My Grandmother Was an Oak

Today I do something I've never done in my blog:  have a guest author.  Matt's maternal grandmother, Florence Iroff, died this past April at the age of 95.  She was his last living grandparent and seeing how today is Grandparents' Day and tomorrow would have been her 96th birthday, I thought I would publish the eulogy he gave at the funeral.  Matt wrote it the night before the funeral and even though he had thought about it for a few days before doing so, he wrote it more for speaking than for reading.  Therefore, I did not edit it for punctuation, etc. but left it as is.

Matt with his grandma, Florence Iroff, at her
90th birthday party at Mt. Vernon, VA, September 2011.

My grandmother was an oak. Bear with me. There are all kinds of trees. There are tall, thin trees that bend to the passing breeze.  There are small, thorny trees that cling tenaciously to the thin earth in harsh environments.  Evergreens know not the seasons, drinking the sunlight year-round.  Palm trees exist in what most would consider paradise, and do not do well in less-than-ideal circumstances.  My grandmother was an oak.

Grandma Iroff with her three grandkids at
her 95th birthday party, September 2016.

Some trees are prized for the beauty of their wood, some for the delicacy of their flowers.  Some trees are prized for the sweetness of their fruit.  Oak is valued for its strength.  An oak tree drives its roots deep, to stand firm against the harshest gales, and to draw strength from the earth.  The oak spreads its branches wide to shelter those around it.  My grandmother's presence and strength of character are often the first things people speak of when listing her attributes.  As we all know, Florence Iroff was the pillar that supported her family.  Grandpa was the anchor, the calm refuge, but Grandma provided the strength.  Her loving support allowed her four children to thrive, each of them become successful in their own, very different ways

Florence and Harry Iroff with their four children
on their 50th wedding anniversary, March 1995.

              

Of all the things my grandmother taught me, the greatest lesson is that family is the only important thing.  We all have our distractions in life.  We all face hardships.  We bend to them or cling tightly to what we know and grimly hunker down to wait them out.  The source of strength that I have learned to use to stand strong in my life is family.  Grandma taught me that over my entire lifetime, gathering in her far-flung family around the dinner table at Thanksgiving and Passover.  Often, the table was expanded to include others, all of whom were brought in to the circle of her family, the shelter of her love.

Florence and Harry Iroff, October 1945

 As an aside, let me say something about that table.  To me, one of the greatest expressions of Grandma's love was her cooking.  I remember fighting with my cousins over the last pieces of her brisket.  I remember coming home to grandma after a very late night at work to find her waiting up for me, and to offer me a sandwich or something else to eat.  She taught her children and grandchildren the importance of this expression of love, and to put love into our cooking.  The joy I feel when I prepare a meal for those I love come directly from her.

Chef Matt presenting the Thanksgiving meal he cooked
for his family when we hosted Thanksgiving in Virginia Beach,
November 2004.

              

Back, though, to the circle of Grandma's love.  One may think four children and three grandchildren might be enough.  For many, certainly, it would be.  Florence Iroff was not most people.  One of the side-benefits to her long life was the opportunity to step in to some extent and act as a surrogate parent to her several nephews and nieces.  The sheltering branches of my grandmother's love spread beyond the immediate circle of her household to Atlanta, New York, California and Israel.  No mater how far you may be, family is family, and family is the important thing.  You will remember, my grandmother is an oak.

The Iroff clan at son Ron's bar mitzvah, May 1959.

We all know that oak is valued for its strength, and as a symbol of abiding presence.  Oak leaves are a symbol of achievement in our nation's military.  The wood of the oak is used to build homes that shelter us, and furniture to protect what we hold to be important.  The heart of the oak was used in the age of sail to form the keel of the greatest sailing ships.  Even as we all take from the oak what is useful to us, so each of us have taken something from the life of Florence Iroff.  Strength when we face adversity, love to shelter us from the storm, wisdom that helps us solve our problems.

Florence Iroff in Washington, D.C.,
March 1944

Perhaps the most important thing she has left us, though, may be thought of as the acorns.  Grandma left behind her the seeds of greatness.  The memories of her love, the lessons she taught us, the traditions she has handed down.  Our family no longer needs Grandma to gather us around her table.  We share that burden now.  And later this year and in years to come, we will gather together not only in her memory, but secure in the love, traditions and sense of family that it is now our job to uphold and pass along to our children and to theirs.

Aaron and Leah with their great-grandma, Florence Iroff,
on her 94th birthday, September 2015.