Abby Kra Friedman
My mother always greeted everyone with a warm smile and lovely demeanor even when she was in more pain than anyone ever knew. With a flair for exaggeration she told great stories. Whether they were about us, her childhood, her parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents… my mother cherished her history, her ancestry, and baruch hashem, the innumerable amount of cousins – first second, third, once removed, twice removed - no matter what. Family was EVERYTHING to her. I don't know how she had room in her life for anything else. But she did. She was a truly wonderful, sweet, kind and gentle person. The love she had in her heart for those around her was deep.
My mother always loved children. In a certain way I think she could connect to them more easily because they could not only see past her quirkiness and limitations but really enjoy them. They loved to play with her and visit her and especially loved when she sang songs. My children loved talking to her, singing with her and reading books with her on skype. They loved playing with her when she was here. Having a yom chofesh with Nonnie was the biggest and best prize for good behavior. She was so enchanted and delighted with all her grandkids, watching the videos we sent over and over. She developed a loving long distance relationship. I don't think they will ever understand that nonnie is no longer just at the other end of a gchat singing "old mcdonald had a farm".
Despite everything she was dealing with on the inside she was still one of the most upbeat, cheerful people that her friends had ever known. She was a dedicated friend. And she had the best group of friends that were there for her and took care of her when we couldn't. She relied on you and you always came through – for us and for her.
My mother was a huge baalat chesed. We used to say she collected strays. From the Russian immigrants at our seder table who could barely read a hagaddah to the divorcee who had his visitations with his son in our house for almost 8 years, to the single friends who spent so much time in our house they were like family, to the friend commuting back and forth to Israel and living in our house for almost 10 years - my mother with the help and encouragement of my father really knew how to reel them in. With her syrupy sweet smile and sing song voice, even when she had nothing left to give, she still gave 150%. In the past 24 hours I have received so many messages from friends talking about how her love and warmth always welcomed them into our home for shabbatot, chagim, smachot and school vacations. The outpouring of admiration and love of all of our friends towards our family is truly a beautiful commemoration of how special and great she was to all.
In West Orange my mother was known as "the voice of death." My father had set up one of the first automated phone squad programs to send out shul notices, most of which were of shivas in the community. My mother recorded all the notices and sent them over our home phone line to hundreds of members of the shul even late at night so people could get to the funeral in time. People used to say when they heard my mom's voice on the phone they weren't sure if they should say hello or brace themselves for bad news. She was a staple of the community. And although she had been ill for so long there is no one who was not shocked by her loss. She gave her home, her phone, her family and her life to our community and she will be deeply missed.
Mom was always so proud of us. We were all you could talk about. Our aliyah, our spouses, our children. It was all hers, all because of her, would never have happened without her. She used to say she wanted to be like me when she grew up. But we were only the way we were because she had given us the freedom to grow up and we thank Hashem every day for that opportunity.
My mother always greeted everyone with a warm smile and lovely demeanor even when she was in more pain than anyone ever knew. With a flair for exaggeration she told great stories. Whether they were about us, her childhood, her parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents… my mother cherished her history, her ancestry, and baruch hashem, the innumerable amount of cousins – first second, third, once removed, twice removed - no matter what. Family was EVERYTHING to her. I don't know how she had room in her life for anything else. But she did. She was a truly wonderful, sweet, kind and gentle person. The love she had in her heart for those around her was deep.
My mother always loved children. In a certain way I think she could connect to them more easily because they could not only see past her quirkiness and limitations but really enjoy them. They loved to play with her and visit her and especially loved when she sang songs. My children loved talking to her, singing with her and reading books with her on skype. They loved playing with her when she was here. Having a yom chofesh with Nonnie was the biggest and best prize for good behavior. She was so enchanted and delighted with all her grandkids, watching the videos we sent over and over. She developed a loving long distance relationship. I don't think they will ever understand that nonnie is no longer just at the other end of a gchat singing "old mcdonald had a farm".
Despite everything she was dealing with on the inside she was still one of the most upbeat, cheerful people that her friends had ever known. She was a dedicated friend. And she had the best group of friends that were there for her and took care of her when we couldn't. She relied on you and you always came through – for us and for her.
My mother was a huge baalat chesed. We used to say she collected strays. From the Russian immigrants at our seder table who could barely read a hagaddah to the divorcee who had his visitations with his son in our house for almost 8 years, to the single friends who spent so much time in our house they were like family, to the friend commuting back and forth to Israel and living in our house for almost 10 years - my mother with the help and encouragement of my father really knew how to reel them in. With her syrupy sweet smile and sing song voice, even when she had nothing left to give, she still gave 150%. In the past 24 hours I have received so many messages from friends talking about how her love and warmth always welcomed them into our home for shabbatot, chagim, smachot and school vacations. The outpouring of admiration and love of all of our friends towards our family is truly a beautiful commemoration of how special and great she was to all.
In West Orange my mother was known as "the voice of death." My father had set up one of the first automated phone squad programs to send out shul notices, most of which were of shivas in the community. My mother recorded all the notices and sent them over our home phone line to hundreds of members of the shul even late at night so people could get to the funeral in time. People used to say when they heard my mom's voice on the phone they weren't sure if they should say hello or brace themselves for bad news. She was a staple of the community. And although she had been ill for so long there is no one who was not shocked by her loss. She gave her home, her phone, her family and her life to our community and she will be deeply missed.
Mom was always so proud of us. We were all you could talk about. Our aliyah, our spouses, our children. It was all hers, all because of her, would never have happened without her. She used to say she wanted to be like me when she grew up. But we were only the way we were because she had given us the freedom to grow up and we thank Hashem every day for that opportunity.