Roses for me will always bring to mind my paternal and maternal grandmothers, both of whom went by the name Rose in English.
Rose Kohn, Reizel bat Etta, aka “Big Bubs,” was my father’s mother. Born and raised in Detroit, she lived her whole life in the area but loved to travel. She was a true balabusta, serving up signature dishes – Bubby potatoes, Catalina chicken, salmon patties, and more – that her grandchildren can only do their best to imitate. I miss her expressive face and sharing inside jokes with her at the Shabbos table.
Rose Naiman, Rochel Golda bat Malka, aka “Little Bubs,” was a 4-foot-11-inch pistol. She immigrated to the United States from Poland as an adult after surviving the horrors of the Holocaust during her teenage years. She spent the rest of her life stealing back the time lost to that dark period, with interest: forever youthful, forever elegant, forever just a little bit saucy, she still inspires me and everyone who was blessed to know her.
May both of their memories be for a blessing.
