My Mother, Yetta Krul, Passed Away On Sunday

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, I will answer you: “I am here to live out loud.” –-Emile Zola

Befitting the glamour and beauty of Oscar night, at 8:00 p.m. on Sunday, February 24, Yetta Krul, my mother passed away. She had interminable courage that sustained her until her last moments with us. In her final days, her doctors were amazed at her strength, but their astonishment was no surprise to me. She was a survivor of the Nazi prison camps, and her determination to endure and thrive despite extraordinary circumstances is the legacy she has left my children, grandchildren, and me.

My mom was an artist. Her skill was how she could turn the mundane into the magical. Through her artistry, she’d transform mediocre apparel into high fashion, simple window coverings into baroque drapes, and her mastery in the kitchen meant that there was no such thing as a modest meal. Her cooking and baking were rivaled only by her sense of style. The holidays were a fantasy of centuries old traditions rooted in her Polish heritage combined with the limitless possibilities of the American spirit.

If her wisdom and experiences were ink, they’d swell the pages of a multi-volume tome. But, as is the case of many holocaust survivors, her deepest memories were embedded beneath layers too painful to express and too harrowing to revisit through words and thoughts. Sadly, history is lost every time a victim of the Holocaust passes.

I’m honored to have recorded a small part of her elegant life in my book. And I’m so thankful for the support that Saeed, my family, and I have received. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much to us during this difficult time.

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