A Yiddish “Sobremesa” in the style of Wislawa Szymborska’s “Funeral (II)”

“Don’t you remember the grocery store my grandfather opened in Elizabeth?”

“Zalman Meyer owned the tailor shop on Curtis. I remember that.”

“His wife was Rose. There was our Aunt Rose. And Grandpa had a cousin named Rose, too. Who were all these Roses named after?”

“I wanna know what happened to the Hebrew Free Loan charter.”

“You’d give in 50 cents a month, and when you needed some money, you could get a loan interest-free.”

“They weren’t called ‘Gutkin’ for nothin’.”

Gutkin means “good family.”

“I think the loan fund went to the shul Grandma and Grandpa started in Linden.”

When my mom and her cousin say it, it sounds like my siblings and I do: Gramma and Grampa.

“Michael calls him Zaydie.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why…”

“After my maternal grandmother came over, she never spoke Russian again.”

“They must have not wanted to remember.”

“My best friend growing up—Meryl—you remember her?”

“Meryl? I used to babysit her! I’ve known her longer than you have. Oh, I loved her mother, Eileen.”

“Yes, and Eileen begat Meryl, who begat Rebecca…”

“Our families came over on the same boat… Well, from the same village.”

“Wai-a-minut. Joseph and Pauline had Sam first. He must have been born there.”

“The New Jersey we lived in was a different time.”

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In Rona’s home, where the talcum smells are familiar,
old-country figurines in light boxes line the walls.

My mother’s first cousin’s in the same decade my grandparents were when they died.

In my 30s, a wave of my friends’ last elders dying,

I pull her close, even when I pick a fight over bagel brunch
(the whitefish salad was $8.50!)

when she says Trump’s name.

“It’s a generational thing,” she repeats,

and I say, “Netanyahu’s pulling away.”

Ravens linger in the warm-wet grass between 55+ designated homes.

“I’m glad you guys are leaving soon,” she says, “and I’ll tell you why: I’ll gain 20 pounds eating like this.”

Bagel, lox, and cream cheese.
Lobster alfredo and the freshest cannoli.
The manager at Nan’s gave us three free meal tokens just for being hot.

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A Yiddish lesson for you, too:

Gay kaken afn yam — “Go shit in the ocean.”

Gay kaken afn tish — “Go shit on the table.”

Hak mir a chainik — literally, “Don’t bang my tea kettle,” or: “Go bother someone else.”

Ungeshpritzt — like Rona, prone and primed and ready.

And like my mom, always doing too much:

“Shove a broom up your ass and go fly around on it!”

Transliteration Notes

• Zaydie (also spelled Zaide) = grandfather.
• Shul = synagogue.
• Gutkin = likely from Yiddish roots meaning “good kin/family.”
• Gay kaken afn yam = “Go shit in the ocean.”
• Gay kaken afn tish = “Go shit on the table.”
• Hak mir a chainik = “Stop bothering me” / “Don’t bust my chops.”
• Ungeshpritzt = sprawled out on your back, legs splayed