I roamed the halls of Meer, Hechtman and Fleischman recently and thought about all of the people who have lived in our buildings and the impact they have left. How many holidays have been celebrated among friends? How many lives well lived in laughter and tears…I was not part of the lengthy past history of Jewish Senior Life, but I know the names of so many who have found goodness and joy in our apartments. So many have given to our agency with love, knowing their generosity pays forward for the appreciation they have felt.
A memory of my own past brushes over me. It was early autumn, September 27, 1956. The golden leaves danced down from the trees in a gentle breeze, whispering glimpses of the New Year to come. I was a bright-eyed three-year-old. I clutched my mother’s hand tightly as we walked up the stone path to her childhood home in Peabody, Massachusetts. We had traveled there by car from Chicago. My father and big brother trailed behind us schlepping our luggage. As the front door opened, the scent of sweet apples and honey wafted through the air, mixing with the earthy aroma of freshly baked raisin challah.
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