Sunday 25 January, 10pm
By Angelica Cameron

Loving Memories of Boba

"On 15 December 2003 Marge Greenberg passed on peacefully… she will be remembered always for flowers, food and music, and for friendly, limitless loving generosity and hospitality… especially by her husband Harry; her children Peter, Jo and Lee and their partners Vonne, Jim and David; her grandchildren Stephen, Campbell, James, Simon, Marcel, Sally, John, Rueben, Wendy, Virgil, Maria, Felix, and Angelica, and their partners Emma, Elaine, Gabe, Helene, Horvard, Maria, Yukima and Edwin; and her great-grandchildren Meg, Jelena and Jacob. A private funeral took place on 17 December 2003.

Marge Greenberg dressed for her engagement in 1940 Boba and Zayda (as they are known by many of us, meaning Grandmother and Grandfather in Yiddish) at Noosa, in the 1990's. One of Boba's and Zayda's collaborative embroidered paintings (painted in 1980, from the collection of grandson Virgil Cameron).

The compassionate care provided by Dr Jim Griffiths and the staff of the Oncology Unit at Epworth Hospital has been much appreciated by our family. We are extremely grateful to all staff involved in her care.”

Wrote Harry Greenberg in The Age and Herald Sun.

The private burial service was attended by the family, and the sun shone on our backs as the Rabbi, Fred Morgan gave a beautiful eulogy. He told the story of Boba’s life, how her father, Sam, tried to enter the US via Cuba, but failed and ended up in Australia, where his wife, Sarah, and daughters Mina, Mary, Marge and Paula, later joined him, leaving Poland and the threat of the Nazis behind. When she was twenty, she married Harry Greenberg, at the Temple Beth Israel in St. Kilda. They had three children, Peter, Jo and Lee.

Boba was always surrounded by friends and family, she ran boutiques in Horsham, Dimboola and Croydon, where people gathered like social clubs. She made beautiful gardens, abundantly filled with flowers, which she would bring to the hospital. With her husband Harry, she made large colourful tapestry-embroideries. He would sketch out a picture, and then she would embroider parts of it and he would paint the rest. Her family and friends are decked out with scarves, blankets, jumpers, hats, and countless other knitted and crocheted things. She always seemed to have a splendid meal ready, even if you were dropping in unexpectedly. We all remember fondly, the nights spent sharing a “Boba banquet”, with roast potatoes and a Pavlova to top it all off. She seemed to have this amazing, endless generosity as she showered us with love and shared her knowledge.

The Minyan was held on Sunday 21st December, at Ardoch, where Boba and Zayda have lived for the last 7 years. The Rabbi was joined in prayer by family and friends, after which Zayda said a few words and Peter read some poems, then I read a poem which I had written a few days earlier:

“Words For Boba”
By Angelica Cameron

A black and white photo tells a story of old,
Memories, moments, and passions untold.
As days, months, and years unfold,
Stories of you we will behold.
Surround us with your arms of love,
As you fly with the freedom of a dove.
Your generous spirit will always live on,
Like the stories of Poland where you came from.
You told me to do what I do best,
Smile, till all hearts are at rest.
So I smile for you, and the world to see,
In the hope that your spirit will now be free.

Then, by special request from Boba, John Played his guitar, and all those present joined in to sing “The Rose”:

The Rose
by Amanda McBroom

Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower, and You its only seed.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance.
It's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes a chance.
It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give.
And the soul, afraid of dying', that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely,
     and the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes
The Rose.