Category: Unit 1: Narrative

  As a four year old, my best friend was an 80 year old woman; my grandma Lakie. Everyday, my dad brought me to her mid 20th century time capsule of an apartment, which I considered to be a second home. Every morning when I came, I saw her in a floral bright colored shmatta (old house dress in Yiddish) carpet sweeping the rug in the living room. Then, when she heard me open the door, I saw her short white hair, wrinkled face, and pleasant smile greet me. “Shalom khamudi, shalom boychik, ma nishma” (hello cutie, hello my boy, how are you) she said as I ran into her arms. 

Everyday, I was enchanted with tales of her as a young girl, running through the streets and Jerusalem and the characters at the Shuk (market). My grandfather, alev hashalom (may he rest in peace in Hebrew) my namesake, who was the director of a children’s marching band, and had a strong passion for music. And the hardship of raising that little manyak (asshole in hebrew) who would become my dad.

 The mix of Hebrew, Yiddish, and English she spoke remains music to my ears to this very day, my mama loshen, mother tongue in Yiddish, as she would say. One of the classics was “Ata rotze nosh?” (You want in Hebrew, a snack in yiddish) To this day, I can still hear her singing along to the catchy tunes of Shoshana Damari and Yaffa Yarkoni. Even during the period when my parents’ relationship was coming to a very severe and bitter end, and my dad became a much less frequent character in my life, my grandma became a source of normalcy, comfort, and stability that I couldn’t easily access at home. In that sense, I really did have an idyllic childhood. However, one day this would abruptly come to an end. 

I remember it like it was yesterday, January 22, 2014 7:57 AM. I was in third grade that snowy morning, and my mom barged into the living room to wake me and my brothers up. I was very adamant about not attending school because I woke up late, and I dreaded walking to school by myself in the tundra of a New York City snowstorm. However, several minutes later, my mom received a call from my dad, who had since become friends, saying grandma was in the hospital, and therefore, we didn’t have to go to school that day. Relief flooded over me that we were released from school, and I got to spend time with my grandma. My dad apparently said that she fell off the bed that morning, and was in immense pain, not necessarily life threatening. Knowing that, in no particular rush, we headed over to Kings County Hospital to bring her home. When we arrived, some nurses pulled my parents aside while my brothers and I sat in the waiting room. I remember being very annoyed because I knew Grandma Lakie hated being in hospitals, and I knew that she just wanted to be home. 

Then, the nurses called us into the room with my parents. I remember sitting on a velvet leather couch, with my dad on the phone with my uncle. Moments later, I started grabbing the arm of the chair and beginning to cry. I realized that this was it, I would never get to see her again. I would never get to hear her warm laugh when my dad tried to speak his regrettable Hebrew to her. I would never get to hear another oy vey or oy va voy from her. I would never get to hear her tell my dad “Gey kakn oyfn yam” (go shit in the ocean in Yiddish, a very common expression). I would never eat her food again. I would never see her wrinkled yet beautiful face ever again. That’s it, she’s gone, and I never even got to say goodbye. I never got to tell her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me, and how empty I would feel without her. 

  Then, my dad pulled me out of the room into the hallway. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember tears almost coming down his eyes (the only time I’ve ever seen him cry) as he told me it was all going to be ok and that we will cope with this loss together as a family. Shortly after we returned to the room, I remember the doctor asking us if we wanted to see her, and that the rabbi was already there. A sheet covered her head, and continued weeping hopelessly.

After my grandma died, my family became closer than ever. To cope with the death of imenu ahuva (our beloved matriarch), we spent more time with each other, telling stories about the many ways she impacted us. And in particular, my dad became my closest friend. We had our little ongoing jokes that continued for years. I remember he would ask me what I learned in school, and I would always say “You know.” to which he would quickly reply, “No, I don’t know. That’s why I asked”. Or everytime he asked what I wanted for dinner, I would reply “I don’t know, what do we have?” I don’t think he ever understood their jokes, but I always found them funny. For many years, my dad and I became inseparable. We both realized that as Lakie’s two favorite men, we needed to stick together to honor her memory. While my mom was at work and my brothers became teenagers, too cool to even glance at their embarrassing younger brother, it felt as though it was me and my dad against the world. 

During the period when I aged out of childhood and began the very arduous journey of adolescence, I began to prepare for my bar mitzvah.While simultaneously learning the Hebrew prayers and Torah portion, I had to write a speech about the values the portion, and how some important principles I follow in my own life. Immediately, I thought of my family. If it wasn’t for my grandmother, I wouldn’t have such a strong appreciation for my language and culture. And finally if not for my dad, what would I have. I wouldn’t have my determination, stubbornness, humor, enjoyment of life, desire to get out of the house and do things, to make great friends and cherish them for life, and many more. My Bar Mitzvah gave me the opportunity to reflect on the previous chapter of my life, and I stepped into the new one. I also came to the realization that the death of my grandmother made me appreciate my family and all they have provided me. I know that she would have been very proud to see me on the bima (stage) reading my haftorah. Although I still miss her everyday, and I always tell stories about her, with the love of my family, it has gotten a little easier to say Zey Gezunt (goodbye).

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

English 2150

September 12 2023

Writing Exercise Reflections

Writing Mimesis: After I finished writing a passage from one of my favorite books, We Stand Divided by Daniel Gordis, I was more focused on the words I was using, and wanted to sound as professional as possible. This is most likely because this is a nonfiction book, which makes me feel very intelligent. Therefore, I most likely wanted to reflect that sentiment in my writing by using very sophisticated language. I remember on several occasions googling synonyms for words to sound as intellectual as possible, like a classical author. I wouldn’t necessarily want to implement this method into my writing style because I did think it was a waste of time, and instead of writing down a passage, I would simply rather read something academic or intellectual to get the creative juices flowing. 

Writing following Hormesis: For this stress exercise, I decided to go on a run, something I usually never do because I have terrible stamina. When I returned home, I had no intention of writing more because I was exhausted, but I wrote anyway, simply because I wanted an A. I definitely think that rushed, inconsiderate style was prominent in my writing style for this activity because I was just writing for the sake of writing. When looking back on what I wrote, it sounds very amateurish, and in certain instances, incoherent. I definitely do not prefer this style because when I write, I like to be comfortable, and I simply felt very out of my comfort zone. I would say however that when I was on my run, I thought of some ideas for what I wanted to write about. When I am alone, in the shower, walking home, etc, I have time to think, and oftentimes, some of my best ideas have come from these sessions. So, in that aspect, it was somewhat helpful.

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

English 2150

September 12, 2023

Teachable Moment Abstract

This is the story about how a child has to deal with an irreconcilable loss, and how he comes to appreciate his family and culture. The boy spent a significant amount of time with his Israeli-American grandmother, who taught him Jewish culture. However, when she unexpectedly dies, her family has to learn how to cope with this death, and how to continue on without their matriarch. However, as the boy got older, he started to truly understand and value the lessons of Jewish life that his grandmother told him, and became determined to study for his Bar Mitzvah to make his grandmother proud. While preparing for his Bar Mitzvah speak, the boy looked back on his life, and saw how everyone in his family positively impacted him, and made him into the person he became.

Last year in high school, my teachers revered me as a good writer with some improvements that needed to be made. However, since I have not written anything academic since then, I fear that my writing skills have somewhat diminished. I hope in this class to acquire a better utilization of vocabulary, and a superior system of writing papers. Previously, I would procrastinate until the last day, and try my best to write anything intelligent. However, this year I would like to better evolve my writing and keep an organized structure to my life.