In the den at Mama Helen’s house, facing the couch, framed right above the television hangs a big photograph of the Gabbay family posed together at Camelia’s Bat Mitzvah. After years of visiting Mama Helen, that family portrait has become ingrained in my mind. And what I remember most vividly from that photo – besides Camelia’s powder blue dress – are Auntie Lona’s bright red lips, kissing me through the glass.
I will never forget the lip stain Auntie Lona left on my cheek that night. It was bold and bright and vivacious and so full of love, just like her. A mark so vivid I thought its stain would remain forever. In a way, it did.
On the night of my Bar Mitzvah, Auntie Lona wore a beautiful, long, flowy dress – one that didn’t just move; it danced. The theme of the night was color, and she didn’t pick just one shade of the rainbow to honor, she dawned them all. It’s almost as if the garment was a reflection of her essence – vibrant, abundant and full of life. Towards the end of the night, we moved the party from the backyard to the living room, and I celebrated with the intimate group of guests that remained. Moonlight turned to candlelight, and there we were – Auntie Lona and I jumping in the middle of the room with everyone else surrounding us. I remember watching her move her hands and fingers through space as if the rhythm ran through her veins. No shoes or inhibitions, just the two of us having a full conversation without speaking any words. For those few moments, dance was our language and love our vocabulary.
One Thanksgiving at Walden, I remember roaming the kitchen with some of the other kids as Auntie Lona was preparing our feast. Next thing I knew, she handed me a few dishes and asked me to set all of the appetizers on the table in the backyard however I liked. I looked at her in wonder. “Really Auntie?” I asked, blushing. She nodded and told me that she trusted my creativity and my artistic eye. I’ll never forget that exchange. That was the thing about Auntie Lona – you’d go to her house with an appetite for turkey and you’d leave with the confidence of an artist. She’d feed our stomachs, nourish our souls and point to the crumbs of confidence and beauty within us, inspiring us to embrace the most stunning scraps of our identities.
Years later, when the time came to apply to college, I was scared. The little voice in my head called Doubt began to get progressively louder until that one night at Alta. As Shabbat with the Gabbays began to wind down, I found myself in the Love Garden sitting with Nina, my mom, Tania and Auntie Lona. I shared my hesitations about applying to NYU, starting a new life and making it in the big city. In those couple of hours, surrounded by a sea of flowers and greenery that put Eden to shame, Auntie Lona spun my worries into wonder. She urged me to think, but what if it happens? What if it all turns out how I want it to? What if it’s amazing? In that moment, she taught me that we must meet our fears and doubts with confidence, passion, love, joy, hope, and the promise of the possible. She would urge me to think big and manifest my wildest dreams, but to remember and honor my past always. As the night continued, Auntie Lona shared stories from her childhood spent with my mom ever since they were teenagers. The trips they would take together to Vegas and Canada with my grandparents, the slumber parties they’d have, the adventures they’d fall into, and the love that cultivated between them, first as best friends and later, as family. It wasn’t long until we were laughing and smiling at the stories she and my mom were telling us about their roots – and how those roots grew, and soon I forgot what I was ever scared of to begin with.
On the day of Tania’s wedding, everyone in her bridal party met early to help our beautiful bride get ready and to take photos together before the big night. I remember walking into the space where all the action was happening. A symphony of laughter and camera clicks bounced against our eardrums, the air smelled like hairspray and celebration, and the love around us was palpable. I made my way through Camelia and Ariel and Sasha and Julie and every other soul that was there to help send off Tania Nahai into the next chapter of her life. And finally, there was Auntie Lona. With an up-do like a queen and her piercing eyes perfectly painted, she embraced me before continuing to make her way through the rest of the bridal party, complimenting each and every one of us on our gowns and suits. We were all wearing brilliant tones of blue, green, indigo, cobalt and emerald – and yet, she made every individual in that room feel as though the shade of fabric on their back was the most special thing she had ever seen in her life. And she meant it.
One night this past summer, Alex invited me over to his house. We were drinking red wine and dancing around the island in his kitchen when he asked me to play my music, so I connected my phone to the speakers in his kitchen and played a song we both love. After that song ended, Spotify took the lead from there and randomly chose a song of a similar genre to play next – a pop-folk anthem that I had never heard before. Next thing we knew, swooning orchestral strings started glaring through the speakers until the voice of a woman started singing, using the power of music to share lessons she’s learned about love, finding light within the dark, survival, time and just how fleeting life’s most precious moments are. Alex and I paused and asked each other what song this was, saying that we both felt as if we had heard it before. We hadn’t. I was in awe as soon as the song started playing, but once we got to the chorus, I was hypnotized.
The lyrics went:
“If I could have one last time with you,
I imagine all the things we would do.
Love is in the words unspoken,
All these moments are golden,
Forever is mine with you.”
Those word were followed by an explosion of guitar strums, a thumping beat, and what sounded like a group of people chanting the lyrics “la la la la la” to a melody that sounded as nostalgic as it did new – reminiscent of old Jewish prayers along with words that didn’t mean anything, but meant so much all at once. After a few minutes, the beat faded and all that was left was the woman’s voice. She sang the song’s final words:
“You know it only feels like darkness
‘Til somebody turns on the light
I’d live it all once again
With an alternate end
And I’d pay the highest price
To hold you one last time.”
Alex looked at me and asked if I could play the song again. So I did. And again and again. I knew we were both processing what we just heard and experienced together there. We agreed – the song felt holy. For the next hour or so, we were dancing. And so was she. I felt Auntie Lona’s presence so strongly that night – in the melody of the song, in the words being chanted, in the wine – both bitter and sweet, in the heat fuming from the stove and in the chilled summer breeze that trickled its way in from outside, grazing against our skin. She did always have a way of making an entrance.
I share these memories I had with Auntie Lona because I know we have all experienced bits and pieces of them in our own ways with her. Moments with her that have made us all think and feel, learn and grow.
She taught us all so much:
To be brave in pursuit of achieving our dreams.
To see each other for our souls and to embrace human beings for their spirits that transcend the boundaries of religion, culture, status and surface.
To find comfort in nature.
To dance to the rhythm of life, no matter how the melody might go.
To discover ourselves daily and to continue to grow as individuals and as a race.
To be artists, and to paint on the canvas that is life with wonder and curiosity.
To believe in magic.
To be kind.
To be strong.
To be soft.
To hold onto our joy and tap into our passions.
And of course, to follow our hearts – the ones we find printed at the bottoms of our coffee cups, the ones painted in the clouds in the sky, the ones found in the shapes of leaves and in the branches of trees, and of course, the ones beating in our chests that give us the strength and endurance to honor her for eternity.
Auntie, from the boy at Camelia’s Bat Mitzvah to the man standing here now – I celebrate you, I thank you, I love you, I miss you, I cherish you. Our cheeks may be clean today, but you’ve stained our hearts forever. Until we dance together again. Amen.