One of a Kindness: The Life and Love of Sandy Yedid

By Eli Yedid

Sandy Yedid was a one-of-a-kind daughter, sister, wife, friend, and--most of all--mother. Inspired by the outpouring of love he received each time he posted about his deceased mom on social media, her son, Eli Yedid, set out to share her stories and honor her memory. One of a Kindness captures the heart a

• Language: English
• Publisher: 819 Avenue S
• Release date: Sep 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218087357

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Copyright © 2022 Eli Yedid

All rights reserved. No part or any portion of this book

may be reproduced in any form, mechanical, or digital,

or transmitted without the prior written permission

of the author, except for the use of brief quotations

in a book review.

Published by 819 Avenue S Productions

Allenhurst, New Jersey

Cover and interior design by The Book Whisperer:

OpenBookDesign.biz

978-0-578-39913-3 Hardcover

FIRST EDITION

Preface

Chapter One

You Can’t Do This to Me

Chapter Two

Brant Rock

Chapter Three

Jewish Again

Chapter Four

I Love Lucy Sandy

Chapter Five

Who’s That Guy?

Chapter Six

Mr. and Mrs. Simon Yedid

Chapter Seven

Rise and Shine!

Chapter Eight

819 Ave. S

Chapter Nine

You Get What You Get, and You Don’t Get Upset

Chapter Ten

More is More

Chapter Eleven

The Golden Years

Chapter Twelve

Partners in Crime

Chapter Thirteen

We Can’t Only Talk About the Good Things

Chapter Fourteen

Life is a Gift

Chapter Fifteen

Sandy Memorial Day

Acknowledgments

Dedicated to my father, Simon Yedid,

who needed this book more than anyone.

It was a labor of love, and I did it for

you secondly —for Mom first. : )

Preface

In a hospital in Munich

, Germany, where Dad and I came for him to get a treatment, as he is bravely battling cancer, he asked me to write this down. The words came out easily, without hesitation.

I love life, I want to live.

I love Hashem, he is in charge of everything.

I love Sandy, she was my whole life.

I love my daughters, Jill and Michele.

I love my grandchildren and great grandchildren.

I had a good life; I came to America with nothing. That was hard.

In 85 years, I built a life I am proud of. I worked hard and always for everyone else, not me.

I was blessed with the best wife a man can ever have. I was with her for 54 years—but not enough.

It’s been 5 years without her, not a day goes by without thinking about her.

I know we joke that she’s having fun in heaven, and she wasn’t ready for me yet.

We stopped and sobbed.

She better start getting ready soon.

And we cried of sadness and laughter together for what felt like hours.

My son Eli, I give you the biggest blessing that a father can give.

I hesitated, accepted his blessing, and I said back, I am sure Mom will be giving you the best welcome party anyone has ever had, but not just yet.

Chapter One

You Can’t Do This to Me

Y ou can’t do this to me, Eli!

That’s the exact quote from my mother, Sandy Laniado Yedid, AH, when I told her our plans.

What, Mom, what’s the big deal? I asked.

Are you crazy? she asked right back.

What exactly was I trying to do? I was trying not to have a huge party.

On July 11, 2016, God blessed our family with a beautiful baby, Max Eli Yedid. It had been eight years since my wife, Adele, and I had a baby; our next youngest, Joseph, was born in 2008, his sister, Sandy, in 2006, and our eldest, Simon, in 2004. Three kids in five years. At one point there, we had three kids under four. I had stumbled through those grueling (and magical, wonderful, wouldn’t trade ’em!) early childhood years, only trying to get from one day to the next with everyone intact. No work of literature has ever spoken to me in the way that Go the F*ck to Sleep did during those years.

I’ll admit that the concept of having a newborn had seemed ridiculous to me. I was 44 years old. I kept thinking that I’d be approaching 60 at his bar mitzvah. As thrilled as we all were to have Max, this wasn’t my first time at the baby rodeo. I knew I was on the front end of years of sleepless nights, and I was laboring under the misapprehension that Adele and I could ease ourselves in this time, find small ways to make it all a little calmer, quieter, less crazy than it had been before. We thought a logical first step toward this goal would be to have a small bris, just family, and our closest friends. Quiet. Low-key. Easy.

Not so fast.

No, no, no! You can’t do this to me! Mom cried.

What, Mom? We want to have a small bris, I tried to reason with her. I did this even though I already knew there would be no backing down. There would be no small event here. What there would be was a party. And a great one. Do you know what a guided missile is? It’s the kind that doesn’t stop until it hits its target, methodically keeps at it until its mission is accomplished. That was my mom. If she wanted something, it was going to happen.

Please, let’s have a small crowd? I begged. Just this one time?

No, you can’t do this to me. I need to have this, my mom demanded. I haven’t had anything like this in a long time.

We’d had hundreds of guests at our other two brises. My mother had thrown a party for 400 people when her namesake, my daughter Sandy, was born. I couldn’t wrap my head around doing that again. I wanted this time to be different. This time needed to be practical, sensible, small.

But I didn’t stand a chance. I could tell you that my mother gave me the eyes when we talked about it, but that wasn’t it. I could never say no to my mother, not about anything. It wasn’t in my nature to disappoint her, ever. I was hardwired to give her whatever her heart desired. That’s what she had always done for everyone. That’s who she was. She had an incredible inclination to give, to include everyone; this is what she put out into the world. Her goal in life was to make others happy. She wanted to have her family together, friends together, enjoy good food and celebrate with great company.

You have to do this, she told me. I need this, she added.

And I said the only thing I could: Alright. You got it.

In truth, it wasn’t tough to accept it. Deep down, I probably knew it was going to happen that way. It was like every story my mother was ever part of: Sandy’s driving the bus. Buckle up.

Looking back on it now, I believe she had an intuition. She knew in some way what was coming down the road. Anyone who knows my mother knows that she never wanted the party to end. I think about that a lot now; how more than anything else, she was going to do everything in her power—and her power was astonishing—to keep the party going, even if it was only for that afternoon.

From almost the moment we had made the decision, I can remember her saying, Eli, do you mind if I add more friends to the list? Followed shortly after by, Do you mind if I add this group? Three more?

Alright, Mom, I said, Sure, bring them.

The next day: Oh, I forgot about so-and-so. And their group. It’s only five more people.

Of course, Mom. No problem.

And the next day, literally: Oh wait, and three more people. My cousin’s in from Maryland.

Perfect. Bring them all, I told her. And then I called the caterer, Whatever we ordered, triple it.

She loved the planning. We had detailed conversations about food. She said her friends loved samboosak, spinach phyllo, potato empanadas, and that we had to have them. She wanted to be sure there’d be enough champagne. Could we add mimosas, too? We added everything.

I remember the Zohar, the ritual, spiritual gathering of men the night before the bris. There was mom, right in the middle of it. Going over exactly how the party would unfold: the seating, the food area, and, Let’s take one more look at where everything is going. We did all of it.

Oh my God, I’m so excited! she told me as we walked around the backyard. This is going to be so much fun. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

By the afternoon of the bris, I had the feeling that the stars had aligned. This was back when I lived on the lake. It was so beautiful and secluded there, and I loved our garden. That party, in that location; it really was an opulent event. The house was in all its glory. Everybody dressed handsomely and beautifully; the sun was shining; the rose garden was blooming. The food was exquisite.

My mom had created her section in the garden. Her friends made up more than my entire guest list. Dozens and dozens of friends, almost 50. They came one by one: glamorous, dressed up, fun-loving grandmothers, having the best time and talking about their old days together. Like so many things I