When the heavy wooden door opened, the smell of baking cookies touched my nose, and as I hopped over the sill, my little grandmother came down the stairs, arms wide to hug me.
I remember Oma as small and round. She always wore a black dress with a gold brooch above her large bosom, her gray hair in a bun. For me she always had a smile. Her old-fashioned appearance merges with that of Memmingen, her southern German town. I loved her passionately.
She provided a sense of privacy and well-being that I didn’t have at home, where I felt on probation most of the time.
Oma (Rosa Feibelmann) was the volunteer for Memmingen’s Jews. She organized visits to the sick, distributed food and money to the needy, found shelter and meals for the strangers who came to the synagogue on Friday afternoons.
She was the most important figure of my childhood. I would not be a “hugging” person, a community organizer, a manager of households and budgets without her. Her life taught me a volunteer can make lasting changes in a community. Most important, I learned from her how to be “Oma” for my grandchildren.