by Marra B. Gad
My mother inherited virtually everything Nette had. One day, a huge box of jewelry arrived for her. We spread everything out on her bed—all of Nette’s truly precious jewels—and took inventory of them. We took guesses as to which pieces came from which of her many, many trips, and we recalled with fondness Nette’s great sense of style. It reminded me of Bubbie.
When I was a little girl, it was still a time when most people kept their valuable documents and jewelry in a safe-deposit box in a vault at the bank. My bubbie would often take me with her to the vault where her valuables were stored. And how I loved to go. She would patiently take out all of the jewelry and tell me the history of each piece.
“This ring belonged to my mother. And since you are named for her, one day it will belong to you. She would have loved you.” She would set it down and pick up another. “This one your zayde gave me after I found out he had a mistress. Guilt diamonds are always the biggest, it seems. Someday, you can have this one and turn it into something beautiful.”
There was so much jewelry in the vault. Each piece was kept in a box that looked like it had history. There were the gorgeous diamond rings, yes. But also necklaces. Men’s jewelry, including the diamond rings that my great-grandfather and great-uncles wore. Bubbie kept her memories of her late family members alive through those gems. And every piece told a story—an entire family history told through gold and precious gems.
“These rings are a part of your yerusha, mama shayna,” my bubbie would say.
Yerusha is the Yiddish word for inheritance. And now it was time to decide what our yerusha from Nette would be. Collectively and individually.
The notion of what we inherit from those who came before us has always resonated with me. And while my child brain had created an attachment to inheritance being rooted in things, specifically jewelry, Nette’s death would teach me that we can inherit far more than simply that which is sparkly and meant to be worn.
My mother gave me carte blanche to choose any of the pieces I wanted for myself. “You choose first,” she said. “I will never be able to thank you for what you did for Nette and Zeit. And for me. So let’s start here. You choose first.”
My mother, ever the most generous person in the world, knew how much I love jewelry.
“Mama, I appreciate it, but there’s nothing of Nette’s I want,” I told her. “Really. If I ever change my mind, I’ll let you know. But right now, I don’t want anything that belonged to her.”
It was a reaction that surprised both of us, for when Nette had first come into our lives, I’d wanted nothing more than for her to someday, in some way, give me a gift of her jewelry. But after all was said and done, I was still processing the whole of my relationship with Nette and what had been a transformative time for me while caring for her at the end of her life. And I no longer wanted any of it.
Even trying on some of the pieces felt uncomfortable to me, almost like they were burning my skin. A bit tight. Not right. And somehow I knew Nette was watching from wherever she was, and she would never have wanted me to have any of her pieces.
My mother and I worked through the collection carefully and selected a set of diamond-and-emerald earrings and a necklace to give to my sister. Much like Nette and my mother, my sister loves jewelry. Even when she is wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt to work in her backyard, Alisa is always bedecked in some form or fashion in something precious. Usually, that includes her wedding band and engagement ring, of course, and a pair of small white-gold-and-diamond hoop earrings I gave her once upon a time. My sister wears diamonds with her nightgown, so the emerald-and-diamond set seemed perfect for her. And, unlike me, having something that once belonged to Nette would bring comfort to my sister.
Then we came across an enormous brass monkey necklace and matching earrings from India. We both sat on the bed staring at them. Never one to shy away from a wry joke, my mother picked up the necklace and held it up to my chest.
“Here. Nette definitely would have wanted you to have this.”
And we laughed. Harder than we had laughed in quite some time. The hideousness of the necklace combined with the hideousness of the racist use of the word monkey to refer to black people was just too good to let go.
For the next couple of years, my mother and I routinely joked about the monkey necklace being my yerusha from Nette. For a long time, I left the necklace at my mother’s home, tucked away with the dreadful matching earrings in her jewelry drawer. But when I moved to Los Angeles, something inside me decided to take the necklace with me, and I thought it might be a good time to wear it.
It always sparks conversation and, much to my shock, always inspires compliments. I spent the first three decades of my life hiding in plain sight, wanting desperately to be seen by people with loving, admiring eyes and, at the same time, wanting desperately to be invisible so that my family and I might escape from the constant scrutiny and abusive racism.
When I wear the monkey necklace, I must be seen. The piece demands it. And so, it turns out that the necklace is part of what has become a perfect inheritance from Nette. The necklace sparked a conversation with someone that led me to write this book, another way I am finally allowing myself to be seen.
Now I think differently about what it means to have an inheritance. Through my experiences with Nette, in her life and in her death, I truly came to understand that there are times when inheriting things from someone who has died can bring great comfort and a sense of connection, and there are other times when the inheritance can bring a sense of disquiet. When it came to Nette, I had had enough disquiet to last many lifetimes.
For me, the inheritance comes through a greater sense of identity. Of who I am. Of what I want to say. Through what I wear. Through the way I speak, on and off the page. Through the way I treat others.
When one is mixed race, it can easily feel like there is a war being waged within. The part of me that has regularly been discriminated against by white people for being brown wants to lash out against white people. The part that has been discriminated against by black people for not being “black enough” or for being Jewish feels the same kind of rage. Layer on top of that being Jewish, and the opportunities to harbor hate, frustration, and anger multiply.
But to hate any of these groups would be to hate a part of myself. And I cannot live that way.
I know far too many people who let the anger—which is absolutely right to own—about living with the constant burn of racism and hate consume them. Holding on to the anger is often not a conscious thing, for public discussions about the nuanced challenges of being mixed race are only just beginning. And until very recently, there has not been a space to talk about it and how it affects us, especially those of us who live at the intersection of race and religion in the way that I do. And we are, as we are with so many cultural discussions, still taking baby steps in many ways.
It is a delicate and often precarious dance to try to find sure-footedness with all of that energy swirling around within. And until the moment I chose to help Nette, I wasn’t wholly sure on what ground I really stood. I know now that I stand with two feet solidly planted in love. That both unconsciously and consciously, I choose love. Always. Because of everything I have learned living at this unique intersection of my religious soul and brown skin. Because I know what it is to be deemed unworthy and hated because of my skin color and because of my religion. And because I will not be an instrument that puts more hate into the world.
There are two questions I’m often asked when people hear my story.
First, they ask why. Why didn’t I just leave Nette in the substandard facility to live out her days miserable and alone? It would have been a just punishment for the person she was and for the way she treated me. For me, the answer is simple and straightforward.
Perhaps there is some truth to the notion that Nette deserved to die unattended and in squalor, but to have knowingly allowed that to happen is not who I am. I now know that I don’t choose to be vengeful,
even when it might be justified. I can be a creature fueled by love but not be held prisoner by it. I can be loving even to someone who is not loving in return. That is certainly as beautiful a gift as any piece of jewelry I might buy. It is more beautiful.
I have come to find that racists—and people who struggle to see that we are, all of us, beautiful in our identities—are often unhappy. And on some level, they lash out, wanting us to join them in that space. My time with Nette taught me well that I do not need to allow anyone to dictate my identity—or to steal my joy. Or my sense of compassion. Or my ability to love.
The other question is far less simple for me to answer. People ask if I loved Nette. While I acted out of love, I cannot answer that question, even to this day. I suppose that, as a child, I loved her as a child loves: with a simple heart and no questions. She was my great-aunt, and so I loved her because she was family. When I grew old enough to understand that she not only did not return any sort of love, obligatory or otherwise, but also hated me on a few fronts, I was so filled with pain, sadness, and anger that there wasn’t much room left for love.
In the end, when Alzheimer’s stripped Nette of who she was and she became a being who loved me as I once had her, with the heart of a child, it is fair to say we were both transformed.
I do not know who I might be today had I chosen the other path when we got the phone call saying Nette was in trouble, had I made my decision from a place of pain, anger, revenge, or even hate. I don’t really want to know.
I only know who I am because of the choice I did make. That to live and act from a place of love is what is right for me.
And for me, that is enough.
Acknowledgments
TO HAVE WRITTEN THIS BOOK IS A DREAM I DIDN’T know I had. So, too, is to now share my heartfelt thanks with the very special people who made it possible.
I will never be able to express my gratitude to my mother for giving me life and for encouraging me to be free to express myself in ways she was never able to herself. For her love, her generosity, her support, I have no words. How I love you, Mom.
To my late father, who is with me always, I am forever grateful. I carry his heart in every moment of my life.
To my siblings, Alisa and Merrill, I am grateful. For our differences. For our similarities. For your love. Your understanding. Your support. For our laughter and our tears. I love you deeply and always. And to your families, who made our family grow—Keith, Giaden, Geneve, Lindsey, and Addisyn—I am profoundly grateful and filled with love.
To my friends who are my family—Tracy, Rosa, Tom, and Rob—who held my hand, told me that I can and must, made me laugh, and cheered me on as I stripped away my every defense, I love you and am so grateful to have you in my life.
To Josh, Lisa, and Kira, who so generously lent their eyes, hearts, and wonderful support, I am grateful from the bottom of my heart.
To every friend and stranger who has reached out with a voice of support, I am touched beyond words and thankful.
To my agent, the truly lovely and brilliant Murray Weiss, I send my thanks for believing that my voice and experience should be put on the page.
To my smart, soulful, and insightful editor, Jessica Easto, I send deepest thanks for being my partner on one of the most profound and terrifying journeys of my life. And to Doug Seibold and the Agate team, for seeing something special in my story.
And … to Nette. In spite of everything.
Reading Group Guide
1. Marra’s friends are amazed that she can be so loving and kind given her background and the racism she grew up with. Marra, in turn, responds that she is “the luckiest girl on earth” (page vii). How do you think Marra’s childhood shaped the way she viewed the world?
2. The Color of Love deals with complex questions of identity. What are parts of your own identity that are inseparable from your family history? Parts that are distinct from it?
3. In many families, trauma is inherited. Marra’s zayde emotionally and physically abused her bubbie and her mother, and “a tightness and a fear … outlived him” (page 16). How do you think this abuse affected Marra’s family, even after her zayde’s death?
4. At the start of Chapter Three, Marra reflects on her “first time” (page 25)—the first time she understood that her birth mother had, to some extent, abandoned her, and that Marra “looked demonstrably different” from her adopted parents (page 27). How does her family respond to her realization? What other “first times” does Marra experience, and how do these serve as turning points in the development of her identity?
5. A good deal of the hate and abuse Marra experiences comes from members of her own community, including members of her synagogue. How do you think this affected Marra? Why do you think she still found solace in Judaism?
6. Marra is currently a film producer living in Los Angeles, which shouldn’t come as a surprise—throughout The Color of Love, Marra makes frequent reference to movies and television. How do you think these references serve the narrative? Do you ever filter your experiences through pop culture touchstones?
7. When she was a child, Marra greatly admired her glamorous, worldly, and distant Great-Aunt Nette. Why did Nette hold so much fascination for Marra?
8. Nette acknowledges that her marriage to Zeit was considered taboo. Why, then, do you think Nette is still so cruel to Marra?
9. When Marra hears about Nette’s failing health, she immediately volunteers to help with her care. Were you surprised by Marra’s decision? What would you have done in her place?
10. This is a book about love—seeking it out, having it denied, and ultimately choosing to live by it. Marra’s philosophy is always to “[default] to love” (page 116). Is love the right choice in every case, for every person?
11. At her father’s funeral, Marra says he had wanted to keep her “in a glass cage” so that she “would always be able to see the world but would never be hurt by it” (page 86). Her father wasn’t able to shelter her from the world as much as he had wanted. Do you think Marra would have turned out differently if she had grown up in that “glass cage”? If you were in her parents’ place, how would you approach Marra’s upbringing?
12. When Marra goes to visit Nette in Los Angeles, she hopes to receive a ring like her sister Alisa had. Ultimately Marra receives one of her great-aunt’s castoff rings, but she ends up giving it away. What role does jewelry play in this memoir? Why is it significant that Marra gives away Nette’s gift?
13. Despite Nette’s dislike of Marra, Zeit is still kind to her. However, Marra never achieves a real closeness with her great-uncle during her childhood. Why?
14. Marra asks a lot of questions, some of which get her in trouble. How do you think her inquisitive nature helped shape her into the woman she is today?
15. Before her illness, Nette was always concerned about appearances and took great pride in how she looked. When Marra goes to Nette’s house and sees her unkempt appearance, she immediately tries to clean Nette up. Why do you think Nette’s transformation had such a strong effect on Marra? What effect do appearances have on the self-worth of the family in The Color of Love?
16. At a certain point in the progression of her illness, Nette’s aggression toward Marra melts away and she becomes kinder to her great-niece. Marra is completely taken aback when Nette calls her pretty (page 150). What effect do you think this interaction had on Marra after Nette had treated her as ugly and unwanted for so many years?
17. Marra nearly collapses with exhaustion after she returns Nette to Chicago. Afterward, Marra refuses to visit her great-aunt for a while but eventually decides to see her again. Why do you think Marra made this decision?
18. In the epilogue, Marra discusses the idea of yerusha, “the Yiddish word for inheritance” (page 218). When it comes time to look through Nette’s jewelry, Marra only selects a single piece—a hideous monkey necklace. Why did Marra choose that piece as her inheritance? To what extent can we choose our family inheritance?