At my grandmother’s funeral, I noticed that my grandmother and my grandfather who predeceased her were buried in plots located in the Socialist Bünd section of the Jewish cemetery in Montreal.

“Grandpa’s buried in the Bünd section?” I asked my mother. “No, he isn’t,” she replied.

“But look; there’s the sign,” I showed her. “It says the Bünd on it.” “Oh, that. That’s nothing.”

“What do you mean ‘That’s nothing’? If he is buried in the Bünd section that must mean something. Was Grandpa a member of the Bünd?” (My questions bore the mark of yearning. If my grandfather had been in the Bünd then perhaps I was a member of some oppositional leftist family and not in fact the child of middle-class, upwardly mobile post-war European immigrants to Canada.)

My mother would have none of it. “No, Grandpa was not a member of the Bünd. Don’t be silly.”

“Then why is he buried in the Bünd section? There must be a reason,” I asked.

“There is no reason. He just bought the plots from them, that’s all.”

“But why? Why would he buy from them if he was not a member?” I persisted. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, it does. They were cheaper,” she said. “The Bünd sold them all together, and could make them available at a good price. Grandpa had just come to Canada and he did not have a lot of money so he bought from them. That’s all.”