Lunch Ticket
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Issues Archive
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Genre Archive
      • Creative Nonfiction
      • Essays
      • Fiction
      • Flash Prose
      • Interviews
      • Lunch Specials
      • Poetry
      • Translation
      • Visual Art
      • Writing for Young People
  • About
    • Mission Statement
    • Lunch Ticket Staff
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Achievements
    • Community
    • Contact
  • Weekly Content
    • Friday Lunch Blog
    • Midnight Snack
    • Amuse-Bouche
    • School Lunch
  • Contests
    • Diana Woods Award in CNF
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
    • Gabo Prize in Translation
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
    • Twitter Poetry Contest
      • 2021 Winners
      • 2020 Winners
      • 2019 Winners
  • Submissions
  • Search
  • Menu Menu
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

Bershert

December 17, 2021/ Gayle Brandeis

Each night, I fall through time and space online, a plunge that drops me into myself, too, down through my own veins and bones, into the space my DNA curls around. Each night, I fall toward my ancestors.

I was scrolling through Instagram several months ago when a post by the brilliant writer Myriam Gurba knocked my hand off my phone. Two Latinx women stared out from a Victorian-era photo in dark lace dresses—a small, older woman sitting, a young woman standing beside her, a protective hand on the elder woman’s shoulder. Gurba had captioned the photo, “Which ancestors do you appeal to for guidance? I appeal to those who were revolutionary in thought and deed.”

The only grandparent alive when I was born, my dad’s mother, died when I was six, and my parents, both gone now, too, didn’t speak much about their own parents or those who came before. I read Gurba’s words over and over again. I had no idea which ancestors I could appeal to for guidance, no idea which were revolutionary in thought and deed.

The prospect of connecting with my roots was deeply appealing, deeply grounding, after months of what felt like floating around inside a quarantine space station. If I couldn’t hug my grown kids or siblings scattered across North America, maybe I could embrace the family tree that held us all together, feel the heft of branches that had seemed wispy as ghosts.

My mom, who had a delusional disorder that often put her on an alternate timeline, was not the most reliable narrator, so I questioned the veracity of the few ancestral stories she had told me. After her death, my sister and I asked our aunt, our mom’s estranged sister, about a horrific story our mom had shared about her father witnessing Cossacks rape and murder his pregnant mother. Our aunt shook her head and said “I don’t know about that.” I typed my grandfather’s name into FamilySearch.org to try to suss out the truth of his past, but couldn’t find anything prior to him marrying my grandmother Gertrude in 1917.  I searched for Gertrude next, using her maiden name, Meyers, and a census popped up from 1900, when she was a year old in Omaha, Nebraska. Her parents, I learned, were Louis, a fruit peddler who came to America from Russia in 1893, and Dora, who followed him to America in 1897. He could speak English in 1900; she could not. Their daughter, Rebecca (who I had met as “Aunt Becky” a few times as a child), was born in Russia in 1892 and had sailed to America with Dora to join a father she likely didn’t remember. Their son Hyman was born in Nebraska in 1898.

Learning my great grandparents’ names, learning my great grandfather sold fruit (another obsession of mine) made that branch of the family tree not only come into sharper focus, but

Ancestry document

burst forth with apples. Further searching on the site yielded nothing else about the Meyers family, so I turned to the free offerings at Ancestry.com, then quickly splurged on a membership,

Ancestry list

aching to see what lay beyond the paywall. My mom had told me her uncles had been sent to an orphanage after their mother entered a TB sanitarium, and an aunt and uncle would only take in the two girls. I discovered this was indeed true; Hyman and Sidney (born in 1900) were sent to the Jewish Orphan Asylum in Cleveland, Ohio, where they were heartbreakingly listed as “inmates” in the 1910 census.

Old census document

A Google Search led me to a review of the book Inside Looking Out: The Cleveland Jewish Orphan Asylum, 1868-1924 by Gary Edward Polster, and later to reading the book, itself, where I learned the orphanage privileged German Jews over Russian Jews, and stripped Yiddish from all the Russian Jewish children there, some of whom couldn’t understand their families when they were later reunited.

The mother tongue that had been wrenched from my great uncles, that had faded from the rest of my family’s mouths as they assimilated into American life, into whiteness, was recently added to Duolingo. I now study Yiddish on my phone, excited to learn words like געשמאַק (pronounced “geshmak”) for “delicious,” words that feel delicious in my mouth, words that feel like home.

I fall again and again into Ancestry.com, where I live for the little leaf icon that tells me there’s a new hint for my family tree, and FindAGrave.com, where, amongst other discoveries, a great uncle I hadn’t known about stares out intensely from a ceramic photo on his headstone, and Newspapers.com, where, amidst other gems, I read an article from 1905 about my dad’s mom starring as Queen Esther in a Purim play in Baltimore, and the History of Jewish Communities in Ukrainesite, where I continue to learn about the shtetls some of my ancestors fled from…all these sites, and the sites they point me toward for further research, help me access the trauma and humor and story spun into my cells.

Newspaper article


I don’t know where this plunge is taking me, whether it will lead to a bigger writing project, or simply a deeper understanding of where I come from, but I’m trusting the process, letting it pull me into its fathoms. When I started this journey, I knew I was daughter of Arlene and Buzz, granddaughter of Molly, Simon, Gertrude, and Benjamin. Now I know I’m great granddaughter of Dora, Louis, Sybil, Hyman, Sarah, Joseph, Jacob, and Esther Rifka, great great granddaughter of Aaron and Sarah and others whose names I hope to learn. I know who I can appeal to now, and sometimes it feels they’re calling to me, in turn.

I’m not religious but recently decided to light weekly Shabbos candles as an embodied means of connection, saying the same blessings Sarah and Esther Rifka and the rest chanted each Friday night, sweeping our hands over the flame in shared choreography across time. The day I voiced this desire to my spouse, lamenting the fact that I had forgotten to take the Shabbos candlesticks my orthodox cousins had given me upon my first wedding when I left that marriage thirteen years ago, my daughter, who was cleaning out her dad’s shed, texted me a picture of those very candlesticks, writing “Do these mean anything to you?” My whole body broke into gooseflesh. The candlesticks are silver, twisted like DNA; they’re in a box lined with velvet red as blood. My ancestors whispering “bershert”, Yiddish for “inevitable”; my ancestors lighting the way for my fall, for my return.

Silver candlesticks in purple velvet box

Author Headshot

Gayle Brandeis is the author, most recently, of the memoir The Art of Misdiagnosis (Beacon Press), and the novel in poems, Many Restless Concerns (Black Lawrence Press), shortlisted for the Shirley Jackson Award. Earlier books include the poetry collection The Selfless Bliss of the Body (Finishing Line Press), the craft book Fruitflesh: Seeds of Inspiration for Women Who Write (HarperOne) and the novels The Book of Dead Birds (HarperCollins), which won the PEN/Bellwether Prize judged by Barbara Kingsolver, Toni Morrison, and Maxine Hong Kingston, Self Storage (Ballantine), Delta Girls (Ballantine), and My Life with the Lincolns (Henry Holt BYR), chosen as a state-wide read in Wisconsin. Her essay collection Drawing/Breath will be released by Overcup Press in 2023. Gayle’s essays, poetry, and short fiction have been widely published in places such as The Guardian, The New York Times, The Washington Post, O (The Oprah Magazine), The Rumpus, Salon, and more, and have received numerous honors, including the Columbia Journal Nonfiction Award, a Barbara Mandigo Kelly Peace Poetry Award, Notable Essays in Best American Essays 2016, 2019, and 2020, the QPB/Story Magazine Short Story Award and the 2018 Multi Genre Maverick Writer Award. She was named A Writer Who Makes a Difference by The Writer Magazine, and served as Inlandia Literary Laureate from 2012-2014, focusing on bringing writing workshops to underserved communities. She teaches at Antioch University and Sierra Nevada University.

Friday Lunch Blog

Friday Lunch! A serving of contemporary essays published every Friday.

Today’s course:

Peace, Love, and a lot of Loud Rock & Roll

June 17, 2022/in A Transfer, Blog / Sunee Lyn Foley
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/0F6155F4-C1C9-45E1-BE9D-CA099003FB8E.jpeg 513 474 Sunee Lyn Foley https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Sunee Lyn Foley2022-06-17 14:31:102022-06-18 09:02:31Peace, Love, and a lot of Loud Rock & Roll

Crosses to Pentacles

June 10, 2022/in A Transfer, Blog / Jazmine Cooper
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/cooperjazmine.portrait-1.jpg 2216 2216 Jazmine Cooper https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Jazmine Cooper2022-06-10 14:00:592022-06-10 14:00:59Crosses to Pentacles

Table to Trash

June 3, 2022/in A Transfer, Blog / Franz Franta
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/IMG_9842-scaled-1.jpg 2560 1920 Franz Franta https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Franz Franta2022-06-03 13:15:242022-06-13 18:25:13Table to Trash

More Friday Lunch Blog »

Amuse-Bouche

Little bites every Monday to whet your appetite!

Today’s plate:

The Revolution Began at Book Club

June 20, 2022/in A Transfer, Amuse-Bouche, Fiction / Sari Fordham
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/alexis-brown-omeaHbEFlN4-unsplash-scaled-1.jpg 1707 2560 Sari Fordham https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Sari Fordham2022-06-20 11:55:162022-06-20 11:55:16The Revolution Began at Book Club

A Letter to the Dead Grandmothers That Raised Us

June 13, 2022/in A Transfer, Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Levi J. Mericle
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/khamkeo-vilaysing-AMQEB4-uG9k-unsplash-scaled-1.jpg 1829 2560 Levi J. Mericle https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Levi J. Mericle2022-06-13 11:55:132022-06-13 11:55:13A Letter to the Dead Grandmothers That Raised Us

Histoire D’amour

June 6, 2022/in A Transfer, Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Robin Gow
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/thomas-william-6Sls-TB27kM-unsplash-scaled-1.jpg 2560 1707 Robin Gow https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Robin Gow2022-06-06 11:55:102022-06-06 11:55:10Histoire D’amour

More Amuse-Bouche »

School Lunch

An occasional Wednesday series dishing up today’s best youth writers.

Today’s slice:

I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

May 12, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Brendan Nurczyk
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/SL-Insta-Brendan-Nurczyk-2.png 1500 1500 Brendan Nurczyk https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Brendan Nurczyk2021-05-12 10:18:392022-02-01 13:24:05I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

A Communal Announcement

April 28, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Isabella Dail
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-FB-Isabella-Dail.png 788 940 Isabella Dail https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Isabella Dail2021-04-28 11:34:132021-04-28 11:34:13A Communal Announcement

Seventeen

April 14, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Abigail E. Calimaran
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-Insta-Abigail-E.-Calimaran.png 1080 1080 Abigail E. Calimaran https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Abigail E. Calimaran2021-04-14 11:22:062021-04-14 11:22:06Seventeen

More School Lunch »

Word From the Editor

The variety in this issue speaks not only to the eclectic world we inhabit but to the power of the human spirit. We live in an uncertain world. In the U.S., we’re seeing mass shootings daily. Across the world, we’re still very much in a pandemic, some being trapped in their homes for weeks on end, others struggling to stay alive in hospitals. War continues to wage in Ukraine. Iran and North Korea are working diligently to make nuclear weapons. The list goes on. Still, we have artists who are willing and able to be vulnerable with one another, to share stories and art to help us try and make sense of our world.

More from the current editor »
Current Issue »

Connect With Us

lunchticket on facebooklunchticket on instalunchticket on twitter
Submit to Lunch Ticket

A literary and art journal
from the MFA community at
Antioch University Los Angeles.

Get Your Ticket

We’ll keep you fed with great new writing, insightful interviews, and thought-provoking art, and promise with all our hearts never to share your info with anyone else.

Newsletter Signup
Copyright © 2021 LunchTicket.org. All Rights Reserved. Web design and development by GoodWebWorks.
Scroll to top