My Jewish Grandmother

Reading the title you would think that I’m Jewish but I am not. Although I have been mistaken for being Jewish all my life, I’m a Gentile. However growing up in a very Jewish neighborhood, it is hard to not know a little bit about Jewish traditions.

Part of the reason I know these things is that one of our neighbors growing up was a nice Jewish lady. She used to work in a bakery so she would always give us cakes, bread, and cookies from the bakery. My mom would cook stuff and we’d bring it over to her. She would give us Christmas gifts and my mom would give her something for Hanukkah. It was a really nice relationship, even if she would tell me I was gaining weight or that I looked tired.
In the last year she had an accident while she was outside of her apartment that really freaked her out. She had confined herself to stay inside with the help of an aide. I hadn’t seen her in a very long time until this morning.

I was getting back from running an errand and I saw her walking up the block with her aide. I was very happy to see her. We talked a bit. She asked me a bunch of questions that she knew the answer to many months ago -- she’d obviously forgotten in the time since. She asked me to give her a kiss and a hug. I told her it was great to see her. She informed me that she was going to the beauty parlor. She told me to tell my dad to stop smoking. I said I would but didn’t think much would come out of it. She said I was lovely and wished me a great holiday.

When I was younger I remembered asking my mom if she was my real grandmother. My real grandmother wasn’t that nice. My mom always chuckled probably at the silliness of the question but also for other reasons that are much clearer to me now. She told me that she could be my Jewish grandmother if it made me happy. It did and it was nice to see her today.