Some families pass down heirloom jewelry or intricately embroidered tablecloths. My family? We pass down stories—and not just any stories, but the kind you tell at a cocktail party and suddenly find yourself surrounded by strangers hanging on every word. Growing up under the golden LA sunlight, amidst a family equal parts old-world tradition and Hollywood flair, I absorbed these tales of love, loyalty, betrayal, and quirk like bedtime fairy tales. But unlike fairy tales, these stories were maddeningly real and unapologetically messy, and they shaped not just how I see the world, but how I see relationships.
If family lore is its own kind of therapy, then the Goldsteins are equipped with degrees we didn’t earn. Let me take you into our world—it’s got romance, it’s got drama, and it’s got Bubbe accidentally calling her Uber driver a "nekome" (a vengeful angel... Google it).
Chapter 1: The Lovebirds—Or Were They?
Legend has it my great-grandfather Louis, a strapping film buff attending NYU in the early days of cinema, wooed my great-grandmother Esther with meticulously handwritten letters. Romantic? You bet. Except, here’s the twist: Louis found his "inspiration" in a notebook of poetry he pinched from a friend. Yes, that friend later found out and didn’t speak to Louis until disco was a thing, but Esther? She was in too deep.
What strikes me now is this toe-curling balance of charm and deception. In dating, there’s this innate desire to present your most dazzling self—which Louis did with, let’s say, creative liberties. In today’s terms, this is the OG version of curating your Hinge profile to make it seem like you casually hike to Machu Picchu every other weekend. The moral? Know the entire person, not just their highlight reel (or pilfered poetry).
Chapter 2: Bubbe’s Rules for Love and Lox
Ask a Jewish grandmother for the secret to love, and you know she’ll serve you a side of wisdom with a dollop of skepticism. My Bubbe—orange lipstick perfectly smudged and a rhinestone-studded cardigan to rival your most festive aunt—believed two things about relationships: One, a good schmear (of cream cheese) fixes everything, and two, "People are like challah. Warm them up before you judge them."
She’d often compare picking a partner to making a brisket. "You can’t just rush to love, Becca. You have to let it simmer." Once, at a family lunch, she grabbed my hand and warned sternly, “If he doesn’t understand self-deprecating humor or a proper bagel order, nix him.” Does it make sense? Not entirely. Has her brisket advice saved me from disastrous relationships? Without question.
These nuggets of wisdom sprinkled with Bubbe’s idiosyncratic sense of humor taught me that relationships thrive where patience and appreciation meet. And much like perfection in a matzo ball soup, the right partner will complement your “flavor” without stealing the show.
Chapter 3: The Hollywood Dating Gaffe
To no one’s surprise, growing up in proximity to Hollywood means I’ve collected dating advice weirdly specific to the industry. Case in point: Safe at the Shabbat table but notorious in Goldstein family lore is the time my mother’s cousin Rachel went on a date with a soap opera star in the '80s. They dined at Spago—classy, until he refused to valet his convertible because, “They don’t know how to handle the car.”
What followed was a head-swelling monologue about his “craft” (which apparently involved taking his shirt off in a lot of hospital rooms). By dessert, Rachel excused herself under the guise of fixing her lipstick and instead hailed a cab. In the Goldstein lexicon, this is known as pulling a “Spago Escape.”
This cautionary tale is burned into my brain. Relationships can often feel like one person’s audition, with the other trapped as an unwilling viewer. The lesson here? If you don’t feel like an equal co-star in the story, rewrite the script—there’s no audience for one-man shows.
Chapter 4: The Great Family Shabbat Roast
Here’s a fun memory. One Friday night, I brought someone home to meet the family—Shabbat candles glowing, Bubbe’s brisket on the stove, and my dad letting his wine pour juuuust a little too heavy. I prepared my date for the typical family grilling (topics included his last name, career ambitions, and, crucially, how much he liked the movie "Annie Hall"). I underestimated, however, one critical factor: family lore as sport.
At some point, my Uncle Albert—he of the intentional “dad joke” delivery—told a long, winding tale about his college roommate who tried and failed to impersonate Bob Dylan at an open mic. It ended with the deadpan punchline: “Anyway, I don’t trust people who fake accents,” as everyone peered slyly at my poor date. Turns out, he had once imitated a British accent in a job interview. As I braced myself for the fallout, everyone burst out laughing (including my date). In Goldstein terms? A total win.
What this moment reminded me is that families aren't just gatekeepers—sometimes, they’re amplifiers of what already works. If someone meshes with your people, it’s often a sign. Plus, they might just survive the next Shabbat roast.
Chapter 5: Finding Joy in the Chaos
If you’ve gathered that the Goldstein family operates like a rom-com directed by Woody Allen (pre-2012 discourse, of course), you’d be correct. But here’s the thing: the stories we tell, no matter how exaggerated or bizarre, carry real insight into relationships. My family excels at rooting for the underdog (even if that underdog once stole poetry). They encourage patience while also demanding hilarity. They teach us that imperfection doesn’t just coexist with love—it’s kind of the whole point.
For me, these tales of love, awkwardness, and emotional nuance resonate in how I approach my relationships today. Because love isn’t found in the perfectly filtered Instagram milestone moments. It lives in the perfectly imperfect Friday night dinners, the ridiculous mistakes leading to laughter, and the willingness to keep showing up anyway.
Conclusion: Write Your Story—With the Right People Around
At its heart, family lore isn’t about perfect memories; it’s about preserving what matters most. If you’re ever feeling unmoored in love or life, think back to the stories that shaped you. They’re breadcrumbs leading you home. Because whether it’s a stolen poem or a Spago Escape, the memories you make today may one day become the stories that guide someone else.
And if you’re lucky, your Bubbe will always be there with a brisket recipe and a slightly judgmental side-eye. Now that? That’s love.
