I only knew Gorgieh Hemmat, my husband’s grandmother, for 13 years. In the perspective of a lifetime that spanned more than a century, that’s a small amount of time to get to know someone. But in those years that Gorgieh let me be a part of her life, I learned enough about her to know what sort of person I hope to become, should I live to be even half her 106 years. For in a life marked early by adversity that might have hobbled her, Gorgieh Hemmat rose above it and lived a life of dignity.
Her actions in her lifetime touched many, and her example is the mirror I shall hold for myself until the end of my days.
Gorgieh, or Grandma, as everyone called her, was born on Rosh Hashanah in either 1901 or 1902 in Baghdad under Ottoman rule, at a time when Jewish life there thrived. Birth certificates were not used, so her exact year of birth remains a mystery. However, family sleuthing has placed her age at the time of her death at either 106 or possibly 107 years old. Her ketubah indicates that she married in the year 1921, and we gather from stories that she was 18 at the time of her wedding. Her younger brother, Sylman Habousheh, who lives in Israel, is documented with the Israeli government as being 104 years old. She remembered his birth occurring when she was 3 or 4.
So we know she lived to at least 106. From a time when she traveled from Baghdad by donkey to a time when computer processors can be the thickness of a strand of donkey hair, she had seen more change than most ever will.
When Gorgieh was quite young, her mother died giving birth to twins, who also died. Soon thereafter, her father died, and she became an orphan. Relatives in Iran took her in, and there she lived until she married Soleyman Hemmat. She had three children, outliving two of them. Her only daughter, Houri, died at 19 of a heart condition, and her eldest son, Naim, died in 1990 from cancer. Her youngest child, Amir Houshang (Harry), has proved a most devoted son, caring for his mother since she was widowed more than 30 years ago. When Amir owned S&H Drugs in Bellevue, Gorgieh lived in her own apartment next door. She would often bring him lunch at the pharmacy, and then sit behind the front counter for hours, watching customers come and go, never missing a thing.
She was fluent in Iraqi-Arabic, Farsi and French and knew some Hebrew, but even after living in America since fleeing Iran over 30 years earlier, she never learned English fluently. However, she always managed to communicate with everyone around her. Her grandson — my husband Jeff — and I would communicate with her by miming and cobbling sentences together with his patchy Farsi, my French and Grandma’s few English words. Her Farsi for “What’s new with you?” and “What is that all about?” have embedded themselves in our lexicon, so that even our toddler knows what I mean when I inquire, “Chi chi?”
And while her generosity and perseverance were two characteristics of hers that influenced many, what made the greatest impression on me was her sense of dignity. From being orphaned and then raising her children in the Jewish ghetto of Isfahan, Iran, where Jews were not even allowed to drink from the cup at the public well, her sense of dignity remained intact, perhaps even fortified by such circumstances.
Gorgieh would hire underprivileged or orphaned Jewish girls from the ghetto as servants. These girls, destined for destitution, were brought into her home, cared for, and lived well-fed and safe lives. Unheard of at the time, she had them sit at the table with her family, thereby giving them their dignity and teaching her children by example. When the young women became of marrying age, Gorgieh would give them suitable dowries to find them good husbands, not wanting them to live their entire lives in servitude. Most descendents of these servants she helped now live in Israel or the U.S. One of the former servant girls lives in California, and called Gorgieh weekly to keep her abreast of her three sons — all dental surgeons living in Los Angeles.
Although she enjoyed a life of privilege with her adopted family and her husband, she herself lived quite modestly. Yet her acts of generosity and compassion transformed the destinies of so many young girls, granting them better, more dignified lives.
She was loved by all who knew her, and enjoyed the company of extended family, as well as Persian immigrants who would come and visit with her in Farsi. She enjoyed her five grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren, and crocheted blankets for each one — even those who had not yet been born.
Her mental acuity remained sharp until her last days. During our Pesach seder 11 years ago, she recited the Four Questions — though she was far from the youngest person at the table.
After she suffered her first stroke 10 years ago, she could no longer live in her apartment. She moved to a nursing home, and even in an environment that can sometimes compromise individual dignity, she managed to hold on to all of hers. Often asking her son, Harry, for dollar bills to give to the attendants and nursing staff, she treated them all respectfully. Every morning she would be given two hard-boiled eggs for breakfast, and she would always save one, pressing it into the hands of an attendant with the thought that perhaps they could feed a hungry child at home with it.
In a life that spanned over a hundred years, distinguished by generosity, compassion and perseverance, Gorgieh Hemmat lived with a sense of her own dignity, and believed that all should be granted the same. She lived by that belief, and may we all hold ourselves up to her example.
— Dani Hemmat
Gorgieh Hemmat
