Recently, I realized that while I had typed up all of my grandfather’s letters back and forth with his father (despite many of my great grandfather’s responses being in Yiddish and broken English) and my grandmother’s travel diaries (listing all of the things she hated about each country she visited) and all of the children’s stories my grandfather had written for his grandchildren, or at least the ones that I could find, I hadn’t typed up his forty some odd page memoir, even though I was sure I had. We’ve had copies of his handwritten memoir forever, and maybe that’s why I assumed it had been typed up or at least scanned into the computer at some point, but no.
So, since I’m on summer break from work, I decided to type the memoir and give myself the opportunity to hear my grandfather’s voice once again.
I had four grandparents, of course, but my father’s parents were both difficult people with not-so-great English who were unlikely to write down their thoughts in any language. And my mother’s mother, who wrote quite a lot, was not the most generous soul, so reading through her poems and essays, can be, at the very least, claustrophobic.
But my mother’s father was a writer (as well as a teacher) and towards the end of his life he decided to sit down and write an account of his childhood, specifically for his grandchildren. He wrote, early in the pages, that he wished he’d had such an account from his own grandparents, and so he wanted to make sure to do that for us.
For the past few weeks, whenever I’ve had time, and energy, I’ve been sitting in front of the computer transcribing a few pages of my grandfather’s handwriting – hearing his unique voice and how he played with punctuation (a dash here, a comma there, often both at the same time) and how he often repeated words for emphasis, like hard hard, for very hard, or much much, for very much. Interestingly, I’ve noticed this same pattern in Modern Hebrew, where le’at le’at (or slow slow) means very slowly, and maher maher (or fast fast) means very quickly.
I was sure I remembered everything important from having read the memoir years ago, but of course there were so many things I’d forgotten: like his descriptions of the outhouse behind the tenement across the street, and how lucky his family was to live in a tenement that had two indoor toilets per floor; or his description of all of the wonderful food his mother made for holidays, or the deep anxiety she lived with year round and that was finally echoed by everyone else during the High Holidays; and there were all of the stores he accompanied his mother to, when he was only four years old, because his English was better than hers; and the way he described his childhood synagogue on Yom Kippur, where the Cantor would close the windows, to avoid catching a cold from the breeze, leaving many people struggling with the heat, and fainting from the combination of the heat and the hunger from fasting.
My grandfather was a wonderful storyteller; I’ve always known that. And he had strong feelings about the ways his childhood orthodoxy no longer fit him as he grew up and began thinking through his Judaism for himself. And I knew that he loved language and food and his family. None of the information or the wisdom in these pages is new to me, but I am so grateful for the opportunity to dawdle over these pages again and to take my time as I type (because I am a very slow typist) and visit with him again.
In the midst of the typing, my great aunt Ellen, my grandfather’s baby sister, died at the age of one hundred and eight. She had outlived the rest of her siblings by decades, taking on the mantle of family elder and family glue. And with her death it feels like a whole generation is disappearing at once, except for all of the memories they’ve left behind, including this memoir my grandfather wrote just a few years before he died. These forty short pages are giving me a chance to have conversations with him that we never got to have when he was alive, and I am so grateful to have these words to help keep his memory alive, and the memory of his baby sister whom we loved very much, and, who, as a result, we will never really lose.
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my Young Adult novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
rachelmankowitz 
Isn’t it great that you have these writings? I wish my parents could have done that. There are always so many questions after they’re gone, that would have been nice to have answered.
I still have tons of questions, but I feel very lucky to have these pages.
Sorry about your great aunt. vem at that advanced age, a death is a sad lose.
Thank you! She was such a presence, it’s hard to imagine the world going on without her in it.
She’ll never ;leave, Rachel. She’ll always be in your heart
I got misty-eyed reading about your grandfather’s recollections. This is simply beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you! It’s been wonderful and overwhelming at the same time.
Great thoughts and insights from your grandfather.
I feel very lucky!
Forty pages of your grandfather’s memories in his own handwriting–what a gift, Rachel.
It really is!
I love this, Rachel. Having written memoirs from parents and grandparents is so rare, and such a gift.
It really is a gift!
I’ve had the privilege of editing and typesetting not only my father’s letters but also the autobiographies of my mother, my father-in-law, and my maternal grandmother, making them available to the family. Dad’s “war letters” (sent from Italy during WWII) were especially fun to transcribe and annotate. I hope before I die to write at least a short biography for him, and of course his letters provide a lot of material I wouldn’t otherwise have. I do wish I’d paid more attention to his stories, though.
I spend a lot of time trying to remember the things he said when I was little. Having his voice on paper makes it so much easier.
We are lucky, letters exist back to the 1840s for my family. Not a lot but enough to get some insight as well as know where they were at the time and confirm names of relatives.
That’s incredible!
💚💛💜
A beautiful and heartwarming post. Clearly you inherited your grandfather’s gift of being an accomplished writer and storyteller.
Thank you so much!
Savor every opportunity to communicate with your grandfather. Listen to him. He must have been a very wise man.
He was wonderful and I still miss him so many years later.
Sending love and prayers your way, Rachel. 💟
Thank you! To you too!
Wonderful. Thanks!
Thank you!
How lucky you are to have these communications–and photos–Rachel. And how fortunate that your grandfather has you as his devoted scribe.
There are so many more photos in photo albums that we still need to get through, while someone still knows the names of the people in the pictures.
It’s fantastic that you have an insight into your grandfather’s past.
Your great aunt Ellen reminds me of a local elder in Sydney. I was at a meeting yesterday and as she welcomed visitors to her country, she mentioned she has 82 living descendants. She has 11 children and many grand children, great grand children, and great great grand children.
We’re a much smaller family, but she was still at the top of the pyramid.
108!!!!! Wow! May her and your grandfather’s memory both always be a blessing. What a beautiful gift and Legacy he left you ! you sound like you have a lot of his wonderful qualities
thanks for sharing
Thank you!
What a lovely gift he left you!
Absolutely!
Very beautiful, Rachel! Thanks for sharing so many memories of your grandfather!
Thank you!
How lovely for you! My parents, also, toward the end of their lives were persuaded to write down their stories. My mother who was nearly illiterate because her education was interrupted by World War II wrote hers phonetically (in a combination of English, German, and Hungarian). The two notebooks are priceless to me. ❤
Amazing!
I am reminded of the memoir The Invisible Wall Harry Bernstein wrote when he was 93. Thank you for sharing. (My mother was the last of her ten siblings to die; she was 95. There is a certain sadness at the end of an era.)
There really is.
Rachel, I transcribed my grandfather’s 100-year-old love letters to my grandmother recently and felt his thoughts reaching across a century… It is a wonderful experience, isn’t it?
I actually found some love letters between my grandparents, but they were kind of disappointing. Can’t have everything, I guess.
My condolences on the loss of your Great-ant Ellen, as well as what is also the loss, or at the very least feels like the loss, of an entire generation. How wonderful that she lived so long!
I have often wished I had written accounts from my family and am now thinking it may be a gift I can leave my own children.
That’s a great idea. I forced my Mom into doing interviews at some point (which I still need to type up) because she was never going to write the stories down herself. I should probably read those over and plan more questions, now that you remind me.
Where did your grandfather live? I imagine his memoir is riveting. I hope you can share bits of it for us in the future.
He grew up on the lower east side, though the family moved to Brooklyn at some point when they became more successful. His father was in the schmatta business (clothes) and worked crazy hours in the heat. There are also some very sweet memories of time spent in the Catskills int he summer, before the hotels appeared, when it was just a lot of bed and breakfasts.
Thanks. My English ancestors sold dry goods on the lower east side. It must have been a fascinating place.
You’re lucky to have written memoirs from your grandfather. Congratulations to your great aunt for reaching the age of 108 too!
Thank you!
how i wish it was the same for my family
This was beautiful and touching (need a “love love” button)!
Thank you so much!
Oh Rachel you are so blessed. I was the only one in all the grandchildren on both sides that thought any family history was worth preserving and I was to you to be in charge. Your grandfather looks like a man worth knowing. When I think of the history your great aunt lived through I can only imagine. I am sorry you lost her.
Thank you!