Three weeks ago, on October 9, 2024, my grandma died at the age of 99. Below is the full eulogy I wrote for her funeral.
In full transparency, this is not the eulogy as delivered. Due to time limits at the funeral, I had to cut out some parts when delivering it. I have no such limits here, so here is where I get to share it in full.
Eulogy for My Grandma Paula Fishman
Seven years ago, I stood here to deliver a eulogy at my grandpa’s funeral.
When I sat down, Grandma leaned over, reached across my mom, and tapped me on my knee.
Did she want to tell me how beautifully I spoke? To thank me for the loving tribute?
No.
She told me not to cry.
That was Grandma.
Never one to get too emotional, not one to cling to the past, and not necessarily generous with her praise in person. For most of my life, she wasn’t even big on saying “I love you.”
But it was always very clear that she loved me, and I knew she was proud of me.
It’s impossible to summarize a 49-year relationship with a person in just a few minutes, but I’ll try my best.
Not Just a Survivor. A Thriver.
You’ve heard that she was a Holocaust survivor, and that’s how many people describe her. In fact, it’s usually my default too.
But I don’t think that’s accurate. She wasn’t just a survivor—she was a thriver.
She didn’t passively survive the war. She wasn’t just put on Schindler’s List; she made sure she was on it. She put herself there.
She was proactive. Stubborn. Resilient.
She had a way of getting what she wanted, whether it was through her charm, sheer force of will, stubbornness, or grit — the rare combination of elements knowns as moxie.
She had that spirit until the very end.
She knew what she wanted, and she lived life on her terms and in her timing. Even the timing of her passing—ensuring that there would be no Shiva—is just as she would have wanted.
She was never one to dwell on the past. When it was time to let something go, she let go and moved on, always looking forward to the next thing.
A Force of Nature Who Defied It’s Laws
My Grandpa once counseled me to “take my cues from nature.”
My Grandma was a force of nature who seemed to defy its laws.
I’m old enough to remember when she smoked. She loved her wine and her bread. Although she used to love her walks up Fifth Avenue, she didn’t engage in much formal exercise. She loved the sun: she would sit in the sun, oiled up, with a reflector under her.
And yet she never seemed to suffer the adverse consequences of these activities.
She maintained an eternal youthfulness and vitality about her, even at age 99. Her skin was smooth, soft and wrinkle-free. She wasn’t frail. Her heart and organs were strong until the day she died.
And her mind was sharp and clear to the end. Nothing ever got past her and she remembered everything.
I was honored and grateful to be there at the end, to moisturize her arms, to hold her hand and stroke her cheek, and to be by her side as she took her last breath. Even in her final moments, she had a radiance that defied conventional norms.
Larger Than Life
She was only 4’11”, maybe 5 feet at her tallest, and towered over by her family, but to me — to all of us — she was larger than life.
She was the epitome of a Leo — the Sun around which everything else revolved. And like the Sun, she seemed to pull focus wherever she went.
Despite her shorter stature, she never got lost in the crowd.
She was regal, elegant, radiant, magnetic.
When she walked into a room, everyone noticed.
People gravitated toward her, and everyone loved her. People would meet her for five minutes and tell me “your grandmother is amazing.”
As if I didn’t already know.
Humility in the Center of the Action
Yet she was humble. She didn’t want to talk about herself. She abhorred bragging—she used to say “good merchandise speaks for itself.”
She didn’t like people making a fuss over her or doing things for her—it was a fight to convince her to let me bring her a babka from Breads bakery around the corner from my old apartment.
It was only a couple of years ago that she finally conceded to let me put the dishes in the dishwasher for her after we finished Yom Kippur break-fast. After years of trying to convince her that I could handle the task, I felt like I had graduated to a new level.
The only exception to this deflection was on her birthday or other special occasions, when only the center table at Le Cirque or Daniel would do.
Grandma wanted to be in the middle of the action, in the center of it all. Years before Patrick Swazye immortalized the line in Dirty Dancing, nobody put Paula Fishman in a corner.
A Consummate New Yorker
A year ago, we were having lunch, just after the events of October 7. Two Israeli women sat at the next table and overheard us talking. It wasn’t long before we were all engaged in conversation about current events.
Noticing her heavy Polish accent, one of them asked her, Where are you from?
Without missing a beat, Grandma said,
Around the corner, on Fifth Avenue.
LOL.
Of course Grandma knew that’s not what they were asking, but that was Grandma.
She made New York her home when she arrived here from Paris after the war— with a suitcase borrowed from a boyfriend—and she never looked back.
Before Google, before TimeOut New York and New York Magazine, before the Zagat guide, there was Paula Fishman. She knew every restaurant, every art opening, every exhibit—everything happening in the city.
Whether you wanted to know the best place to have shoes repaired, the best tailor, or the best place to get lox, you called Grandma.
Sometimes I’d call her, excited to share a new find or discovery, only to have her respond with “of course…” as if everyone knew about that.
She had her finger on the pulse.
The Magic in the Mundane
When I was growing up, I was one of the few kids in my class who even had grandparents. Of those who did have grandparents, many of their grandparents lived in Florida. I once thought I was missing out on trips to Florida, but it turned out that I was was lucky to have my grandparents in close proximity.
My photo albums are filled with pictures of Grandma at my birthday parties, school plays, graduations, even camp visiting day. All of my friends knew her and grandpa.
But for me, the true essence of our relationship wasn’t in those photo-op moments. It was in the everyday, intimate, undocumented moments.
The magic of our relationship was in the mundane—in the rituals and routines of daily life.
Calling to ask what type of lox she bought—Western Nova, but you have to ask to taste it first, and make sure it’s sliced very thin.
Chatting about a new exhibit at the Whitney, or the latest movie she had seen—sometimes on her own, if Grandpa had no interest.
That was Grandma — fiercely independent.
For over 20 years I spent every Yom Kippur with her and grandpa, and some of my favorite moments were sitting with her in her apartment, chatting about random things over break-fast, or looking through her old albums and hearing stories from her time in Paris or when my dad and Uncle were growing up.
But even just sitting next to her in comfortable silence was special. I relished just being in her presence, soaking up her light.
Our Special Ritual
Each year as we’d arrive to shul for Kol Nidre on Yom Kippur eve, I surged with pride as I witnessed the respect given to her by the members of Fifth Avenue Synagogue.
Everyone wanted to come over to say hello to her, to wish her well, to receive some of her magical light.
Once we sat down, she’d turn to me and ask, How many pages are left until the end?
And then, periodically, she’d tap me on the arm and ask again how much longer?
She claimed not to have knowledge of or interest in the prayers, but every so often I’d catch her humming along, participating in her own way.
As with everything else, she knew more than she let on.
A Final Farewell
Grandma, tonight at the start of Kol Nidre, I’ll check the pages as I always do, and adjust my bookmarks to keep track.
I’ll miss you terribly, I’ll love you always, and I’ll try my best not to cry.
Postscript
After decades of refusing to share her story publicly, my grandma finally relented at the age of 96. She recorded an interview in which she shared the story of her early years, including how she came to get on Schindler’s List to survive the Holocaust.
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