Young Writers Society

“Yitgadal V’Yitkadash Shmey Raba”, May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified, the first few words of the Mourner’s Prayer fill my ears as I am sitting next to my mother in synagogue for possibly the last time. A single tear. “B’Alma Di Bra Krootay”, in the world that He created as He willed, I stare at the men in the congregation, mostly elderly, and watch as they uniformly chant, as if trying to resurrect their lost loved ones. “V’yamlich Malchootay”, May He give reign to His kingship, I glance to my left at the lone speaker in the women’s section, a middle-aged woman clutching her prayer book for dear life, trying to get all the Aramaic words in. I break out in tears and as soon as the prayer ends, my feet meet the door, leaving services before they are finished. Hidden away in the bathroom stall, face red in hands full of tears, I think only one thought. I’m too young to be saying the Mourner’s Prayer.

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We’re setting up our weekly Saturday past-time: Mahjong. My sister, the one who unfortunately loses most games contemplates whether or not she can handle another weekend of coming in last. I tell her everyone has to play this week. There's a tacit and solemn understanding as we sit staring at each other. We start setting up the tiles before any one of us can spend too much time meditating over that word. When the game has one less person than the requisite number, the other players can play their titles without looking at them. Dead wall.

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I can't even sneeze without being preoccupied about looming news about my mother. She gave me her sneeze. It's loud, boisterous, coquettish even--demanding the rooms attention, kind of like her. I first became aware of my inherited phenotype in grade school. When my mom found out how embarrassed I felt about it she told me about how these reflexes from her body would wake up the other students sleeping in her classes, as if this was supposed to be comforting in any way. In high school I learned to suppress many things--social aloofness, judgemental thoughts and resistance to change. Doing the same with my sneezes wasn't something I consciously thought of until recently. Somehow the sounds that came out of me transformed and with them the comments; from "you have quite the sneeze" to having a sneeze described as 'dainty'. Part of me wonders if I unconsciously held back from fear of being attention provoking while another part of me acknowledges I was trying to cheat biology. Holding back the identical sneezes meant harvesting my mother's influence on my personality before it got revealed to the public. And now it's flu season, and the sneezes are back and so are thoughts of her. I'd sneeze all day if it would keep her here.

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