While he touched the lives of all who met him, his deepest desire was to find his brother once more
I didn’t grow up religious, but the school I attended in Los Angeles was a girls-only establishment that put a large emphasis on kindness and care. Every Friday for 45 minutes we would go to an old age home to visit the residents and spread some cheer. I loved these visits and looked forward to them all week.
My childhood was an eventful one. We escaped from Iran and settled in Israel when I was a toddler, but when I was ten years old, my mom died of colon cancer, and my whole world shattered. My father couldn’t care for me and sent me to Los Angeles to live with my grandfather, who spoke no English or Hebrew. I had no closure from my life in Israel; I was simply sent away as an orphan, alone and lonely. Then a couple from the Jewish Federation connected with me. They lived in Hollywood, and unofficially adopted me. I had a family again. I had a childhood once more. I attended school, and that’s how I met a kindred spirit who also had no family.
I appreciated being able to be the giver, to come into someone’s room and just be a ray of sunshine every Friday. One resident in particular caught my eye, the sweetest-looking older man, probably in his mid-eighties. I approached him, said hello, and instantly connected with Harry Markowitz,* who told me upon introduction that he had served in World War II, and he asked if I would like to see his war medals.
I started coming alone, even after the school program finished.
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