Sonia Hamer Essays

We buried my grandmother’s body in a plain pine coffin marked with a single six-pointed star. We wore our kriah ribbons and stopped seven times, poured a shovelful of dirt each into the grave. We held a shiva and lit a candle and said the mourner’s Kaddish all grouped in a circle with tears still wet on our faces. Three and a half months have passed. Life has gone on. That’s where the pig comes in. • • • Leaving to buy the pig, my father asks me to come along.