The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
God makes me lie down in green pastures.
God leads me beside the still waters to revive my spirit.
God guides me on the right path, for that is God’s nature.
Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no harm, for You are with me.
Your rod and your staff comfort me.
You prepare a banquet for me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and kindness shall be my portion all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever.
As I read this passage aloud, I finally understand the meaning of the line about the valley of the shadow of death. Death is always present, always lurking. Death walks beside the living. I think about Samuel L. Jackson’s monologue in Pulp Fiction and how he finally understood it, too, and in the midst of my trying to recall exactly what he said about it being some badass shit he used to say before he killed a motherfucker, it’s time to uncover the headstone.
We kneel down and remove the heavy rocks weighing down the corners of the thin fabric that reads Property of Congregation Emanu El. There it is. A thick piece of engraved granite that will sit in this spot forever. We all take a moment to absorb it. A color photo of you is in the bottom left corner, the photo of you wearing the blue Maui cap that was taken at UCB, where you’re looking so happy. On the opposite corner is the word “Harris” in the shape of the Phish logo, designed by your dear friend Rob Schrab. It’s the same logo Matt and Eby wear on their shirts today:
There is a menorah positioned top center, sandwiched in between two Hebrew letters that mean Here lies. Hebrew on the headstone was important to Dad. The text beneath it reads:
HARRIS LEE WITTELS
APRIL 20, 1984—FEBRUARY 19, 2015
THANKS FOR THE LAUGHS
After removing the veil, we say the Mourner’s Kaddish together. As much as I hate the awkwardness of choral reading, there is something so soothing about the ritual of a group of people saying Kaddish together.
Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba.
B’alma di v’ra chirutei
v’yamlich malchutei,
b’chayeichon uv’yomeichon
uv’chayei d’chol beit Yisrael,
baagala uviz’man kariv. V’im’ru: Amen.
Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach
l’alam ul’almei almaya.
Yitbarach v’yishtabach v’yitpaar
v’yitromam v’yitnasei,
v’yit’hadar v’yitaleh v’yit’halal
sh’mei d’kud’sha b’rich hu,
l’eila min kol birchata v’shirata,
tushb’chata v’nechemata,
daamiran b’alma. V’imru: Amen.
Y’hei sh’lama raba min sh’maya,
v’chayim aleinu v’al kol Yisrael.
V’imru: Amen.
Oseh shalom bimromav,
Hu yaaseh shalom aleinu,
v’al kol Yisrael. V’imru: Amen.
Exalted and hallowed be God’s great name in the world which God created, according to plan.
May God’s majesty be revealed in the days of our lifetime and the life of all Israel—speedily, imminently, to which we say: Amen.
Blessed be God’s great name to all eternity.
Blessed, praised, honored, exalted, extolled, glorified, adored, and lauded be the name of the Holy Blessed One, beyond all earthly words and songs of blessing, praise, and comfort. To which we say: Amen.
May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and all Israel.
To which we say: Amen.
May the One who creates harmony on high, bring peace to us and to all Israel.
To which we say: Amen.
When it’s over, we line the headstone with stones we’ve brought. In Judaism, it’s customary to bring stones in lieu of flowers. Flowers eventually die; a stone does not. Earlier today, Iris decorated the stone I brought in this gold paint pen that wasn’t washable and is now essentially hennaed all over her body. The stone is smooth and gray. It’s the one she took from outside your house in Los Feliz when we went last year to clean it out. So now a piece of Los Feliz is resting on top of you.
Mom lays down an evil eye and a rock with an engraved frog on it. She collects frogs. She has hundreds of them. Neither of us ever understood why. (Please note: I still don’t.)
Taal bends down and kisses your headstone with his lips. Very Taal.
Dad walks away and sits on a bench, alone. Very Dad.
I quote a couple of lines from the graveyard scene in Steel Magnolias in a thick Southern accent: “He will always be young, he will always be beautiful.” Very me.
And then this odd thing happens: we just start having a totally normal conversation, standing over your grave. Matt throws out some ideas for the name of a new pizza restaurant he’s opening. We all vote for Twittels Pizza after your Twitter handle, @twittels, a clever mash-up of Twitter and Wittels. You really were top-notch at the internet.
Mom tells us there’s a whole new body of research that AA doesn’t work and medical intervention is the way to go with heroin addiction. I ask her why she keeps reading about this stuff. She says she can’t stop. I ask if it makes her feel better. She says it makes her feel much worse.
“If he just could have held out for a couple more years,” she says for the hundredth time.
“Mom, he was who he was. He was always gonna do what he was gonna do.”
Taal tells us that the main character in Louis C.K.’s new internet series is named Horace Wittel. In the series, the character died a year ago. They apparently take great pains in the show to enunciate the word Wittel like we Wittels have to do.
We talk about Friday Night Lights, the box set of which the boys have brought and laid next to your headstone along with a Phish CD, a children’s book called God Gave Us You, dozens of fresh flowers, and some tiny, plastic toy soldiers, red and blue and yellow.
We kiss our fingertips and touch them to the headstone.
We walk back to the car to lovingly stare at the sleeping baby.
Then we all drive to Kenny & Ziggy’s Delicatessen, where we drown our sorrows in piles of corned beef and heaps of chopped liver.
