My grandmother passed away on the full moon a couple of mornings ago, December 15th at the age of 96.
I am overwhelmed with grief and reverence for her.
She was an Ashkenazi Jew who lived through WWII in Paris, France. Her Holocaust survival story is incredible. If it weren't for her survival, a note, a teacher, and architecture, I would not be writing this today.
HOLOCAUST STORY
Her brother was taken from architecture school in Paris and rounded up on a bus by Nazis. He dropped a note outside the bus window that was found by a teacher. The note had his family's address and said he had been taken by the Nazis. The teacher brought it to my great-grandparents' house, and that night they left. The six remaining children were split up and led to hide in different places. My grandmother was the only one of her siblings to hide with her parents. They hid in an attic outside of Paris for three years with no running water. A couple of times, my grandmother was sent back into Paris to try to gather some family heirlooms, only to find that the Nazis had gone through their apartment. Her brother who was taken from architecture school died in a gas chamber.
She rarely spoke about the war, but a few years ago, I managed to record her story on tape—all in French.
She began her life in hiding and, with COVID, ended her life in hiding also. I am grateful she passed before going through another rise of fascism in the world.
LATER YEARS
With many gaps in her story, eventually, my grandmother married my grandfather, who I never had the chance to know. He was an Egyptian Sephardic Jew. Together, they had my mother and her two siblings. They later chose to move the entire family to Israel due to the persistent antisemitism in France. There, my grandfather opened a restaurant in the art town of Haifa. Eventually, they immigrated to Canada, where my grandmother became a typist and secretary. Finally, they came to the United States, where she became my first caretaker outside of my parents when I was a child.
I was fortunate to see her often in my younger years, though less so as I grew older. One of my favorite things about her was her spirituality- she had her palms read when she was younger and always shared profound life advice in simple, poetic one-liners in French. She lived a modest, quintessentially French life in her later years in Spokane, WA: watching French TV, reading French books, corresponding with her friends in France until they passed, walking, attending French club, and caring for my severely autistic cousin Lauréne.
She always made sure we were fed. This is how Jewish people survived-through love, interconnection, and food. If you’re close to me, you know how this magic shows up in my own life and how I channel it in the kitchen <3. I’ll never forget her orange jello with mandarin slices inside.
THE DEATH PORTAL
My grandmother passed away in the early morning of the full moon, 4:45am to be exact. And funny enough I was awoken around then and remembered looking at my phone at 5:10am about 15 min after waking. I had lit a candle the night before, and when I awoke around that time, it was out and I knew.
She had a heart attack on Thursday night and passed away peacefully in her sleep on Sunday morning. She was 96 years old, sharp-minded, and independent until 95, when she moved to a care home, which she loved. This was her only hospitalization in her old age. I recognize the privilege of this more easeful ending. She made the strong and powerful conscious decision to get unhooked from all the machines keeping her alive.
SEASONAL JEWISH TEACHING
This last full moon on the 15th is the full moon in the jewish month of Kislev. Kislev is the Jewish month we are currently in. It’s all about entering the mystery, dream world, the darkest time and finding the light (it ends with Hanukkah the celebration of light). My grandmother passed during the brightest time (full moon) of the darkest time.
Kislev also means Heart Pocket in Hebrew. I like to think of it as this time of the year we find the Hearth Pocket, in our homes, in our hearts with our dearest people. As I think more about the Heart Pocket, these times in the winter call for the pockets of our hearts to be tended in so many different ways, in ways they don't get to in the spring and summer.
GRATITUDE AND CONCLUSION
The grief I have is in gratitude to her for tending to me as a little child, for her power and the lineage of Judaism and the french language that runs through her into me.. All of these things have shaped me so deeply, and been such a gift in my life. Also my grief comes from not understanding what happens after you die. I know it's probably fine, but it's still the ultimate loss on this plane of existence. I got to tell her thank you and sing her some songs on the phone Saturday before she passed. I called her this fall when I was in France. I always told her that I loved her, even if she didn't fully understand why.
My grandmother was my closest living relative outside of my immediate family. The diaspora of Jews and Afro-Caribbeans has left me with few known biological relatives. We are not having a funeral for her, and this will likely be her only obituary. On my grief run tonight, I saw the biggest shooting star I've ever seen in my life—literally at least seven seconds long across the sky—right as an Indigenous song about death called Remember Me that I was listening to ended. I know she's going to be okay. I know she's watching over me now as an ancestor.
Merci pour tout, tout, tout, Mémé. Je t’aime tellement.
Ton petit fils,
Aliko
In loving memory of Jacqueline Ades Aufman.
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