4 | JUNE 24 • 2021
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
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
this year have been
re-transplanted to get more
sun. Her sons Jeremy and
Matt are waiting for their
cuttings.
The peonies connect the
generations and serve to keep
a special grandmother alive
in our thoughts and hearts.
Carole Maltzman lives in West
Bloomfield.
for openers
L’fl
eur
V’dor
essay
One Generation Departs,
Another Steps Up
COURTESY OF CAROLE MALTZMAN
PURELY COMMENTARY
CAROLE MALTZMAN
Rose
Hack
Olivia Ross
and Carole
Maltzman
Michelle’s
peonies in
Chicago
Jon’s peony
cutting from
California
Alicia’s peonies
in Boulder
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
take the flame
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
Sally Abrams
JTA
continued on page 6
here for it all.