Ida Dorothy Braunstein
“Commitment is an act, not a word."
-Jean-Paul Sartre
Obituary
Ida Dorothy Braunstein, of Los Angeles, California, died peacefully while holding the hand of her beloved daughter, Gilda, on Saturday, August 29th, 2026. She lived a full life, leaving us for the next realm at the age of ninety-seven.
Ida is survived by her daughter, Gilda, and grandchildren: Louis with wife Sonya and their son Bennett, Leigh with partner Jo, and Loren. Ida was preceded in death by her ex-husband, co-parent, and dear friend, Ernest Braunstein, in 2020, as well as her siblings: Phil, Bernard, Louis, Frances, and Irving.
Ida was born on December 16th, 1928 and grew up in Pennsylvania, Delaware, and later California. The youngest of four half-siblings on her father’s side and one on her mother’s side, Ida was born to Mary and Morris Backstein, who were both survivors of the anti-Jewish pogroms (massacres) plaguing what was then the Russian Empire.
Life was not easy for the Backstein family, and Ida sharpened her tremendous work ethic from an early age. Young Ida was a precocious and serious student. She possessed both intellectual and artistic talents, and in another life might’ve been a fashion designer, having designed her own clothing while still in high school. After graduating as valedictorian at sixteen years old, Ida delayed her ambition of attending college and instead began work as a secretary to help support her family. This would be the start of a lifelong career, working her way from entry-level positions to Assistant to the President of Teledyne Technologies, until she retired after more than three decades of service to the company.
In all aspects of her life, Ida remained relentlessly dedicated. Her hair was always perfectly coiffed, her clothes tastefully fashionable, her voicemails rehearsed and pre-written in immaculate cursive, her budgeting careful and exact, making sure she could always provide her daughter and grandchildren with everything they needed on her modest salary. In all these ways and more, Ida showed her love through her commitment and sense of responsibility to her loved ones.
Ida showed up for her family nearly every day of her adult life. She picked the grandkids up from school, delivered groceries, took them to lessons, recitals, afterschool programs, and summer camps. It was never a question of whether or not she would be there to help. She was a paragon of dependability.
In her lighter moments, Ida took great pleasure in art, music, and nature. A talented illustrator herself, Ida championed her children’s artistic passions, supporting her daughter’s love of performing arts and her grandchildren’s music lessons. Sleepovers at grandma’s place would always necessitate a trip to Michael’s craft store. Gathered around her yellow formica kitchen table, the grandchildren would fill in coloring books while Grandma effortlessly sketched still life drawings, cartoon characters, and portraits.
A proud “cat lady,” Ida had wall hangings, statues, jewelry, and photography books celebrating the careful, clever, and at times moody, creatures that she coincidentally seemed to emulate. Ida and her daughter, Gilda, together rescued and cared for four cats during Gilda’s childhood. Looking after Tawny, Ruffles, Tom-Tom and Pepper provided mom and daughter a way to bond and work together from a shared affinity for animals in need. Later, Ida would take in two more rescue kitties, Amadeus and Tiffany. Throughout her life, Ida continued to donate first and foremost to the World Wildlife Fund.
Ida will also be remembered for her wisecracking sense of humor, imaginative language, and the softer side she showed to her family in her final years. Towards the end of her life, Ida delighted in singing old Yiddish folk tunes, listening to crooner classics like Sammy Davis Jr., Frank Sinatra, and Nat King Cole, and saying “hello” to her favorite birch trees in the courtyard of her care home. Most of all, she delighted in seeing the faces of her “Gilda-Lee,” her “big guys” (Louis and Loren), and her “big blue eyes” (Leigh). Ida’s family was everything to her, and we will never forget her hard work and sacrifice in service of giving us a better life. Ida Dorothy Braunstein, may your memory be a blessing. In trying times, may we look inward and be able to find your dependability, dedication, humor, and strength, the marks you’ve left on all of us. Thank you for these gifts. We will cherish them and love you forever.
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Memory wall
Aunt Ida and I always had a lot of geographical space between us. When I was growing up in New York, she was firmly planted in LA. I later moved to Northern California, and she was still in LA. Then we moved back east to North Carolina, and yes, Ida was still in her beloved Los Angeles.
We didn’t get to visit face to face very often, but whenever we spoke on the phone or had the chance to see each other, one thing always stuck with me. Ida wanted to hear about family.
Maybe that was because ours was so small. I was her only nephew on our side of the family. She would ask how the East Coast contingent was doing, particularly my parents. Of all her siblings, I think Lou, my dad, was the closest to Ida.
Then she would proudly give me all the updates about her clan. Gilda, of course, and then her pride and joys, her grandchildren — Louis, Leigh and Loren. It was a grandmother’s chance to gloat a little and update her nephew on how everyone was doing.
Family was very important to Aunt Ida. She was the shuttle service, daycare, cheering section and, when needed, the emotional support.
But the way I most fondly remember Aunt Ida comes from a little story that happened a long time ago.
Both my parents had moved to California, and Ida came up to the Bay Area for a long weekend visit. At the time, my mom, who was blind, had a seeing-eye dog named Derrick. Tamara and I had rented a van so everyone could tour around together.
Lou and Jocelyn got into the second row first with Derrick on the floor, and then Ida got in next to them. It was a cool day, and everyone was bundled up. Ida was wrapped in a fluffy fur coat that, coincidentally, was about the same color as Derrick.
As we were getting ready to go, I heard my mother talking to Derrick, trying to keep him calm with so many people in such a small space.
Then I glanced in the rearview mirror.
My mom was talking to Derrick — and petting Ida’s coat.
Aunt Ida just sat there, quietly smiling and letting it happen.
Then suddenly, she burst out laughing. We all turned to see what was so funny. Just then, my mom remembered that Derrick was on the floor, and we all had a good laugh over it. Mom continued to snuggle up to Ida in the warmth and comfort of her soft, furry cocoon.
When I think about that moment now, what comes back to me is Aunt Ida’s gentle kindness, her sense of humor, and that great smile. She could have corrected my mother immediately. Instead, she just sat there smiling, letting my mom enjoy the warmth and comfort until the moment revealed itself.
That is how I will remember Aunt Ida.
Thank you, Aunt Ida. You made the world a kinder and happier place — mine, for certain.
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