Hesped for Rabbi Michael Graetz–Toldot and Thanksgiving

Last week I wrote about how my life partner of more than 60 years was hospitalized and his future was uncertain. We had to make decisions for him, yet we allowed him the dignity of saying no and having the final word on what was being done to him. We asked many friends to recite a Mi Sheberach, the Jewish prayer for healing and recuperation for him. And we thank all of you who did so.  Unfortunately, he did not survive the ordeal in the hospital and died early in the morning on Wednesday. Last week’s parsha ended with Abraham’s death and this week’s parsha begins with the birth of Jacob and Esau. In this liminal space, between death and life, Rabbi Michael Graetz died.  This is the hesped I gave for him in our synagogue on Wednesday at his funeral.

We have been surrounded by love the past two very difficult weeks—from Australia, London, Germany, France, the U.S. India and of course Israel. We are so appreciative of the support we have received, and especially from our amazing grandchildren who stepped in to help until their parents returned from California.

Lying in bed—thinking about the fact that you have died—when you were so alive last night, singing tutim, your favorite song, at the top of your voice–and me, unable to sleep as usual, because you are not sleeping next to me, making your usual noises. What is amazing is that you have lived such an interesting life for almost 85 years, of which more than 65 were spent together with me (but who’s counting). I was thinking a lot about Love and Marriage—the ups and downs–and the bed is certainly a good place to think of that!. Marriage was raising three wonderful young adults, with seven amazing grandchildren thrown in. Seeing them in action in your last days was such a zechut. How they handled you with love and care and how appreciative you were of their presence, as they took shifts with grace and compassion. Love is seeing the beauty beyond the appearances, taking a lot on faith. Love is also friendship and trust—lots of fun, lots of support, lots of talk, lots of acceptance of whom we are. So much of whom I am today, is because of who you were—and your acceptance of the path I took—and even your total encouragement and pride in what I did is not something that all wives can take for granted. Your pride in each one of our children was wonderful to see. And you influenced each one in different and meaningful ways. Nothing was more amazing than seeing the smile on your face when they came to see you—even in your last days.  And speaking of amazing—our family joke is that everything to you was amazing and/or “the best”. Whether it was a restaurant, or a new gadget.

Almost 85 years ago on March 4^th, 1940, you were born in Lincoln, Nebraska, hairless, i.e., bald. Today nothing has changed—except that your beautiful bald head had an indentation and some scars from the BCC you suffered from. And well, perhaps you were a little less flexible towards the end physically than you were as a baby and somewhat stooped. Actually, you were very stooped. How you joked when you had your operation and said, “I need this like a hole in the head!” And you continued to joke even as you were on your death bed in the hospital. Your sense of humor never left you, nor your interest in other people and appreciation of them. When so many people visited you on WhatsApp or in person, you asked about them first and told them how important they were to you. One of the greatest zechuot, we had was to have the zoom launching of your Yom Kippur War Diary which was translated into Hebrew less than three weeks before you died. How lucky we all were to be with you then—family, friends, and colleagues.

At your eightieth birthday which we celebrated in March 2020, right before we were all locked down for Corona I wrote about who you were at 80. When you were fifty, I wrote a song, saying that if you were Rothschild, you would buy computers, running shoes galore. At 80 you bought powerful phones, laptops, smart TVs. You stopped buying running shoes.  Instead, you bought online the latest version of a stand-alone cane. Even after you retired, you were still the loved and honored rabbi, teacher, preacher. You were our best shofar blower and did neilah on Yom Kippur just a few months ago. You were so happy that your siddur nusach eretz yisraeli was published in time for your 80^th birthday and that we started using it on a regular basis in our kehillah. You gave up your dream of having your own yeshiva, yet you continued to counsel the younger generation of rabbinical students and rabbis—some of whom are with us today. You continued to go out with your friends to try out new restaurants, often bringing home your leftovers for me. Unfortunately, toward the end, it was no longer leftovers, but entire meals, since you lost your appetite. You loved seeing our grown children, turned adults, seeking each other out for advice.

When I wrote this, while lying in bed, sleepless in Omer, I thought of what to share of the great joys and challenges of our marriage, love and friendship of the past 65 some years. Tonight, I will sleep alone in our bed and you will rest in another place. I am saying goodbye to you in the hope that having left the yeshiva shel mata you will be running more marathons and playing golf in the yeshiva shel maala.  You deserve to rest eternally in peace.

It is fitting that today is Thanksgiving and that over this weekend we are reading parshat Toldot.  The world toldot is the story of generations. We were so lucky to have these last few days together celebrating our long life together with our children and grandchildren, the next generation, surrounding your bed, We shared jokes, memories, and songs. Many years ago, while running in the fields, you paused to remember the blessings in the world and composed your own original melody to these words, from Psalms 92:

It is good to praise the LORD, to sing hymns to Your name, O Most High, To proclaim Your steadfast love at daybreak, Your faithfulness each night

ט֗וֹב לְהֹד֥וֹת לַיהֹוָ֑ה וּלְזַמֵּ֖ר לְשִׁמְךָ֣ עֶלְיֽוֹן׃ לְהַגִּ֣יד בַּבֹּ֣קֶר חַסְדֶּ֑ךָ וֶ֝אֱמ֥וּנָתְךָ֗ בַּלֵּילֽוֹת׃

My grandson Harel Bar Tuv arranged his song a few years ago and the whole family sang it to you on your death bed and at your funeral.

I hope all of you, who are reading this, will listen to Rabbi Michael Graetz’s melody and integrate into your prayers in memory of a very special man, who happened to be my beloved husband. Here is the link: