Washing the Dead

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Authors: Michelle Brafman

BOOK: Washing the Dead
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ADVANCE PRAISE

“Intimate, big-hearted, compassionate, and clear-eyed, Michelle Brafman’s novel turns secrets into truths and the truth into the heart of fiction.”

— Amy Bloom,

author of
Lucky Us
and
Away

“Heartfelt and genuine,
Washing the Dead
never betrays the complicated truths of family and tradition.”

— David Bezmozgis,

author of
Natasha and Other Stories
and
The Betrayers

“From roots in one religious tradition comes a tale of emotional redemption for all of us. Michelle Brafman’s astonishing compassion for all human frailty infuses this story about the need for truth and the promise of forgiveness.”

— Helen Simonson,

author of
Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand

“An illuminating and intricately layered novel about the complicated legacies that pass from mother to daughter, and about the ways that understanding our own history helps make us who we are. Brafman is an insightful writer who never falters or flinches in her quest to uncover the hearts of her characters.”

— Carolyn Parkhurst,

author of
The Dogs of Babel
and
The Nobodies Album

“A rich tale of love, friendship, yearning, and forgiveness. Brafman’s beautifully wrought prose quickly cuts to the heart of things: how to live, how to love, and how to care for the dead.”

— Jessica Anya Blau,

author of
The Summer of Naked Swim Parties
and
The Wonder Bread Summe
r

“Like a Jewish Anne Lamott, Brafman reels you in with warmth, depth, and heart. Infused with lush detail about Orthodox Jewish life in the Midwest,
Washing the Dead
is the story of three generations of women and family secrets that threaten to unravel. A charming and original spiritual page-turner about love, forgiveness, and family life.”

— Susan Coll,

author of
The Stager
and
Acceptance
and events and programs director at Politics & Prose

“Sensual and spiritual, shot with betrayals,
Washing the Dead
plumbs the destructive power of secrets across three generations of mothers and daughters. In haunting prose, Brafman offers a riveting glimpse into Orthodox Jewish life and breathtaking insight into what it means to forgive.”

— Dylan Landis,

author of
Rainey Royal
and
Normal People Don’t Live Like This

“With the knife blade of her prose honed razor sharp, Brafman skillfully dissects the bonds of mother-daughter relationships…. She weaves together the sacred and the profane, reverberating silences, exile and return, atonement and forgiveness with the tenderness of a mother braiding the hair of a beloved daughter.”

— Faye Moskowitz,

author of
A Leak in the Heart
and
Her Face in the Mirror: Jewish Women on Mothers & Daughters


Washing the Dead
made me ache. Barbara Blumfield’s longing is palpable on every single page: for her mother’s love, for her past, and for re-admittance into a world from which she has been exiled. What a spectacular debut.”

— T. Greenwood,

author of
Bodies of Water
and
The Forever Bridge

“Brafman offers a fresh, vital narrative about guilt, love, loss, and the necessity of wrestling with the dark angel of a painful family legacy until it blesses you. June Pupnick, one of the most bewitching and problematic fictional mothers I’ve come across in years, makes a regular habit of escaping her life by ‘gobbling up’ novels ‘without chewing.’
Please
resist gobbling up this novel. Slow down, savor the richness and generosity of Brafman’s storytelling, and then buy a copy for your most deserving friend.”

— Margaret Meyers,

author of
Swimming in the Congo
and
Dislocation

“Throughout these pages, moving in shadow, runs the terrific responsibility of forgiveness and redemption. Brafman has done us all a true mitzvah by writing this beautiful book.”

— Robert Bausch,

author of
A Hole in the Earth
and
Far as the Eye Can See

“A riveting and humane account of family pain passed from one generation to the next…. How do we begin to forgive those who injured us? Start by reading Brafman’s unflinching and inspiring novel.”

— Mary Kay Zuravleff,

author of
Man Alive!
and
The Frequency of Souls

Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Brafman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Prospect Park Books

2359 Lincoln Avenue

Altadena, CA 91001

www.prospectparkbooks.com

Distributed by Consortium Book Sales & Distribution
www.cbsd.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brafman, Michelle.

  
Washing the dead : a novel / by Michelle Brafman.

pages cm

  
ISBN 978-1-9388-4952-7

1.
  
Jewish women--Fiction. 2.
  
Family secrets--Fiction. 3.
  
Jewish fiction.
  
I. Title.

  
PS3602.R344415W38 2015

  
813›.6--dc23

2014041278

Cover design by Lissa Rivera.

Book layout and design by Amy Inouye, Future Studio.

For Sally, Bertha, Rita, Lotta, and Gabriela

Contents

The First Washing

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Second Washing

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

The Final Washing

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Acknowledgments

About the Author

THE FIRST WASHING

You don’t look back along time but down through it, like water.

— Margaret Atwood,
Cat’s Eye

1

December 1993

W
hen I was eighteen weeks pregnant, I made a confession to my sonographer.

I lay on the exam table in a maternity bra and thin cotton robe, veiny belly bare, eyes fixed on the ceiling poster of a kitten with a diamond-studded collar. “This morning,” I told her, “I prayed that God had spared a girl from landing in my womb.”

She took off her glasses and slid them into the pocket of her lab coat. “Let’s talk this out, hon,” she said. Her name was Bridget, and she had an elegant neck and an impressive overbite, a Class II malocclusion—the daughter of an orthodontist notices such things.

I closed my robe and inched my rear up the table, wanting to talk. I was not a sharer by nature. I did, however, relish the company of emotional close talkers, like my friend Sheri Jacobstein, who often punctuated her sentences with “my shrink says.” Last week after our birthing class, we had lunch at Heinemann’s—we’d both been craving their grilled cinnamon bread—and I soaked up her description of her mother’s new obsession with step aerobics. I never spoke of my mother.

Bridget grabbed the chair typically occupied by my husband, Sam, and wheeled up to the examining table. “Where’s Dad today?”

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