My Aunt

We interred my aunt’s ashes this morning. It was a winter day in southern Florida—cool and grey and threatening rain for
most of the morning. The mausoleum was filled with Baums and Shapiros and
Leibowitzes and Friedlanders, with Stars of David carved into marble above each
name. Most of the people there were of my Aunt’s generation, born in the early
1930s. Some were a bit older; some were a bit