(Note: This was an actual eulogy I delivered at the funeral of my Great Aunt Rose)
Some people are lucky to have known all four of their Grandparents, and to have known them well. To know what made them laugh, what made them proud, what kind of stories they would tell----to know the kind of people that they were. I was lucky in that I knew all of my Grandparents and was also fortunate enough to have surrogates, people who loved me just as much, who enjoyed my awkward march to adulthood with just as much pride and interest as my grandparents themselves. Aunt Rose was a surrogate Grandmother to me.
She was one of those figures so prominent in my life that I do not recall my first memory of her, the same way I do not recall my first memory of the sky, or the sun, or hunger, or thirst. Aunt Rose radiated her love and her joy as effortlessly as a mirror projects a reflection. She was one of those people you could know instantly----what you see is what you get---- however she never failed to surprise you with her sharp wit or a disarming look or a quick comment on something you had absolutely no idea that she would notice.
Aunt Rose was living bridge, for me, to the traditions and ways of our people as they lived before World War II. Every holy holiday was held at her house whether it was Break Fast, or Rosh Hashanah, or especially, Passover. The Passover Seder that Aunt Rose provided, when she was still very healthy and able to prepare the whole meal, was such a treat. As a young child I barely understood what was going on—I suppose as the simple son might not. However even a child can appreciate the smells and tastes of a traditional meal, cooked with someone’s heart and soul and served to those whom she loved.
I could never make it through the whole meal, sometime after soup like clockwork I would have to retire to the couch for a well earned nap. Even the last Passover Seder we had in Aunt Rose’s house I was 22 years old and still I had to leave the table to take a nap. But in this way, with Aunt Rose gone the holidays and gatherings of the Jewish People will to me be a little stranger, will seem a little less like home, and certainly a little quieter without Aunt Rose’s frustrated Yiddish directing Pessie and Shayndee what to do or what not to do.
However it is my firm resolution that these things do not pass away. These traditions should be carried on the best that they can when I have my own family. That I too will make sure that there will be a child who not make it through the Seder and must retire for naps. There are things I will never myself be able to duplicate however, because they were not traditions of our people…but rather institutions of Aunt Rose. What I will not be able to provide is a house so well preserved from the time it was first decorated that it could be in Look Magazine.
Just last night Uncle Nissan told me “That couch, this chair that bed all preserved for 55 years”. I challenge anyone in this room to go buy anything and maintain it for 55 years. If the couch you bought in Ikea is perfectly maintained without a scuff, notch, or stain in the year 2063 you may be just a vigilant as my Aunt Rose was, however I would still doubt it. She kept a house so intently appointed that any single chachki that I could think to move, or even rotate 65 degrees would not only be replaced to original position the next time I returned, but would be cleaner and possibly waxed. These were qualities that cannot be duplicated, they can only be recalled, discussed, and reminisced upon because they were some effect of a character and personality that was truly unique. Not only do they not make them like Aunt Rose anymore, I’d wager they never made them like Aunt Rose.
Several years ago when she had her stroke and she became afflicted with many difficulties she was never dominated by her ailments. She strove with such indomitable will to overcome the speech barriers that were placed before her. She never lost that sharpness in her mind, it was just as clear, and just as pointed as it had ever been and it was important for her to relay that to us through frustrated speech. And she did. She constantly fought the repercussions of the stroke. She was very often in the hospital after that, and was always very aware that she would be home for the next Seder, home for the next Shabbos, and at my house at the nearest possible Sunday for my Grandfather’s barbeque.
She would call me Shorty and I would call her Stretch, and it was because of this spirit in her that I told her no matter how tall I am I would always look up to her. Strength can be measured physically but it is a very limited meter and definition of what strength really is. Her strength was her spirit and her determination and her heart. Her love is something that will live on in Uncle Nissan, for whom she was made to order--- a perfect match in every way. In my Grandfather Joe, who loved her so much he would never refer to her as anything except “My Sister”. She will persist through Pessie and Shayndee, to whom she dedicated her life and are living extensions of her every intention, and who will in turn hear her voice at every crossroads and decision they will have to face and whose guidance will always be their treasure. Through my Mother and myself who will forever remember the smile and laughter and love that Aunt Rose always brought into our lives. And to every single person in this room who had the honor and pleasure of meeting Aunt Rose for just five minutes, because their lives are five minutes better for having met her.
In closing I suppose it is only necessary to say that Aunt Rose was a one of a kind woman who will be sorely missed and forever revered as a wonderful person who certainly gave more love than she received, which is remarkable because of how truly loved she was.
