Below Ground in Des Moines: The Cemeteries

During the 3 hour and 46 minutes it took me to drive from Minnetonka to the Children of Israel Cemetery in East Des Moines, I had a memory of sitting in our kitchen in New Hope watching out the window for my Grandpa Harry and Grandma Phyllis to arrive from Des Moines. He died in November of 1978 so the memory was from when I was at most five years old. It is one of a handful of memories I have of him. I think they had a brown car. Anyway, it made me think about the distance between Des Moines and Minneapolis. The weather was terrible while I was driving. I had to drive with two hands to keep the SUV going straight at 75. I would guess it took a lot longer in their brown car. And they couldn’t get away from the store for long, so they didn’t come very often.

The last time I travelled those 3 hours and 46 minutes was for Grandma Phyllis’ funeral in 2005. Debbie was pregnant with Adina…we are not superstitious…so even though some Jewish people say that pregnant women shouldn’t be in a cemetery, I found meaning in having her at the funeral…saying good by to one generation while preparing to welcome a newborn. As I drove today, it occurred to me that at that one moment, the presence of…memory of…DNA of seven generations were all gathered in place…the Glendale Cemetery.

My first stop was the Children of Israel cemetery where for 122 years this summer, Bessie/Peshie (nee Sparberg) Rubenstein has lain in rest. She died very young…there are no other deceased family members at that time…and it would be decades later when the next death in the family occurred. By then the community had moved, so she is the only relation in that cemetery. I was not sure what to expect there. To be honest I have been communicating with remote cemeteries in Germany in preparation for our trip and it never occurred to me that there would a cemetery in the Midwest in the same state of historical obscurity. It took me a few emails to even find out who managed the cemetery. Once I found Josh Engman, it all came together. He has the key to the cemetery. We arranged to meet there…there is not an address…just the corner of two streets. Delaware Ave and Easton Blvd. I got there a little early and drove around the neighborhood. I knew that the cemetery was no longer being used, but my assumption was that it is because it is full. I believe there has only been one burial there in 50 years. But it isn’t full. I would guess it is maybe 1/3 full.

I am not sure I can understate how badly I-35 destroyed this neighborhood. Look at this map and then the photos. On the map, the green patch is the cemetery.

*Children of Israel Cemetery. The gate is literally at the corner where the red balloon is.*

*Cemetery is just on the other side of the freeway.*

*The highway basically cuts off the cemetery from the neighborhood.*

*This side of the highway is mostly industrial.*

*Bessie Sparberg. Pesa daughter of Lazar Chaim. We have no death certificate or obituary or any other record of her death.*

On my way from Minnesota, I tried to imagine when the last time someone visited her grave.

There is mystery around Peshie’s death. I have not found any record of her death. And when the headstone was set, perhaps 50 or more years after her death, it would seem no one knew that she had gone by Bessie or even whens she died precisely. Both the birth year and the death year are wrong. I would guess that around the time the family had a stone made for Rueben, they put one up for Bessie. There is no chance, in my opinion, that it was from when she died.

It is a Jewish custom to bring a stone to leave on top of a headstone as a sign that it has been visited. I brought a stone with me, but I also brought something else. Bubbie Mamie, Peshie’s daughter, had a hobby of making pottery art. I have a few things from her. My nightlight from when I was a little kid is a brown owl with orange eyes that light up…actually kind of creepy. Her signature is etched into the bottom. I also had a clay apple that she made and painted. And I broke it about a year ago when I knocked if off my shelf. So when I was looking for something to leave at the cemetery, I grabbed one of the broken shards.

I love cemeteries. So much history. So many stories. So much symbolism. Putting a piece of that broken pottery on her headstone kind of felt like saying, “Hey…you didn’t get to see your daughter grow up. But she did. And she had love and a life and a family…she made pottery…and here I am…5 generations removed from you…you had an impact on the world. I’ve told my kids about you. You are still remembered 122 years since you died.”

I said Kaddish at her grave and Josh locked the cemetery back up.

Then I drove across town to the Glendale cemetery and visited the rest of the family. All in all, today, I visited, Two Great-Great Grandparents, One Step Great-Great Grandparent, Two Great-Grandparents, Two Grandparents, many grand aunts, uncles cousins. As far as I know, there are no known descendants living in Des Moines anymore. In my family, in these cemeteries, there are four generations in two branches who dwelled in Des Moines from 1889 to 2009. 120 Years. May we be blessed with 120 years. May our deeds be remembered for 122.