Northern Commemoration

Image: DEBORAH BRASH

The Kaddish prayer is not only a thrice-daily means of memorializing a loved one, but also a literary framework that myriad writers have used for telling their stories of loss, from Leon Wieseltier’s dazzlingly vast “Kaddish” to Ari Goldman’s deeply moving and personal “Living a Year of Kaddish.”

In the case of Isa Milman’s “Prairie Kaddish,” however, no relative is being mourned, no immediate family member is lost. Rather, the volume, an eclectic mix of poetry, archival material, photographs and short recollections, is an homage to people the author never knew, who inhabited a little-known corner of Jewish history.

When Milman, a Canadian poet and visual artist, learned that Eastern European Jews settled as pioneers in the prairies of Saskatchewan in the early 1900s, she was shocked that she’d had no idea of their existence. Moved to know more, she decided to visit the Lipton Hebrew Cemetery in Saskatchewan, where the graves are ragged and scattered, “not a single tree/no tended lawns/not even a pebble/to mark a visit.”

In a departure from traditional Jewish burial practices, many of the graves are covered by small grave houses, which further piqued Milman’s interest in the various ways we memorialize the dead — in wood and stone and in words. Eventually, Milman undertook a pilgrimage through these towns and fields, mining the lives of these unlikely Jewish pioneers.

Among the most striking works in the book is “A Few Restrictions Regarding the Jews of Romania, 1885-1900”:

“How long is the winter season?” The straightforward answer appears on one page — “The snow starts around November and disappears around the beginning of April” — only to be undercut on the next page with a list of translations from Yiddish:

Ultimately, the book’s greatest strength lies in the way it forges these and other connections: between life and death, between past and present, between the native people’s burial practices and the Jewish burial customs. Ironically, the only place where Milman’s artistry falters is in a section called “Bridges,” where her descriptions of the time spent compiling the volume make overly concrete some of the connections that are already so artfully drawn. But the book quickly regains its footing, and “Bridges” becomes little more than a detour on the way to the final poems for the men, women and children who died on the prairie and whose graves she visited.

She imagines Mendele, a boy whose grave house door bears a padlock. “Could you not bear to be cooped up for long?” Milman wonders, imagining a fidgety schoolboy in need of occasional excursions. “I want to know who remembers you with kaddish. Who comes with the padlock’s key?” And there is “Mrs. W Speaks From Her Suicide Grave House,” which evokes a woman whose decision to kill herself, Milman learned, was attributed to the fact that her husband was away for long periods of time: “They argued over what to do with me, planted me as if I were a plague, but honestly, what did I care?”

With the exception of the final poem, “Circle Back the Other Way: Square Dance Jamboree,” which clashes with the volume’s overall tone and unnecessarily attempts to draw together the various pieces of the book, these renderings powerfully imagine and memorialize those who remain largely unknown. Ultimately, this is a kaddish for the wounds of history and for the inability to ever fully record and transmit what came before us. Resounding throughout the book is the urge to uncover who these people were and what their lives were. Milman succeeds not only in providing some answers to these questions, but also in stirringly asking them anew.

Tova Mirvis is the author of “The Ladies Auxiliary” (W.W. Norton, 1999) and “The Outside World” (Alfred A. Knopf, 2004). Her third novel, “Inside Voices,” will be published next year.

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Tova Mirvis

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