Becoming Sacred

(Identity, Belonging & My Fondest Memory Of Grandma Rose

The saddest song I ever heard was the one I learned from my Grandma Rose. Never was there a Delta blues or an Irish lament more melancholy, more genuinely haunting than that Yiddish folk song. The song was composed, if that’s even the right word, by a young mother, a neighbor of Grandma Rose, who for half a loaf of bread and a pear hired her to watch ov…