The Name on the Gravestone

rosenberg

Found at commons.wikimedia.org

“No one even knew his first name, just the initial A.”

“It’s okay, Bubbe. It took a long time, but we finally found your Dad.”

Esther Rosenberg Katz had been waiting for this day since she was old enough to understand her precious Abba was lost in the war. She grew up with her mother, two brothers, numerous uncles, aunts, and cousins but she was always without her Tateshi.

Thanks to years of research and her computer savvy granddaughter, Esther finally found him.

“Are you going to have him exhumed so he can be buried in Israel?”

“No, Elisheva. We’ll leave him here with his comrades. Hashem will restore him to Israel in His time.

Esther reached into her handbag, opened the small container inside, took out the soil she’d brought from the Holy Land and sprinkled it on Abraham Rosenberg’s grave in her final duty as his daughter.

Today at “What Pegman Saw” we are taken to Kanchanaburi, Thailand and specifically to the Kanchanaburi War Cemetery. I found the image above when doing a google search and found it and the cemetery’s history fascinating.

The idea is to use the Pegman Google image to create a piece of flash fiction no more than 150 words long. My word count is 149. I’ve added some links in the body of the story to explain certain words and concept that might not be readily apparent to all readers.

To read other stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.

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18 thoughts on “The Name on the Gravestone

  1. Looking for someone is so difficult. In the tiny town I live in the cemetery is full of very old families and unknown ones, as well. It is easy to see how people can be lost, it is wonderful when they are found!!!

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    • Actually in my Google search, that image just popped up. My wife is Jewish so I thought I’d explore a little more and this story was the result.

      Like

  2. Very good story. Reminds me of a little vial of soil my Granny gave me when I first left home so many many decades ago. I was all of 14, leaving the states to work in a foreign land. Granny gave me the little glass vial of soil, told me that no matter where I was, I would always carry home with me. Somehow, in events that followed, I was separated from the soil. When I woke up in hospital back in the states, my Gran was sitting there by the bed, holding another little vial of soil. This time, she said, ‘No matter where you roam, Mkwa Halaakwa, you carry home with you, even when you don’t.’ I’ve had to replace my vial several times, the last the day I buried Granny, filled a vial from her grave. I keep it in a special place.

    Liked by 1 person

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