This Hanukkah, I’m longing for my dear Grandma Evelyn (who did NOT want to be called “Bubbe”) and her homemade latkes that she served with stewed cinnamon apples.

She didn’t reject the moniker “Bubbe” because it sounded too “Jewish” but rather because she felt it made her seem old. This was not how we felt about her, this is what she felt.

This is our fourth holiday without her and in many ways it only seems more difficult because the world has decided to forget the pandemic and all those we lost. How few of us are left with the responsibility of remembering. Grandma would have said it is a “shonda.”