PURELY COMMENTARY Michelle’s peonies in Chicago
for openers
CAROLE MALTZMAN
M
y sister Olivia Ross and I, as well as our families, look forward to spring each year and the arrival of my mom’s peonies. My mother, Rose Hack, loved to garden and had the most gorgeous peonies. After she died in 1984, we sisters transplanted the peony bushes to our gardens. Over the years, I have has taken peony cuttings to each of my children living in three different time zones: Jon in Redwood City, Calif., Michelle in Chicago and Alicia in Boulder, Colo. We wait all year to see
Jon’s peony cutting from California
whose will bloom first and remember grandma. We watch them grow tall, get buds, pray for the ants to open them, all the while texting the peonies’ progress with photos and remembrances of Grandma Rosie. Jon’s puppy dug his up a few years ago, so he got new cuttings this year; Michelle’s always blooms first; and Alicia’s, transplanted to her new house on a sunny 2020 winter’s day, are last. Olivia’s peonies moved from one house to another, from sun to shade, and
COURTESY OF CAROLE MALTZMAN
L’fleur V’dor Rose Hack
Alicia’s peonies in Boulder
this year have been re-transplanted to get more sun. Her sons Jeremy and Matt are waiting for their cuttings. The peonies connect the
Olivia Ross and Carole Maltzman
generations and serve to keep a special grandmother alive in our thoughts and hearts. Carole Maltzman lives in West Bloomfield.
essay
One Generation Departs, Another Steps Up
S
ometimes when a torch is passed, it’s an actual flame handed off from runner to runner in a torch-lighting ceremony. It’s thrilling to see the athlete sprint with confidence and purpose, torch thrust high. The next runner awaits, ready to Sally Abrams take the flame JTA forward. A quick handoff and the
torch advances toward the next outstretched hand. We see the exhilaration on each runner’s face; we can only imagine the responsibility the runner feels to keep the flame moving ahead. Don’t drop the torch. Don’t fall. Don’t fail. As the first of our grandchildren headed to Jewish overnight camp this week, a torch has passed to me. A torch whose warmth comes not from fire but
from memory. The torch was handed off to me by my parents and in-laws and the parents of so many dear friends, devoted grandparents who never missed the Jewish summer camp sendoff. They stood in the hot, crowded, chaotic synagogue parking lot, bestowing their kids and grandkids with hugs, kisses and words of encouragement. No matter how long it took to load the buses, they stayed. When the
air brakes released with a huff and the buses at last lurched forward, they waved until the buses were out of sight. Sure, some of that was simple devotion, the boundless love that connects grandparents and grandchildren. But these grandparents also understood the essential role Jewish overnight camp plays in building Jewish identity. Not only is camp joyful and fun, camp makes being Jewish continued on page 6
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JUNE 24 • 2021
