All language subtitles for Eleanor the Great (2025)

We overslept.

You look

tired.

Thanks.

She's been looking at this moisture for
a long time.

I noticed.

Probably maybe he doesn't look at her.
She looks at him.

Did you know that they're renovating the
elevator?

You know what happened?

Four times I got caught.

Me, why?

I was yelling, I was hitting the button.

Somebody come help.

This is the last time this has happened.
We were suited.

They will like it.

They owe me a nice room. I'll let me eat
all my drinks.

That's true.

Rebecca, I saw her the other day.

Mom! Rebecca?

Yeah?

She became plump.

To think that she's going to find
somebody she's going to... Well, you

when love might happen.

Oh, no.

It's very hard, but... You'll be very
bad.

I told you, please.

Do you like me?

Oh, yeah.

Okay.

Oh,

you're a good...

Good to have you tonight.

Excuse me.

Where are the clothes in Scotia?

They're supposed to be right here.

I guess we're out.

Hello? Do you have them in the back,
maybe?

Well, we have a bunch of other pickles
right here. And honestly, I think all

pickles taste the same.

Excuse me?

Eleanor? Lou?

Are you listening to this?

All pickles are the same. I heard.

Hey, Charlie.

Nice name.

How long have you been working here,
Charlie?

I don't know, like, two weeks?

That's cute.

Well, yesterday was delivery day, and
you know how I know that?

Because we've been coming here every
Friday for the last 16 years.

Can you count to 16, Charlie?

Well, of course.

And here's what you're going to do.
You're going to go to the back.

Betsy, point to the back so Charlie
doesn't get lost.

You're going to turn left at the
shampoo.

Go all the way down the aisle. Now, I
know it's complicated, Charlie, but stay

with me. And you'll find the pickles
that my friend needs, okay?

Okay, go fetch.

You're from the Bronx, Eleanor. Now,
does that mean that I can't be sad about

the Holocaust?

Bessie, how I would I could be sad about
the Holocaust?

She couldn't be sad about the Holocaust.

It's not the same. You weren't there.

But neither were you. I never said I
was.

Bessie! Is Ivan yelling at me?

Bessie! Bessie!

I'm sorry, Mrs. Dern. Rounds are taking
a little longer than expected, but the

doctor shouldn't be more than an hour.

You have no idea, have you?

The Dern wing of neurology?

Bessie Dern.

Oh. Oh, my God.

I am so sorry.

I'll pay the doctor immediately.

That's okay, thank you. And she's
concussed. Don't listen to her. That'll

great. And some ice pops.

Redwoods. Two each.

Come on. It's a common last name. How's
she gonna know?

You have to stop doing that, Elle.

You're interesting enough. You don't
have to lie about who you are.

Oh yeah?

Well, I'm interesting enough too.

Why?

He doesn't seem sad.

A little gaunt.

Remember how much weight you lost after
Harry died?

Best I ever looked.

His wife was Jewish, you know.

I heard from you.

Terrible about what happened to her,
though.

Happens to all of us.

Not everyone gets to be a hundred.

Stop that.

You're gonna be fine.

Taking a trip, Eleanor?

Moving home, actually.

To New York, you?

You know, my daughter's been begging me
to move in with her for the longest

time. You mean the kid who's hooked on
Adam or the one who doesn't talk to you?

Nice knowing you, Clarice.

Oh, say goodbye to Melvin for me.

Oh, we had such a wonderful time the
other night.

Very strong.

You're so full of shit, Eleanor.

Yeah?

How long do you want me to stay?

I'm thinking I'm going to... I need to
convince her that she's better off

in one of those... One of those... She
always loves your ideas.

Oh, oh, oh, hey. Hi.

Hey. I see you.

I can help you with this.

No, no, no. It's fine.

Oh.

Oh, thank you.

Are you okay?

Yeah, great.

How was your flight?

Is she feeding you?

What's going on? Are you cold?

No, we're inside.

Mine is not cold.

You cut your hair, I see. Do you like
it? Yeah.

I liked it better when it was long.

So, where's the car?

We're taking an Uber. Oh.

So Dave got the car.

That's not what I said. So Maxie, did
your dad get the car?

Anyway, hold that thought.

I'm going to the bathroom and you can
tell me all about it in the Uber.

She's going to live forever.

I know.

in the Bronx for 40 years before my
husband and I moved to Florida.

Well, in that case, welcome home.

Never lived in Manhattan, though.

I'm 94 years old, and I'm moving to
Manhattan for the first time today.

I live in the state.

My condolence.

Tell me again, why do you live here?

Oh, this is a great apartment, Ma.

We're practically eating dinner smack
dab in the middle of the FDR.

The fumes can't be good.

It's affordable, huh?

How inconvenient is that?

I like it.

Is he being sarcastic?

Oh, Maxie, you're a soonie now.

Is it good? You like it? I think I'll
make Shabbat next week. That is if

everybody is free.

No, I got plans. A date?

No.

Have you started dating again?

He knows. You think he doesn't know?

Maxie, your mother dated up a storm in
high school.

I've always seen boys in a night. I'm
good, thanks.

And what was it those kids used to call
you, Lisa? Mom! Something very rude.

Funny, but rude. Mom!

Mom! What?

Please, stop!

The class mattress, that's what it was.

Mom, I'll come to Shibata.

Oh, one good Jew in the family. Thank
you, Maxie.

And I'll make that great gargle that you
like. How does that sound?

Great.

And my trainer was telling me about her
mom's building at Bay Ridge.

Sounds great for people your age.

Why? Do they have a morgue on site?

Also, I signed you up for the Broadway
singing squad at the JCC.

I judged the morgue prematurely. I can
see that now.

What is this piece of equipment?

Who lives like this?

It's an exercise bike, Ma.

I booked it in here when Max left for
college.

And when we find your place, I'm going
to use this room to work out in.

Oh, great.

Hold on. Where did you get these?

Oh, I found all of these old photos in
storage with a bunch of Daddy's old

stuff. Oh.

Yeah.

Would you go to Coney Island with me
tomorrow?

My, that worked.

Oh, come on. How important could it be?

I had a huge restaurant opening at
Lincoln Center.

What am I going to do here all day
alone?

I signed you up for a class at the JCC.

Maybe you'll make friends.

Mm -hmm.

Good times and bum times.

I've seen them all, and my dear, I'm
still here.

Flush velvet sometimes, sometimes just
pretzels and beer,

but I'm here.

I've stuffed the dailies in my shoes
from

ukulele, sauna, blues.

Seen all my dreams disappear, but I'm
here.

I've slept in shanty, the guest of the
WPA,

and I'm here.

Danced in my scanties, three bucks a
night was the pay,

and I'm here.

I've stood on red lines with the best.

Watched while the headlines did the
rest.

In the depression, side to press,
nowhere near.

Good times, bum times, I've seen them
all.

and my dear.

I'm still here.

I've run the gamut A to Z.

Reach years and dammit sail of thee.

I got through all of last year and I'm
here.

Lord knows at least I've been there.

But I'm here.

Sweater like that.

Cocktail zipper.

You just have to shake it around a
little.

Would you look at that?

Thank you. You're very kind.

We all gotta look out for each other.

You coming?

You're here for the group, right?

Yes. Yes.

Don't worry. The first time is always
the hardest.

I'm glad you found us.

Come.

Come on.

Come on.

I'm just signing now.

Okay.

Hi, everyone.

Hi, everyone.

It's great to see you.

Before we check in, I just want to
introduce you all to Nina.

Go ahead and introduce yourself to the
group, hon.

Well, first of all, I just want to say
thank you for letting me join you.

I'm a sophomore at NYU, and I'm here
because I'm writing an article for my

journalism class.

I'm just here to observe.

April, we also have a new member.

A lot of newbies today.

Why don't you introduce yourself?

Hi.

I'm Eleanor.

Hi, Eleanor.

I'll explain a little what goes on here
before we jump in, okay?

We're a support group, first and
foremost.

Sometimes we write about our time in the
Holocaust, but most of the time we just

share.

What about the Holocaust?

Just about your experience as a
survivor, how you move through the

been through what you have.

The purpose of the Holocaust Survivors
Support Group is just to speak freely.

Oh,

oh, I'm so hearty.

I understand it's emotional.

Most people don't understand how
alienating surviving can be. How alone

feel. But you don't have to be alone.

Not anymore.

Why don't you just tell us where you're
from?

originally um do you want to tell us a
little about your family

well my parents were very

kind people

running the woods.

I don't know.

What have I done all this time?

Well, more than most.

What have I done, Elma?

You raised a family, you worked at the
temple, and

you got Clarice to turn her goddamn
television down.

He would have done much more.

My brother, such a good boy.

People look at my arm and ask me, what
was it like?

And all I say, it was bad.

Why am I still here?

Good, Eleanor. That's a really good
start.

Sammy. Yes.

Want to tell us about your week?

Absolutely. But first of all, Eleanor,
welcome to our group.

Once you will start talking, you will
find out that that will be very

for you.

That has been my personal experience.

Welcome.

That was beautiful, Eleanor.

See you next week? Sure.

Sure.

Hi. Hi, I'm Nina.

Yeah, I saw you in there.

Right. The way that you talked about
your brother was so moving.

I was wondering if I could feature you
in my article.

I think not, no.

Oh. Well, maybe like a coffee or a phone
interview?

I would really love to talk to you. I'm
not interested.

Hey, you know who's in one of my
classes?

Haley Reed.

You remember her?

From sixth grade?

The one with the weird guy?

Oh, I see.

Yeah, she's in this new class of his.

I think you'd like it.

It's kind of up your alley.

Journalism and society.

Wait, you were interested in creative
writing.

You sure you're ready to take on the
hard news cycle?

I know.

You think poetry's a waste of time.

No, no, no, I never said that.

I think it's a great hobby.

It's just, you know, hard to make a
career out of.

Get out of me.

You were on a date.

No, just took a walk.

A walk in that?

Oh, guess not.

Oh, God.

Ms. Morgenstein, do you need the
paramedics?

No. If you can hear me, ma 'am, help is
on the way. No, no, thank you. So sorry.

No, thank you. We're just testing the...
Thank you so much. Thank you, sir.

This seems crazy.

Mom, it's for...

Come on, it's for if you fall and you
can't get to the phone and... And what?

Mom, I have a million things going on
and I cannot be here all the time.

And you have never lived alone. I'm
worried about something happening to you

when I'm not here.

What would happen?

Mom, I walk by this amazing...

independent living place on the upper
west side you would basically be on your

own except they you know they do the
wellness checks every morning just just

make sure you're okay and oh i got that
i um i have the brochure they do these

fun activities and i think there are a
lot of other residents you would have a

lot in common with you'd say that about
guantanamo if you thought they had an

opening for me here i got you the
brochure i think you know it really

amazing

Hey, you've got like a million texts
here.

Who's Nina?

Oh, here, give me that. Give me the
phone.

She said she got your number from the
sign -in sheet.

She's from the JCC.

Hey, hey, what did I tell you? You said
you made friends.

She's probably just texting about a
donation.

We have no bananas.

We have no bananas today.

We have no bananas.

Hello?

Hey, Bobby.

Maxie! I was just finishing the food.

What do you want, honey?

No, no, I understand.

It's okay, we'll just do it next week.

Be sure to cancel.

It's fine, you just go have a good time.

Okay, I love you.

Love you too, honey.

Bye -bye.

Hello. I'm surprised you called.

You're a hard person to get in touch
with.

Okay.

Well, let's make this quick.

Yes, quick.

Quick is great.

Great.

Um, and what year did you come to
America?

1952. No, 1953.

Wow. You barely have an accent.

Well, I've been here a very long time.

Of course.

Um, all right, I just have a few more
questions.

You're very serious about this
journalism thing, huh?

Don't you want to be with your friends
Friday night and all?

Um, I don't know.

I think going out is kind of overrated.

People are just weird.

When you go to boarding school from 9th
to 12th grade, you sort of lose touch.

I'm not really sure who my friends are
anymore.

That makes two of us.

When you spoke about running through the
woods with your brother, you were

escaping, right?

You know, I don't think Shabbat is a
good time for heavy conversation.

You do know what Shabbat is, right?

Sure, my mom is Jewish.

But we never, like, practiced.

What do you mean your mom was Jewish?

If you're Jewish, you're Jewish.

Oh, no, I... I didn't mean... She passed
away recently.

Oh, my dear.

I am so sorry to hear that.

What was her name?

Jean.

Nina?

Nina?

What are you doing in here?

I'm sorry.

I just saw these pictures.

Oh.

Is that your husband?

Yeah, that's Harry.

And that's Bessie. She was my closest
friend.

Did you guys meet in New York?

And we lived in the same housing project
in the Bronx.

But we might as well have lived on this
boardwalk.

She loved Coney Island better than
anywhere else on earth.

You've been crying.

Wasn't I?

Yes, you have. You're all blotchy. Here,
sit down.

Are you okay?

How long after your brother died were
you able to talk about him without

How long has it been?

Almost six months.

Nina, would you like to go to synagogue
with me tomorrow?

Really?

Every Jewish woman should see what the
faith has to offer.

Besides, you can give me the third
degree there, too.

And like them.

learn.

How often do you come here?

Every Saturday.

Oh.

How do you know her? I don't.

You don't know these people?

Are we crushing upon referring them?

For the longest time, there was a place
only for men.

Women were welcome. We certainly weren't
about missing.

When I was young, I... You were just
fighting to stay

alive.

Anyway, I just mean, I never got the
chance to celebrate my Jewish identity.

How does it make you feel?

What are you, a shrink now?

You see those girls?

Now, I'm the one that should be having a
bat mitzvah. They don't even care about

what it means.

Hello.

It's so nice to see two new faces.

Oh, I'd love to introduce myself.

I am Rabbi Cohen.

I'm new here myself. So please feel free
to reach out any time.

I hope to see more of you.

If you'll excuse me.

Well, that was weird.

Oh, God.

Good night.

Oh, come on.

No.

No, no. I told you.

I told you, and now I'm telling you
what, the seventh time?

Just cancel the membership and stop
sending me her mail.

Sorry,

I'm just... I'm going to find my laptop.

Sorry, I...

How's

the homework going?

I'm in college, Dad. I don't know if you
can ask me that anymore.

But I... I did pick a subject for my
journalism project.

Yeah, yeah, I'm actually profiling a
Holocaust survivor.

She spends Saturdays at other people's
bat mitzvahs because she wasn't able to

have one.

That's a good angle.

You should push that, the bat mitzvah
thing.

Do you know if Mom ever had one?

A bat mitzvah?

Oh, we actually don't have straws. It's
like an environmental thing.

Now, what was I saying? You want me to
cry? Right.

If there's one thing I've learned, and
you can write this down in your

you have to talk about the things that
make you sad.

Jews fled Poland and never talked about
what they went through. They just kept

it moving, and there's some good in
that.

But it could just eat you alive.

Eighty years later, and you'll still be
there.

Oh, please.

You got me.

She was an artist, actually.

A photographer.

Was she successful?

Yeah. Yeah, she was.

So, and did you?

Every year on my birthday.

She'd make a new portrait of us
together.

Like, same background and same position.

Charting, like, how we aged and how we
grew.

She would fill my room with secret
notes.

It would take me weeks to find them all.

No wonder my daughter hates me.

Oh, come on. I'm sure you did a lot of
nice things for her.

I kept my daughter alive.

That's what my mother did for me.

What was your mom like?

Tired.

What's it like being 94?

I feel the same way I did when I was 16.

I mean, I'm exactly the same.

As you were in those old photos?

I used to be so young and cute.

You're still cute.

Everyone thinks older people aren't
sexual.

But I think about sex.

That part doesn't just go away.

You know?

Sometimes I'm sad about it.

What about you?

I'm gay. Wow.

That's open and honest.

It's just who I am.

Well, I think it's great that you be
yourself.

I'm glad you're here.

You're a cool lady, Eleanor.

Hey, can I ask a favor?

What is it?

Would you consider coming to speak to
the kids in my class this week?

It's part of my grade.

Speak about what?

Just the same thing she spoke about in
group.

You know what I realized?

I talked about my mom for 20 minutes
tonight and I didn't cry.

You're welcome.

to your friends.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

What's so formal?

Hello?

Eleanor?

David Thompson. I'm head of the
journalism department here at NYU.

We're so lucky to have you. Oh, thank
you. You have everything you need. Oh,

yes. Great.

If you'll excuse me, we're just setting
up the camera, so it shouldn't take too

long.

They're filming this?

Oh, yeah. Professor Thompson's very into
things being on the record.

It's kind of an important part of the
journalistic process.

I'm going to the bathroom.

Oh, are you okay?

One thing you'll learn about me, I don't
like surprises.

Oh, hey.

You okay?

I don't think this was a good idea.

You'll be fine.

You can just talk to them like you talk
to me.

Oh, that's the problem.

I shouldn't be...

Well, I just don't want to talk about
that time.

We have to talk about the things that
make you sad, right?

You shouldn't listen to me. Too late.

Okay, we're good.

Amy, you can start.

Eleanor Morgenstein, thank you so much
for coming in today and sharing your

story. It brought the class up to speed
with your recent interviews.

Right.

Well, the truth is...

I'd like to go back a little, start
again.

I was nine years old.

Christian family took us in.

My brother, me, and our mother.

Our home was inside a small closet.

For years we lived like this.

world through the slats of a door.

Life was on the other side.

Everything for me was always on the
other side of that door.

When I came to New York, I would look up
the subway

and see the gratings and

people walking above me. Now I would
think all those people,

they are in life.

In life.

But I was outside.

Then one day, at the door in When the
closet

opened, there were soldiers.

My mother, she held us

with all her strength.

She would not let go.

She did not let go.

I can still feel her hand in mine.

It wasn't great.

I think you were amazing.

You don't give yourself enough credit.

Right.

People really love listening to you.

Can you have time to come and talk to my
professor?

I have to see another apartment with
Lisa.

Well, if you'd rather hang out with me,
I have a special trip in mind for us. A

trip? Give me one of those.

I know I said I hate surprises, but you
know what? I'm intrigued.

I'll see the apartment another time. All
right. Let's go.

Oh, do you mind if I drop my bag off
first?

We're not far from my place.

If you're taking me to your dorm room,
don't tell me God.

Oh, hey.

I'm not a dorm.

Wow.

Yeah, my mom's parents bought it for
nothing back in the day.

Look at these.

Nina, you didn't tell me you wrote
poetry.

Um, I was from eighth grade. I wouldn't
get excited.

Can I borrow it?

Yeah, sure. You can keep it.

Do you still write poems?

Uh, I don't know.

But what I do know is that book got me a
full ride to the Putney School.

Where's that?

Vermont.

I needed to get the hell out of here.

That bad, huh?

Yeah, my parents are just fighting
constantly.

What a way to grow up.

Uh, yeah.

It wasn't really my favorite time.

Wait.

Did you forget to tell me something?

Not really.

You ready?

You've been giving me the third degree
and forgot to mention you're related to

Roger David?

I'm related to Roger David.

And our Uber's here. Roger David.

If Bessie were alive, she'd drop dead.

Is he home? Is he here?

He's so handsome and smart.

And Bessie mentioned that he married a
Jew.

I should have known. But how would I
have known?

Can I please take this thing off? I'm
about to hurl.

We're not there yet.

I'm a bigger fan of Roger Davis than you
are.

No, no, I love my dad.

It's just been weird.

He never talks about my mom.

Like, I'll bring her up and he'll just
leave the room.

Like she did.

Poof, went away.

Aw, honey.

Oh, just here on the right is good.

You okay? Oh, I've got it.

All right, you may remove your mask now.

you to have a nice time.

Eleanor?

It's just like it was.

Oh, thank you.

Do you look around?

Yeah.

Wonderful, Eleanor.

I can assign you a date and a Torah
portion today.

Four

weeks from today.

Wow, that soon?

Okay, sure.

Perfect. Which means that your Torah
portion will be...

Ah. The story of Jacob and Esau.

Now, I know that you're familiar with
the teachings of the Torah, but I do

with all my students, so please bear
with me.

The story of Jacob and his brother Esau
is one of intrigue.

It's one of passion.

Rabbi, I'm 200 years old. Just give me
the gist.

Okay, okay.

Well, then you tell me, Eleanor, why
does Jacob want his father's blessing?

Because Jacob's older brother is a bad,
selfish guy.

Okay, good, good.

And? And he doesn't deserve his
birthright, and Jacob deserves it

knows he will follow the Lord's
commandments.

Very good.

But Isaac refuses to give it to him.

So Jacob pricks his father into thinking
that he's his brother Esau and covers

himself in sheepskin. Because Esau was a
very hairy man and his father was

blind. Yes. And so Jacob, mimicking his
brother's voice, said, Father, give me

your blessing.

So Isaac reaches out, feels for the
sheepskin, mistakes Jacob for his

and gives Jacob the blessing.

Just like that.

Jacob takes on his brother's identity,
and there were no consequences.

Um,

well,

um... Other than becoming the revered
patriarch of our religion.

Well, the heart of the story, Eleanor,
it's not about deception.

It's about truth.

Sure, I guess under some conditions,
deception isn't always bad.

No.

If the intention is pure.

Right.

Obviously, it's not done yet.

You know, we still have appointments.

That's good.

Really? Yeah, it's thoughtful.

It's personal.

It's moving.

It's informative.

You know, I'd like to have dinner with
the two of you.

The two of you?

Me? Like the two of us? Yes.

Out of nowhere, he just asked to read my
Eleanor article. And so he reads it and

he likes it. Well, I'm not surprised.

your poems are very impressive i've been
reading them oh really how about this

for the ceremony i don't have to wear a
dress neither do you wait what me excuse

me where are your dressing rooms one two
three

I'm going to buy both. It's my treat.

No, no, I can't let you do that.

It's my bad bitch and I can do whatever
the hell I want.

You look amazing.

So do you. Does it feel good? I feel
wonderful. I love it.

We look like twins. I know.

What are you doing in here? Oh, what,
Lisa? You can't knock?

Sounds like you were strangling an
animal in here. Oh, that's nice. Thank

very much.

What's that?

Nothing. I'm praying.

For what?

For Dad.

I'm saying Kaddish.

It's been 11 years today since he died,
and I thought Dad died in August.

It's March.

Is it?

Ma, are you doing okay?

I'm fine. I'm just a little confused.

I'm worried about you.

I'm not moving into a home.

Ma, I don't even know where you are half
the time. You don't answer your phone.

Where are you even going? I'm fine.

Highlight?

Yeah, oh yeah, a little.

Oops, nice.

Eyebrows don't match now, though.

Thank you. Well, welcome to the
Knickerbocker.

Roger Davis's table.

Right this way.

Thank you.

Oh, hi.

Hey, how are you? I'm fine. Good to see
you.

Eleanor, I'm Roger. I know who you are.

Please.

Wow, you look really great.

Okay, I'm just going to jump straight
into this. I'm excited, okay? I show my

producing.

I think it would make a great on -air
segment for the fabric of New York.

I mean, it's the story of the resilience
of the human spirit. It's

inspirational. It's a human interest
piece about New York. Me?

Oh, no, no, no, no. Look, it's not every
day you meet a Holocaust survivor that

feels the need to reaffirm her faith.

Oh, I'm not really that interesting.

Oh, you're more than interesting,
Eleanor. You're important.

Your story, your brother's story, you
know, I think people should know about

you.

This work is really touching me.

You liked my article that much?

I loved it.

You're good. You could do this if you
wanted it enough.

How much of what I told you did you end
up using?

I'll send it to you tonight.

Oh, my God. Dad, this is so cool.

What? Yes.

All right, well, let's have a toast.

To Eleanor. To Eleanor.

When you are a Holocaust survivor and
you regress,

What you are going back to is the
darkest point of human history.

Eighty years, Eleanor Morgenstein
starts, and I'm still back

there.

What's the occasion?

I have something at the JCC.

And that?

I only have so many Saturdays left.

Why not look nice?

Well, you do.

Thank you.

And thank you, Maxie, for letting me
steal your bed.

Oh, yeah, it's no problem.

Um, I'm actually going to go play ball
with some friends if you want to split a

cap. Oh, no, it's okay. I'll walk.

What do you mean that's okay?

It's freezing out.

You should split the cab.

Yeah, let's go.

Okay.

Bye, Mom. Bye.

Bye, sweetie.

Love you.

Guys, come on.

You'll see everything set up on the
left, okay?

You in touch with Emma?

Yeah, yeah, she's on the way.

What's the ETA on the gas? Let me follow
it. Well, what, Dad?

It's a surprise.

No, no, no, Dad.

Eleanor hates surprises.

She'll like this one.

You know, this is ridiculous.

This bus has been here forever.

You're not moving.

Nothing I can do.

Oh, here is good.

Maxie. I'll see you a little later at
home, okay?

Okay. Do you need any help or anything?
Oh, no, I'm okay. I'm fine.

I love you. I love you, too, hon.

Bye. Bye -bye.

Next stop is 103rd, please.

Thanks.

Oh, Mom.

We just get out of my cab and she's in
another cab.

Sir, can you follow that cab for me,
please?

Thank you.

There you are.

I like your pantsuit.

Where'd you get it? An old friend.

Are you calling me old?

You want me to take your coat? No, not
so quick.

Are you okay?

Yeah.

My mouth's a little dry.

other than that it's okay we got this
yeah hello everyone

and uh welcome today we are here to
celebrate the dedication

and commitment of a woman who seeks to
claim her role as a teacher of the

tradition and unlike most of the
students i teach she is clearly not

forced into this by our parents

Part of the beauty of days like this is
who we share them with.

And I know there are many friends, new
and old, who are here in support of

Eleanor. And I see a few more trickling
in now who know just how important

friendship and faith are in these most
trying of times.

We are so happy to have you here.

One of the interns did this article from
a local newspaper in Florida.

Eleanor Morgenstein, born and raised in
Des Moines, Iowa.

Now, before we begin, I'd like to
welcome Eleanor's friend, Nina Davis.

I didn't meet Eleanor like I meet most
of my friends.

We don't go to the same school.

We don't share the same taste in music.

We don't...

My mom

died this past year.

And I'm young enough that I don't know
too many people that have lost parents,

thankfully.

But when it happened, none of my friends
could relate, or...

They felt sorry for me or for I putting
them away.

They were too nervous to bring her up.

When I did, they sort of just nod or
pretend like they didn't hear me.

The conversation seemed to stop.

Then I met you.

And you listened.

And you understood.

And you didn't try to change the
subject.

You just spoke to me like you would any
other person.

Which is to say that you yelled a lot.

And I want to thank you for that.

You helped me.

And now I'd like to introduce Vera
Mandrella.

I am honored to be speaking at Eleanor's
Bat Mitzvah.

As survivors, we share something almost
unspeakable.

I am very proud of you, my friend.

for sharing your story of the Holocaust
with us at the JCC.

Ma?

What is going on here?

What is it? Ma?

I'm sorry.

Ma,

did you tell these people that you're a
Holocaust survivor?

Look, I'm very sorry. My mother
converted to Judaism in 1953 when she

father. She is not a Holocaust survivor.

She is from the Midwest.

Mom, what is this?

Mom?

Oh, Nina.

Please listen to me.

I was there for the Broadway singing
squad, and I followed Vera. I didn't...

really don't want to hear it. Oh, I was
so lonely.

And I needed a friend.

And you have been such a wonderful
friend. You have.

But you weren't. No, I wasn't.

Let's go home, Garcia.

So everything you told me about,
everything that you said was a lie.

Who the hell lies about that?

Are you crazy?

Maybe I am. I don't know. I spent all of
this time with you. I've had all of

these open conversations.

I poured my heart out to you. It wasn't
a lie.

Elena, please.

It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't my
story.

Nina!

Yeah I

feel like such an idiot

I don't think there's a lesson here

You always see the best in people.

Yeah, since you were a kid.

And that can be a wonderful thing.

But not everybody's who they say they
are.

You're older now, and you'll see that
people will take advantage of that kind

trust.

I hate to see you get hurt like this.

I'm okay.

And in this day and age, we are
constantly bombarded by this invention.

It is our job as journalists to educate
the readers about such reality.

Thank you. Hey, you okay?

Who am I?

Who am I anymore?

You're my mother.

And you always will be.

You knew that day would leave you, no
matter what happened.

You're putting me in a whole march.

Go home. It's a place I know you'll be
safe. Safe from what?

Safe from what, Lisa?

I don't want to fight. I'm tired of
fighting. I love fighting. I want to

Let me keep on fighting. Mom, let me
help you.

This is good.

Why don't you go out anymore, Lisa?

No.

That's over.

Why over?

You look at a picture of yourself taken
10 years ago, and how do you look?

Amazing.

And what did you think when that picture
was taken?

I was just a hot mess.

You wasted all that time thinking you

looked bad when you looked...

Why didn't you tell me that before?

I don't know.

I shouldn't.

No, no, no. Then we cut to the bottom.
It's for footage.

Well, either way, we need it ready to go
at 8 o 'clock. What are you talking

about? Peter, I'm going to call you
back.

Okay. Dad, what's going on? Yeah, I
wanted to talk to you.

Yeah, about what? Well, there's still a
story worth exploring.

What? No.

No, there's not.

Actually, Nina, yeah, there is.

Dad, what the hell are you talking
about? Are you serious?

How could you do this? This is so
embarrassing.

For me and for Eleanor. Just calm down.
Let me explain. No, no, no, no, no.

There's nothing to explain. There's
nothing to explain. Because all you care

about is getting your story.

Even if it means ruining people's lives.

God, you are so heartless. How could you
do this to me? Can you just take a

second and listen to me? No, no.

You have no right to tell me what to do.

You have no right to tell me anything.

I've been so alone.

So alone, and you just don't seem to get
that.

The only reason that I took this
journalism class, or did literally any

is so that you would speak to me.

Eleanor has left me 14 messages trying
to explain why she lied.

And you know what? She actually has a
pretty good explanation.

Yeah, I'm sure she does.

Daddy!

Even if she didn't, even if she didn't,
it wouldn't matter.

Because at least she felt like she owed
me one.

when mom's accident happened.

Where were you? Where have you been?

Where have you been for months?

Where is the Eleanor Morgan thing I'm
watching with?

The Morgan thing moved out a few days
ago. What? Where?

Sorry, I don't know.

Would you like to leave a message for
our daughter?

You're welcome to join us. Thanks,
everyone.

Hey, Eleanor.

The usual?

Or are we adding whipped cream this
time?

Are you spoiling me?

I'll have two scoops of vanilla and the
hot fudge.

Thank you, Dante.

You're just joining us at the 8 o 'clock
hour. I'm Roger Davis, and this is The

Fabric of New York.

Eleanor Morgenstein was your average 94
-year -old. Having recently moved to New

York City from Florida, she had a loving
family and attended synagogue weekly.

A few months back, Ms. Morgenstein
walked into a Holocaust survivor support

group at her local Jewish community
center and told a story that moved

who heard it.

It was harrowing. It was visceral.

The only problem, it wasn't hers.

Eleanor did not survive the Holocaust.
In fact, she was born and raised in Des

Moines, Iowa.

She later moved to New York City, where
in 1953, she met Bessie Stern in a

stenography pool.

Best friends for 70 years, Bessie and
Eleanor experienced all of life's

milestones together. The two were
inseparable until Bessie passed away.

This last December.

It was Bessie's survivor's story that
Eleanor told that fateful day.

Eleanor's lie came as a shock to those
close to her. Even her own family didn't

know the double life she'd been living.

Which begs the question, what drove
Eleanor to lie?

And while I can't say for sure, I
imagine...

defending or condoning the actions of
Ms. Morgenstein, I empathize with

who's lost the center of their universe
only to find themselves suspended in

midair.

Almost eight months ago, my daughter and
I lost our mother.

And I can tell you that grief can make
you selfish.

It can make you blind to the suffering
of others.

Some people act out.

Others retreat inward.

In the months since my wife died, I've
only said her name once.

at the station and digging deep asking
questions and getting to the root of it

why do we as a society bury grief in the
darkness when it is the inevitable

outcome of the love that unites us all
why do we isolate at exactly

the moment that we need human connection
the most when we return

we will begin a week -long in -depth
series

on the taboos of grief.

From disassociation to discomfort, our
show sheds light on the psychology

of loss.

Stay with us.

And we're clear?

Back in two minutes.

No, that's my mom. She's not here.

She passed away.

We're breathing.

How you doing? I'm fine.

Everything's great.

Yeah? Well, isn't that nice of you?
Thank you. I have something else for

Hi, Eleanor.

Oh, I

thought she hated me.

Oh, I thought you hated me. No, I could
never.

the granddaughter I told you about?

I missed you. Oh, me too.

Okay, lovebirds.

Let's get out of here. Where are we
going?

We could get some fresh air.

Do you want to have lunch, ma?

We eat lunch at 11.

Oh, that's early.

There is somewhere I need to go, though.
But what time is it?

You've got time.

Her name was Elizabeth Stern.

Betsy.

She was born December 17, 1929.

She was married to Sidney Stern for 50
years, and they had two

children, Stephen and Rachel, and four
beautiful grandchildren.

After Sid died,

We lived together for 11 years.

Sometimes when you live with someone for
that long, you forget where you end and

they begin.

And I am so sorry, so sorry that I
betrayed your trust.

I tried to fill the hole that she left.

I told her story like it was mine
because

I miss her.

And now I need to tell her because she
can't. Go on.

After we were captured, we were taken to
Auschwitz.

We were separated.

They took my mother.

My brother tried to run after her, but I
had to hold him back.

I had to.

We survived because we could work in the
ammunition factory.

We had small hands, and that was good
for that kind of work.

Then one day, they moved us, packed us
in trains.

Well, we didn't know where we were
going. How did you ever get away?

On top of the trains, there were
soldiers with guns.

And they would shoot at anyone who would
jump from a window. My God, did people

jump?

I did.

I wouldn't have done it, but I saw my
brother. He jumped first, so I did the

same thing.

I landed in a ditch of snow, and I was
running.

I was running.

They kept on shooting.

I could hear the bullet.

I ended up in the woods.

It was wet and it was snow and I was so
cold, but I did not move.

I stood still and I waited, just waited.

Then when the train was gone and it was
quiet,

That's when I stood up.

I still don't understand.

My brother, he jumped a few seconds
before me and it took me hours till I

him.

And...

When

I did...

I could not even recognize him.

Fourteen times they shot him. You
counted?

I ask myself so many times.

Why?

Why am I alive?

Why is he dead?

Why is my brother dead? What did he do?

years to go back and pray.

And I think I'm beginning to understand
maybe

God saved me so

I can share my life.

If you'll be able to sleep.

I think we deserve to sleep in tomorrow.

What do you think?

Beth?