A horror show at her grandparents’ house
Photo by deviantart.com
As editor of the Yiddish section at the Forward, I often come across wonderful anecdotes that people share on social media about growing up with Yiddish-speaking relatives.
Debi (Devora) Nevel Drecksler is one such writer. The author of I Saw Bubbi in the Mirror: Life Stories of a Jewish Girl Raised in the 50s often posts childhood memories on Facebook, with such a vivid gift for detail that I almost feel like it could have been my own.
I recently found a post of hers on Facebook, about a childhood incident in the 1950s, that was so good I had to share it:
When I was a little girl, I begged my parents to let me sleep over at my Bubby and Zaydie’s apartment. They finally consented.
That night Bubby made a delicious chicken dinner in her big pot. She and Zaydie conversed in Yiddish as I gobbled up my food. She cooked differently than my mother (more old country) and I loved it.
After dinner, we sat in their comfy living room until I grew very tired. Bubby tucked me into their bed. I would be sleeping in the middle of the two of them.
Hours later, I woke up abruptly and started to scream. There was enough light in their bedroom to see two drinking glasses, one on each nightstand. In the glasses were teeth soaking in a liquid.
Both my grandparents woke up and tried to calm me down. I stared at them in horror. They were these two toothless people who looked like strangers to me. “Where is my Bubbie and Zaydie?” I cried. “What have you done with them?”
My Bubby got up and ran to the phone in the kitchen. I could hear her talking to my father in Yiddish. Thirty minutes later, my father came to take me home. He gave his parents big hugs and they chatted for a few minutes in Yiddish.
On the ride home, I was relieved when my father told me that everything was alright and that no one was upset with me.
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