My aunt and I recited the Kaddish prayer together; my uncle didn't, and neither did the other uncle.
And regardless, my father couldn't, because some 20 years ago he decided he would rather live in the hut he built in the Australian jungle rather than take part in the routine of his family's life.
We stood, 12 people, two meters apart, around my grandmother's grave. Even if there were no social distancing orders, the funeral would have had the same format. It represented who we are symbolically speaking. It is a symbol of a family that prefers to be far away than closely knitted.
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For the past three generations now, we have passed through our genes the inability to forgive and the lack of compassion. This desire not to forgive and never have compassion is irresistible, and each one of us knows it so well without a limit.
Even at my grandmother's home, where we gathered after the funeral, we did what do so well: brandish with pride our decades-old hatreds that have pulled us apart from each other.
My uncle got up from his seat with great fanfare as soon as I sat across from him, and when my grandmother's former husband got into the kitchen, all of the people who were there got out in a flash.
Like a flock of birds, they had suddenly become scared of where they were, and just flew up up and away, although in different directions.
Then, after entering the car to pick up my daughter, my breathing was heavy but I felt a sense of relief because at least I had become an author. The harder life gets, the better things are, I thought to myself, already planning to use this phrase for the first paragraph of my next novel.
I no longer talk about how privileged I am for having been able to send my daughter in the emergency education services.
That's because Chancellor Angela Merkel announced last week that schools would reopen and have a scaled-back schedule, except preschools, which will stay closed for now. This has led to a wave of anger among parents that has swept Germany.
I have heard of people suffocating other people for things that are less important than preschools. So I have made sure to take things easy, to look with silence, but I can't resist the urge to enjoy the schadenfreude of seeing of the throngs of people lamenting on social media that they want preschools to reopen.
These are the same people who only six weeks ago demanded outright that all the social distancing rules be strictly enforced.
I didn't think that the human race would act any differently after discovering that it was not so easy to lift measures that people have collectively asked to impose once they are enforced for political reasons too. But even I am repeatedly shocked just how stupid people are.
For the past several days, buffoons that are experts in forgetting history have been asking me to come with them to an online protest of parents who want schools to reopen. Rather than answer, I lean back and stand comfortably in my position, the position of being skeptical of an establishment. Only several weeks ago, this approach guaranteed that I would get the hostility of those who conform to the system, the psychos of the Heil Corona.
I believe this approach is important and this was made clear yesterday. My daughter and I went to a public park in our neighborhood. We wanted to eat our lunch in the sun. Moments after we had arrived, a police car stopped next to the park. Five officers got out and asked us to leave immediately.
I collected our stuff and got my daughter, and right in front of the officers I let her climb the fence, the fence we had breached. I helped her climb over by pushing her bum, and then one of the officers said: "It would better if you taught your child not to climb on fences!" To which I answered, "No, actually no. I teach her that rules must be broken."
