Coping With Grief
I Am A Marionette
Yiddish was Mom’s first language. She was not even exposed to English until she went to kindergarten. Yiddish was also the secret language that my grandparents reverted to when they did not want us to understand them.
We caught on fast and learned to crack the code. We knew that gib a cook meant “take a look”; that gay gezunte hate meant “go in good health”; that tsorris was “suffering.”