Grandpa was the epitome of what a good husband, father and grandfather should be. However, to me he wasn't just a grandfather, he was my "father". He made a choice when I was young to raise me as if I was his own. A choice like that isn't an easy one. Prior to his retirement he worked at JFK. I remember him coming home with Entenmann's cookies or cakes. We would eat dessert after dinner. He made sure to pass along his sweet tooth. He was supposed to retire, and enjoy his golden years with his wife, but that's not what happened. What happened was waking up late at night to rub my head when it hurt, putting on the radio to help me get back to sleep; then kissing me good night while calling me his sweet girl. Collecting my teeth and putting a dollar under my pillow because he was my tooth fairy. Taking me to the movies or picking me up from school when my tummy hurt. Telling me stories of how burgers were 5 cents back in his day. I'd laugh and say those days are over. One of our favorite pastimes would be sitting in his den reading Quetzal Quest by V Wolfgang Von Hagen and Quail Hawkins. Each night I would sit on the floor and read aloud while he sat in his chair and listened. Not even the TV was on so that meant I had his undivided attention. He would help me with the words I didn't know and then explain them to me. I would look up at him in awe, wondering how smart someone can be and could I be that way as well? I'll send heaven a letter when I find out. The more I look back the more I realize these memories are endless just like his love. My last conversation with him was more of a shouting match as he was hard of hearing by this time, but I remember telling him I accepted a federal position. I was so excited to tell him and hearing how proud he was filled me with joy. That's all I've ever wanted to do was make him proud the way I was proud to have him as my "father".

My grandfather was the greatest example of what it means to be a provider. He worked tirelessly to ensure his family had what they needed — not just in material things, but in values, strength, love, and knowledge. He didn’t need to say much, although sometimes he said more than necessary (lol)! His actions said it all. Everything he did, he proudly did for the people he loved.

He was a man of many passions: a history buff, a coin collector, a lover of baseball, stones, and jewelry. But above all, he was a lifelong learner. He loved to read — and just as much, he loved to talk about what he read. You could sit with him for hours, learning things you never even thought to wonder about — and maybe never would again — but that was his gift: sharing knowledge like it was treasure.

Some of my favorite memories are of the little dates we had — going to the movies, or riding two buses just to get to the Sizzler buffet. He’d say, “Eat anything you want,” and I did. I felt special. When he came home from work, he’d often bring me a Kit Kat — a small gesture that meant everything. Looking back, I know it was his quiet way of saying, “I’m thinking of you.”

He wasn’t the most outwardly emotional man, but I’ll never forget the time he found out I once doubted whether he loved me. The look on his face — the hurt, the sadness — and his words: “Of course, I love you.” I’ll also never forget the time, years later, when he told me how proud he was of me — how I had done well for myself. That meant everything to me, because coming from him, it wasn’t just praise. It recognition. A passing of the torch from one provider to another.

My grandfather was steady, curious, strong, and deeply generous. He leaves behind a legacy of love, hard work, and learning.

I will miss him. But I’ll carry his love with me — in every Kit Kat I eat, every history book I open, and every quiet moment when I’m reminded that love doesn’t always have to be loud. Sometimes, it’s just shown.

Love Jenny

My grandfather was the greatest example of what it means to be a provider. He worked tirelessly to ensure his family had what they needed — not just in material things, but in values, strength, love, and knowledge. He didn’t need to say much — although sometimes he said more than necessary (lol)! His actions said it all. Everything he did, he proudly did for the people he loved.

He was a man of many passions: a history buff, a coin collector, a lover of baseball, stones, and jewelry. But above all, he was a lifelong learner. He loved to read — and just as much, he loved to talk about what he read. You could sit with him for hours, learning things you never even thought to wonder about — and maybe never would again — but that was his gift sharing knowledge like it was treasure.

Some of my favorite memories are of the little dates we had — going to the movies, or riding two buses just to get to the Sizzler buffet. He’d say, “Eat anything you want,” and I did. I felt special. When he came home from work, he’d often bring me a Kit Kat — a small gesture that meant everything. Looking back, I know it was his quiet way of saying, “I’m thinking of you.”

He wasn’t the most outwardly emotional man, but I’ll never forget the time he learned I had once doubted his love for me. The look on his face — the hurt, the sadness — and his words: “Of course, I love you.” I’ll also never forget the time, years later, when he told me how proud he was of me — how I had done well for myself. That meant everything to me, because coming from him, it wasn’t just praise. It was his recognition. A passing of the torch from one provider to another.

My grandfather was steady, curious, strong, and deeply generous. He leaves behind a legacy of love, hard work, and learning.

I will miss him. But I’ll carry his love with me — in every Kit Kat I eat, every history book I open, and every quiet moment when I’m reminded that love doesn’t always have to be loud. Sometimes, it’s just shown.

Love Jenny

OBITUARY

Samuel "Sol" Rulnick

5 November, 1930 – 23 April, 2025

Schwartz Brothers-Jeffer Memorial Chapels

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