime in Mathematics by Rachela Karnokovitch: Hunger
T here are far too many people who know this feeling, far too many children. At any given time on this planet, maybe a billion people will be experiencing what we felt. Hunger. I hope you’ve never experienced it. I don’t mean, “I’m hungry. I need to open the refrigerator and get something.” That kind of signal is actually good, your body telling you it is tuned to your needs.
I mean pure hunger, not a transmission from your brain to get out of your chair and find some fuel for your body. Pure hunger is something different entirely. I’ll try to explain to those who haven’t felt it, but doubt I’ll succeed.
I want you to follow my instructions. Take your eyes off this page when I tell you to do so. Look at the room around you. Wherever you are, simply open your eyes and look, listen, smell, and think whatever thoughts come your way. Maybe, since you likely are a mathematician if you are reading this, you are thinking about a problem you have been incrementally inching toward completing. I know you and how you think, don’t I?
Take it all in. Then imagine all of your awareness disappearing. Your eyes work, yes, but they don’t really see anything. Your brain won’t let you process such information. The smells, they are gone, too. Your ears, they work simply to warn you of danger. Your thoughts, all of them are so uncomplicated and pure. Your mind cares nothing for mathematics. All is about the numbness inside you. This is what I mean by the purity of hunger.
You are truly in hibernation. Everything has slowed, because any processing, physical or mental, requires energy, and that, if you are truly nutrient-deprived, is precisely what you don’t possess.
Stop here. Now take your eyes off this page. Forget about my story. Try to imagine this purity of absence. Do it. Try to do this for five minutes.
Now you’re back. Maybe you can understand now, although I sincerely doubt it. But if you have managed to feel just a sliver of pure hunger, it’s horrible, isn’t it? Also, it’s not like
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