The Bravest Women I’ve Ever Known

On Monday, August 1st, my grandmother passed away. She was 94 years-old. This is what I had the honor of sharing with friends and family at her funeral — a testament to what she meant to me.

First off — let me apologize for not shaving before speaking at Mommom’s funeral. As my brother and my couson Ben would know, it would make her very mad — she would say “Oh, you are so handsome — if not for that darn beard!” If you knew Mommom, you knew she was the queen of the back-handed compliment.

Mommom was kind, generous and usually one of the nicest women you would ever meet. I am not going to talk about any of that — I think you will hear a lot about that today — hopefully someone will talk about her matzoh balls and shnecken and how she kept us so well fed for all of our lives. Instead I want to talk about a different side of her. I want to talk about her courage and bravery, because Mommom was by far the bravest woman I have ever know.

A little over 2 years ago, I had the privilege of going to Germany — something I have always wanted to do as a second generation German American. I remember going to the Jewish museum in Berlin and sitting in a place called the Garden of Exile. If you haven’t been there, This is a place that is dedicated to all of those forced to leave their German homeland, as it had become a place of hate and violence. It’s beautiful from the outside, but when you enter, it’s skewed lines and tall pillars cause a sense of disorientation and claustrophobia, matching the feelings of those that had lost their sense of culture and safety. Only looking up at the olive trees above gave you a feeling of hope and escape. It took me back for a second- where most monuments are dedicated to those that perished in the holocaust, this was a place dedicated to those that escaped and lived. It shows you that sometimes it takes as much courage to live as it does to die.

I sat in that garden, and I thought about a 15 year old girl coming to New York City — a city I live in, and can scare me on a regular basis. I thought about what NYC was like in the 30’s for a young girl — one that spoke no English and was facing the burden of finding a way to save her parents and brother from the growing threat of a Nazi controlled Germany. I thought about the stories she would tell me — about how much it hurt to be kicked out of school when she was 10. How she wanted to go to Israel, because, despite the vitriol and hatred that was around her, her faith and belief in Judasim had only strengthened. I remembered her stories about translating newspapers for old women in hopes to make enough money to live and save her family, all while trying to learn about this new world she was forced to come to.

Today, I think about how she succeeded. With so much against her, she did save her family. I think about how she created a family of her own … She raised 3 amazing children and my grandfather all at the same time — not an easy feat. She experienced more hatred than anyone ever should, and yet she was able to create a new life, built on hope and love. With so much against her, she persevered and grew. That brave little girl from Niederaula, kicked out of her home and her country, came to the United States on her own, and gave all of us a chance to live, love and grow.

I owe a lot to my family. I received humor from my Dad, I learned compassion from my Mom — but Mommom taught me to be brave. I know that anytime I am scared, or am facing a situation I don’t think I can handle, I can think of that little girl and know she is in me telling me to be brave. Thank you Mommom — I love you!