Franz Kafka's grave is about a hundred metres inside the gate of this cemetery, and it is a plain pale shaft, six-sided and cut to a point. His father Hermann and his mother Julie were buried under the same stone with him, so three names share it. He died of laryngeal tuberculosis in a sanatorium near Vienna in June 1924, at forty, with his novels unpublished. The rest of the cemetery is a nineteenth-century burial ground of the ordinary kind: ivy, iron railings, family tombs, long avenues.
Prague's Jewish community opened the ground in 1890 on more than seven hectares, laid out in numbered square fields, and it is still in use. The scale surprises people who come for one grave: the fields run a long way back, and most are empty of visitors. A memorial to Max Brod stands on the wall opposite Kafka's stone. Most of the community these fields were laid out for was deported and murdered in the 1940s, and many of the graves have had no family to tend them since.