Farewell to Mona Durgana
Today, Mona’s soul is on its way to heaven. I look back at the years that Mona served our congregation. She did not do so as if it were a job. She did so because she seemed to consider us as her brood and she was the mother hen taking care of us. Sometimes, if she did not like a certain behavior, she did not hesitate to express her displeasure, either by words or a silent disapproving snub. She loved us, some more than others.
Friday nights and Saturday mornings she prepared two long tables laden with food. She would arrive early Friday mornings, enter the kitchen downstairs, and cook away. She would boil dark brown Sabbath eggs, make huge amounts of salads. During the latter years, she made pasta that made one drool, just thinking of it. She would cut up enormous amounts of barbari bread, then continue cutting bagels in half. During the winter months, she made ‘shalgham,’ turnips, just the way our Iraqi congregation liked them. Heaven forbid there should be no cut-up fruits on the table. Platters and platters of them. She prepared chickpeas the way we liked them. There were always platters of cheeses. She made an artichoke salad and corn salad that were quite popular. When those were served, it was a definite fact that there would be a general stampede to get to the tables before it was all gone. She always made sure that our rabbi, Aaron Abraham, had a generous care package to take home, for his beloved wife Sheena, had passed away many years ago. Since they were childless, she felt it was incumbent upon her, Mona, to make sure he had enough food for a day or two at home. She always included a generous amount of pistachio nuts, for the rabbi loves those. She also prepared care packages for David Shohet, the former president of our congregation. He also needed to be taken care of, in her opinion. He paid attention to her and had a way of joking with her and making her smile. By the end of the meal, they would each have a package of food, securely wrapped in aluminum foil placed beside them. She was kind and had a heart of gold, yet at the same time was gruff, as if she feared the softness within her. She was like the sabra fruit, prickly on the outside but oh so very sweet on the inside.
Mona was a fixture in our congregation for over thirty years. We were all much younger then, and our children were little. There were plenty of children in our synagogue, in those days. She delighted in them, and they clamored about her as bees do to honey. As they grew, they inadvertently moved away to lead their own lives. Sometimes they came back for a brief visit, perhaps with little children of their own. Mona’s face would light up with pleasure. I think she thought of them as the precious fruit of the little children she knew and loved so well.
As we entered the synagogue, we would find this tiny little lady, who was as delicate as a little sparrow, busy in the kitchen preparing a meal. “Good morning Mona.” “Shabbat Shalom,” she would answer, as she concentrated upon the work at hand. We would smile, for Mona was a Christian.
When her task was done, she would go upstairs and sit patiently until services were over. Then she made sure that all was well. In my mind I will always picture her sitting there in her demure dress, with a brooch pinned on one shoulder and a necklace about her neck. Her dear tired face had a whimsical look. Is there enough food? How many congregants are there today? If she felt we were short she would get some canned dolmas from the pantry. She behaved as if she were the hostess of her little congregation. Heaven forbid if someone commented on insufficient food! As we finished the meal, everyone made sure to thank her. She would nod a little acknowledgment, a little smile lingering about her lips.
Mona became ill a while ago. She was hospitalized then went into a nursing home. I think she liked it there, for she could socialize. The nurses loved her. A few days ago she suffered a stroke and went into a coma. She became brain dead. They waited until her sons arrived from Florida and California, where they lived, then they took her off life support on Christmas Eve.
I am so sad that you are gone Mona. I am imagining you slowly making your way up to heaven. Soon you will be with your husband and all your other loved ones that had departed before you. May your soul rest in peace, you good woman, you woman of valor. You are missed, and you are very much loved. Rest in peace for you worked hard and served well. May G-d bless your soul. Until we meet again, fare thee well.