Maggie "Hilda" Weisberg

Maggie (Hilda) Weisberg passed away peacefully on Saturday afternoon, September 20, 2025, in her apartment at The Willows in Bellingham, Washington, with family by her side. Maggie was 101 years old – awake, alert and aware to the end.

Maggie is survived by her sons, Saul (Shelley) and Mark, nephew Burt Boltuch, grandchildren Ryan (Wilson), David (Lynn), Greg (Elizabeth), Teal (Alex), Heather (Mason) and great-grandchildren Emeline, Joshua, Lily and Sova. She was preceded in death by her husband Irv, siblings Jack and Layah, and daughter-in-law Barbara.

Maggie was grateful that M.A.I.D. (Medical Aid in Dying) is available in Washington State, giving her the opportunity to choose when, where and how she would die. Following her wishes, her body is being composted by Natural Organic Reduction (Terramation), her choice to cause the least environmental impact. She will rest in the gardens of family and friends, and in the mountains and forests of the Pacific Northwest.

Maggie wanted to share her personal reflections about aging with her family and friends. These are included after her obituary. Thank you for being part of Maggie's community.

A memorial will be held on Saturday, November 8 (2:00- 3:30 pm), at The Willows (3115 Squalicum Parkway, Bellingham WA). In lieu of flowers, Maggie suggested donations to: Partners for Progressive Israel (https://www.progressiveisrael.org/), Gaza Soup Kitchen (https://gazasoupkitchen.org/) and Palestine Children's Relief Fund (https://www.pcrf.net/)

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Maggie Weisberg was born February 24, 1924, in the Bronx, New York City, to immigrant parents Rose and Barnet Shorr, from Babroisk, Russia and Kovna, Lithuania. Maggie was the youngest of three children.

From an early age, Maggie believed that people need to work together to make the world a better place. Though it took different forms throughout her life, Maggie strived to be part of building a just society – as a young revolutionary, child educator, civil rights activist, anti-war protestor, social worker and family therapist, and as a loving partner, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and friend.

Maggie discovered a passion for modern dance in high school and trained in advanced techniques in the school of modern dance innovator Martha Graham. When she was 15, Maggie joined Hashomir Hatzair, a progressive Socialist-Zionist youth movement whose core values included youth-led decision-making, a commitment to social justice and the establishment of a peaceful, democratic home for both Jews and Arabs in Palestine/Israel.

After graduating high school in 1942, Maggie moved to the Chava, a collective farm in Hightstown, New Jersey, where members of Hashomir Hatzair prepared to go to Palestine/Israel to form socialist kibbutzim. These collective communities functioned without private property, shared work and responsibilities equally, and practiced collective, consensus decision-making. At the Chava, Maggie managed the apple orchard and coordinated work details for the collective farm. In 1946, Maggie met her future husband, Israel (Irv) Weisberg when he arrived at the Chava, following his discharge from the Navy. Maggie assigned Irv to do the ironing on his first day. When Irv said he didn't know how to iron, Maggie replied that all men had to learn, and she taught him.

After the Chava, Maggie and Irv lived in the Bayit, a cooperative house in Burrough Park, Brooklyn with other Hashomir Hatzair members. For Maggie, the movement gave her a continuing identity and purpose within her Jewish heritage, and a means to practice living in a socialist community.

Planning to immigrate to the new state of Israel, Maggie and Irv married on March 28, 1948, shortly before the 1948 war began. Their goal was to establish a kibbutz for Jews from the Hashomir Hatzair movement. Following the holocaust, the movement sought to build, from the ground up, a refuge of safety for the Jewish people in their historic homeland. In contrast to the anti-Arab and regressive, mainstream Zionist movements, Hashomir Hatzair worked for a society of equality across gender and religious lines, believing that Jews and Arabs could live together at peace in a binational state.

Maggie and Irv had to make a convoluted journey to the Middle East since travel to Israel/Palestine was prohibited at that time. They traveled as tourists on a ship from New York to France, then took passage from Marseilles on a freighter carrying holocaust refugees and Jewish orphans to Israel. When they arrived, Maggie and Irv worked on rebuilding kibbutzim that had been destroyed in the 1948 war. They continued learning agriculture and building skills they had begun at the Chava. In January 1949, Maggie and Irv were among a small group of Hashomir Hatzair who founded Kibbutz Sasa in the Galilee region, south of the Lebanon border. They spent their first year working the rocky land barely viable for farming. They lived at Kibbutz Sasa until September 1949, when they returned to New York for Irv to attend medical school.

Driven by her belief that education should empower children, Maggie studied early childhood education at Bank Street College. Upon graduation, she taught at Bank Street Preschool from 1951-1953 when her first child, Saul, was born. Maggie and Irv believed preschool provided a necessary foundation for a child's growth, but when Saul was 3, they couldn't find any preschools for him to attend. In response, Maggie and a friend organized neighborhood parents to form a cooperative preschool. Maggie played a central role in developing curriculum and finding teachers for the preschool. She also incorporated her love of dance, teaching dance and rhythm to kids at preschool and a local synagogue.

In 1957, Maggie gave birth to her second child, Mark, just as Irv finished his pediatric residency. Soon after, the family moved from New York to Cleveland, Ohio for a newly developed Fellowship in Pediatrics and Psychiatry for Irv with renowned pediatrician Dr. Benjamin Spock at Case Western Reserve University Medical School. Maggie and Irv both resonated with Dr. Spock's groundbreaking approach to childrearing, emphasizing children as whole human beings, whose unique developmental needs should be honored and respected, instead of having strict schedules imposed upon them. Their relationship with Dr. Spock continued for many years and when he moved on in 1967 (to dedicate more of his time to anti-war efforts), Irv succeeded him as Director of the Family Clinic at the Medical School.

In Cleveland, Maggie became the head teacher of a preschool for children with developmental disabilities. In 1962, she went back to school to get her Bachelor's in psychology and sociology from Case Western Reserve University and later completed her Master's in social work in 1966. Maggie then began a long and rewarding career as a family therapist at Jewish Family Services Association, where she worked until she retired in 1998.

During this time, she became active in Cleveland as part of the Civil Rights movement, organizing alongside the black community against housing and school segregation. In 1963 she joined the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. In these turbulent times, Maggie and Irv were able to keep family central to their convictions. They sought to instill in their children the importance of doing something to make the world a better place for people from all walks of life and experiences.

Every summer Maggie and Irv took time away from their jobs for a month-long family camping trip with Saul and Mark. These beloved trips to National Parks and Forests played an important role in their family, both as intimate time together and putting the family in touch with nature – the basis of Saul's career in natural history and environmental education and Mark's career as an environmental scientist. Maggie was proud that her children were also her teachers, helping her understand the values of conservation and the dangers of environmental degradation and climate change.

In December 2006, Irv, Maggie's husband of 58 years Irv passed away. Maggie stayed in their home for another 3 years, then moved to Bellingham, Washington in November 2009 to be near her son Saul and his family. She moved into the Willows Retirement Home where she found a wonderful community and discovered she could still make best friends in her 80s and 90s. At the Willows, she took up new interests, including improv, drumming, Yiddish, book groups, yoga and writing. She also discovered mindfulness meditation which became very important to her; she practiced daily meditation for the rest of her life.

In Bellingham Maggie developed deep connections with her grandchildren as they moved into adulthood and started their own families. Maggie remained curious and open to the world; she never stopped learning, growing, and listening, seeking new ideas and perspectives, questioning and challenging her own assumptions. Maggie reflected on and grappled with the complexities of the world and her own life, including the painful legacy and contradictions of her time organizing for Jewish settlement in Israel/Palestine and her deep commitment to social justice and human rights. She supported many Jewish and Arab peace organizations, as well as environmental and conservation causes, including the Weisberg Family Endowment at North Cascades Institute.

Maggie was blessed with a long and rich life. In her early 90s she said, "I am having a very good old age." As she passed 100, with an amazing birthday party with her extended family, and then 101, she admitted that she was getting tired. Even as she continued the activities most important to her – meditation, improv, Yiddish club, and time with family and friends – she began to pull back from others. Hospice provided some assistance and the Willows continued to be a wonderful place to live. In June 2025 Maggie said that all the puzzle pieces of her life were coming together, and she was ready for her time to come to an end. As summer days began slipping into autumn, with her family by her side, she took advantage of Washington's Death with Dignity/Medical Aid in Dying Act. At peace with her decision, she was a dancer until the end.

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End of Life Reflections

Maggie Weisberg (age 101)

It's been final for some time now: Saturday, September 20, 2025. The date of my death. My choice.

I am relieved, calm, content. It feels right. I can't say why I feel so clear about this – how I know this is the time. It seems obvious. I've had a long, meaningful life, with love and passion, sadness and joy, idealism and disillusion. I've known good people, been part of a caring community, a wonderful family. I'm proud of how I lived my life, what I believed and what I tried to do. Many things didn't succeed, and I made many mistakes. I've forgiven myself for not being perfect. I can finally allow myself to just be me.

Close to death, I feel very alive. I observe and reflect on large and small things. Curious, amazed, overwhelmed: coming to terms with being human. Where did we come from? How did we get so wonderful? How did we get so terrible? How did we survive? (How did I survive?). How will we get through this horrible time of Trump, Gaza, climate change, environmental catastrophe….?

I believe in human beings: ordinary people all over the world – loving each other, raising children, mostly doing no harm – living together with reasonable understanding and compassion, and disagreeing without killing each other. They are here in my small world: friends and family – each a speck, part of the universe, changing it in ways I can't imagine. When the time is right, ordinary people do extraordinary things.

To my surprise, old age has been calmer, more interesting, more fun, than I ever imagined. All the important life decisions have been made: marriage, friends, children, career, ideologies. There are very few things I have to do. I do what I enjoy: talk with family and friends, meditate, read, reflect, do improv, watch movies. I feel strangely content, safe and at ease.

My job now is to know myself, to cherish being alive, to accept my place in this vastness. I examine my life not to analyze or judge, not to second guess choices, but to be open, vulnerable and honest with myself. I see different parts of my life falling into place like a giant puzzle: judgements, mistakes and times of despair, mixed with times of joy and new understanding. And I am still finding missing pieces, some that surprise and delight, some that make me cringe.

I am finally learning what it means to be present – to pay attention. Focusing on who I am right now – what's here right now, has become a habit, and I'm constantly surprised to see how this works. It's a quiet way to be – conscious of myself and at the same time detached. I observe myself from the outside, unique and alone, yet extraordinarily aware and connected.

I'm grateful for the mysterious turns and twists of life that brought me here, with this family, these friends, this apartment, this piece of the world. It has been wonderful to have had these many years to see my kids, grandkids and great-grandkids grow up – to get to know and appreciate each of them. I know they will take care of each other, and the earth, as best they can.

There is no place I'd rather be right now: sitting in this chair, conscious of the people I love and who love me, aware of the cactus on the windowsill, pictures on the wall, a slight breeze cools my feet, a quiet sunset begins to paint the sky.

– Maggie Weisberg (2025)

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ON BEING OLD

Maggie Weisberg (age 100)

This year I turned 100, and I've been thinking about what it means to be old.

Of course, I'm different from when I was twenty, or fifty, or even ninety, but I'm still somehow the same. How did I get from there to here-who am I now?

I'm very aware of my body: where it hurts, how slowly and carefully I move, what I can no longer lift and place on a shelf, how clumsy I feel getting into a car. I notice how much energy it takes to do simple things: water plants, get dressed, make a cup of tea, bend to pick up something from the floor. It's harder to remember names, places, books I've read, recent conversations.

Surprisingly, none of these matters as much as I thought it would.

I am constantly fascinated by the nitty gritty, the wonder, of being alive-all the things I took for granted. After 100 years, most of the moving parts still work: my toes know how to wiggle, my eyes remember to blink, my hand can make a fist. I can walk, I can chew, swallow, breathe. I can think, hope, learn, love, laugh. I can connect with people, be curious, feel despair, joy, anger.

I accept that I am now an observer rather than a do-er. I reflect. I watch. I feel more deeply connected to family, community, the planet. I'm acutely aware of how complicated it is to be human; how hard it is to change an individual or a system. I can acknowledge how hard it is for me to change.

When I was young, I had many questions and all the answers. I knew a lot: how to save the world, how to create a just society, why some people are evil and others noble. I still have the same questions, but not many answers. I think they're the right questions, and I'll keep asking them, not expecting to get " the answer," but in hope of finding better ways of being human.

I'm proud of some things I've done in my life, and I regret others. I accept that this is who I am and I've learned to live with this imperfect me. When I remember mistakes, stupidities, people I've hurt, I acknowledge them, but I no longer obsess about what I should have done, could have done, the what ifs. I'm learning to pay attention – to be present now.

Death is a reality I live with every day. It's a relief to know that there's an end. Much as I love life, I'm ready to go whenever my body says it's time.

I chose how to live my life, and I'm mostly pleased with my choices. I know who I am. I know who I love and who loves me. I know what's important.

And – I'm still me.

– Maggie Weisberg (2024)

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Skip To My Lou No More

Maggie Weisberg (age 87)

I live at the Willows, a retirement community in Bellingham. One evening after dinner, as I was walking down the long corridor to my apartment, smiling to myself, happy and lighthearted, I suddenly thought, "I feel like skipping." "OK, so skip," my brain commanded.

Nothing happened. No body part moved. Feet didn't know what to do, wouldn't leave the floor. Arms went stiff, knee joints locked. I was stuck, glued to the ground, staring down the hallway, which suddenly seemed very long and lonely.

I can't remember the last time I skipped or even thought of skipping. I can walk – why can't I skip? I don't know why I'm so surprised. I'm 87 years old and there are plenty of things I can no longer do: drive a car, walk a couple of miles, run to catch a bus, remember names. I saw those things coming and they gradually became part of my identity. But I never imagined I wouldn't be able to skip – that touches a special nerve. It's an obscene insult; the irrevocable stamp of age. Such a simple act – a metaphor for everything young, playful, spontaneous.

There's a vivid picture in my head of me and a friend skipping down a New York City sidewalk. I'm about 12 years old; the sun is shining, the world is clean and fresh. We have no destination; we're moving through space just because we want to, just because we can. My body, my muscles, my bones, remember so clearly what it feels like to skip: how easy, carefree, effortless. Taking off, one foot then the other, simply for the fun of it. Without thought or plan, feet move, hands swing, body rises and falls rhythmically. For a fraction of a second, I'm airborne; both feet leave the ground, I'm off the earth, soaring, flying. The act of skipping is joyous. It's giggle and optimism and excitement. Could you skip if you were sad or worried or angry? I can't imagine how.

Surely this isn't the greatest loss that old age will bring. And surely, I can accept this; adapt with my usual good sense and dignity. Wrong. I will not submit gracefully. I will not be silent. I intend to scream and curse and protest this loss forever: to never cease remembering and lamenting the delicious lightness and brightness and joy of a simple skip.

– Maggie Weisberg (2011)