Eulogy

Eulogy

Author, Speaker

October 2024

Shirley Esrig's Eulogy

My mom and I stand around the kitchen island. My mom tosses the salad, while I lay the cookies out on a platter covered with an intricate white doily. With her hair beautifully blown out and her nails with a fresh coat of paint, Bubby’s Shabbat glow is radiating.

While Bubby prepares the main dishes, she looks over our shoulders to make sure that we are following her instructions perfectly. The aroma of Bubby’s brisket and chicken soup fill the house.

The door from the garage opens–it’s Zadie Donald. Soulmates reunited, with family by their side: Fridays were the one day of the week that they spent apart from each other.

We make our way to the table, like we do every Friday. The dining room table is set with fine linens and cloth napkins; even the silverware, plates with blue trim, and stemware have a certain elegance to them. The centerpiece of the table includes a colorful cover on the challah, a glass of wine, and sturdy brass candle stick holders with Hebrew letters and tall white candles.

I can still hear the sound of the match striking the box–fire created.

As the flame touches the wick of each candle, the flame does not get smaller; rather, the flame grows and shares its light.

Bubby was a tremendously generous person–she shared her light; and her wisdom, strength, loyalty, and love have become a part of all of us and will continue to burn for generations.

Bubby loved to travel. For much of my youth, she had a giant blue suitcase that would travel the world with her. I can still see her packing the suitcase; methodical about how she added her clothes and other essentials for the trip, her bag of makeup neatly zipped and placed on the top of her belongings–“always look your best,” she would say.

Buying trips in New York, annual family gatherings in Boca Raton, adventures in France, lifecycle events with the Buffalonians and Rochestarians, weddings in California and Israel, and Birthday celebrations with Cousin Genie–it didn’t matter where she was going, a new issue of Vogue magazine, was ready for reading.

Bubby and I would spend hours talking, as I know she did with many others; she knew how to ask questions to get information, and she gave wise, honest, and cherished advice. When I was in elementary school and felt excluded, she and Zadie picked me up and took me out for French Onion soup. We talked about friendship and life.

When I was in high school, and I was devastated over the death of a mentor–Bubby counseled me, then she said: “I know what to do now to take your mind off of it; let’s go to Neiman’s and get you some lipstick.”

When Ellie was a baby living with Bubby, Bubby would put Ellie on the bed with her–the two would look deeply into eachothers’ eyes, and talk about everything from milkshakes, corned beef, and pickles, to grand dreams and life’s perils. Ellie would reach out and lay her hand on Bubby’s cheek as if to say she understood.

And when life threw the unexpected and the unimaginable, Bubby would remain calm and steadfast: “be the bigger person,” “make the effort,” “keep the peace,” “do what’s right.”

Bubby stood strong against the current–even as death tried to call her at the incredible age of 97, Bubby loved life too much to leave: “Moses came to me, but I refused to follow him.”

Rituals guided Bubby throughout her life–Jewish rituals, life cycle rituals, and daily rituals. When Zadie died and we returned home from the hospital, she stared at Zadie’s wedding ring. Then she removed her rings, placed his ring around her finger, and put hers back on. And so for the remainder of her life, she kept Zadie close.

After Meyers closed, I would watch her get ready for bed in the evenings; regardless of the events of the day, her rituals were executed identically; before ascending up the stairs, bubby would wipe down the counters in the kitchen, and make sure that nothing was out of place. She then made her way to the bar in the living room, she’d look at a picture of Zadie, then the painting of the store. She’d adjust the display that contained the Kermit doll, covered in dust–Kermit was perfectly preserved in the same condition that it was in when she removed it from a column at the store the last day that Meyers was open. She’d then turn off the lights, and make her way up the stairs.

For Bubby, life was better with grand celebrations. Bubby used to tell me, when I or the kids went to sleep at night to "have fun at the feather ball." In the mornings when we were together, she would wake me up, saying “good morning my sleeping beauty.”

Over Rosh Hashanah, I played Hashkeivenu for bubby, and she seemed to respond well to the prayer–Hashkeivenu Adonai Eloheinu, Leshalom Veha’amidenu, l’chayim u-phrosh aleinu succat shlomecha. “May god watch over her and spread a canopy of peace over her like a warm blanket.” And while she woke up rejuvenated for a few days, may G-d now guard her going and coming, to life and peace evermore. (My Jewish Learning, Hashkeivenu).

Bubby was a Tzadikah–even the timing of her death, among the holiest days of the year, is a remarkable reflection of her commitment to ritual, tradition, family, and the future.

In Jewish tradition, we seek out meaning. How symbolic that in preparation for her last days on earth, which coincided with the day of atonement, Bubby gave up food, which played a central role in her life, she was surrounded by family and friends for Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur, and today, on this 18th day of the month, a number that translates to Chai or life, in preparation for Shabbat, we lay Bubby down in her eternal resting place, next to her soul mate with family by her side.

L’dor V’dor, from Generation to Generation. Bubby, I will continue to tell your stories; I will carry you with me always; you are the light that will guide our family for generations. I will pass your memory on to my children, and my children’s children. For your memory will be a blessing.