In the Name of My Brother: Uriel Lichtman, A”H

There are unexpected moments in one’s life that seem to change the trajectory of  the life we are living. For me one of those moments was the reconnection, death, and burial (in Israel) of my father HaRav Moshe Meiri HaLevi A”H in 2019 (In the Name of My Father: HaRav Moshe Meiri, A”H). We made peace in the short time we had together, just five weeks, and I was able to let go of so much anger – years of it.   As I learned then, forgiveness definitely frees the forgiver. That changed me immeasurably. Sadly, once again I had such a moment in my life. The unexpected death of my brother, Uriel ben HaRav Moshe HaLevi A”H, and beloved son of our mother, Tova.

He was all of 53 years old and died alone, but for his trusted dog Buddy, who stayed by his side for the many hours after he died, until he was discovered by his boss, who had come looking for Uriel A”H, when he failed to show up for work. Something that was uncharacteristic of him.

This year, my mom told me that he was having some heart issues, ones he clearly was not dealing with, and he died on Monday, January 5th of a massive heart attack while living in Kentucky. Really, Kentucky I thought to myself?! My brother was a gifted carpenter, painter, and contractor who loved the open road and took his truck, dog, and tools to where there was work. I joked that he moved from Tennessee to Kentucky about two and a half months ago – from a place where there were two Jews to a place where there were no Jews! In fact, someone had told him a month earlier not to tell anyone there he was a Jew. These are, sadly, the times we live in.

Despite it all, he was a proud Jew who spoke Hebrew and loved Israel. In a video we recently found that he made for my mom’s 80th birthday last year, he sent wishes to his entire family here in Israel and expressed his hope for the safety of Israel and her people. He spoke in Hebrew and used the word “mishpocha.” Well, let me tell you, it is not good for man to be alone, as the biblical saying goes, and mishpacho, whether by blood or water, is everything – something Uriel A”H never quite got. But somehow, he knew he was nearing the end and told his dear friend Dora, “Tell my story.” Well, I will try too. And part of it is how his mishpacho came to embrace him and us when he came home for burial.

By some miracle I was able to get him, between Friday January 9th, when we finally learned of his death, and Tuesday January 13th, transported from Kentucky to New York, to be cared for by a Chevra Kaddisha (arranged by one extraordinary Glenn Ackerman, of Ackerman’s Funeral Chapel in Queens) and from N.Y. to Israel, and on to his final resting place in Rechovot. These are the words I spoke during his Hesped – his eulogy.

“Today we gather to honor the life of Uriel Lichtman HaLevi, A”H who left us far too soon at the age of fifty-three.

I stand here today with a heavy heart, knowing that now it is just my mother, Tova, and I from our tiny nuclear family. And yet, in our grief, there is comfort in one thing: we have brought Uriel home. And also in all of the friends and family we see here today. We have brought him back to Rechovot, to be buried in a place where he spent some of the happiest years of his life. A place where he was loved and cherished. His grandparents, Moshe and Miriam Shpringer, A”H who adored him, are buried not far from where we stand today. There is comfort in knowing he is back among them, in a hometown that held so many of his memories and so much of his joy.

Uriel was bright, talented, and gifted with his hands and his mind. He was a carpenter by trade, but that word only scratches the surface of his abilities. He built things that were solid, useful, and beautiful. He made a living with skill, with creativity, and with perseverance. And along the way, he made sure others benefited too. He helped people find work on his jobs, he gave charity, and he offered support quietly and without fanfare. Helping others was not something he talked about; it was something he did. I think in that way he was like my father A”H.

He loved the open road—long drives across the United States, the freedom of movement, the changing horizon. Before the carpentry and the highways, there was music. In his younger years, Uriel played the bass, and, like much in his life, he played with talent and passion. And gave us all a headache!

And always, there were the dogs. Wendell and Buddy were not just pets; they were companions and friends. Losing Wendell broke his heart. Buddy, whom he rescued after he suffered abuse, stayed by his side until the very end—loyal, protective, present. There is something both painful and fitting in that. It reflects the way Uriel lived: fiercely independent yet always attached to the beings he loved.

Uriel and I had a complicated relationship. It was tumultuous at times, and we went through long periods of distance. But before that, we were children together. We were friends. We looked out for each other, biked the streets of Bridgeport, Connecticut together, Rechovot as well, and played Lego for hours. I protected him and he protected me.

I hoped that one day we would find closure, that the harsh words and the pain that separated us might be mended. Sadly, that moment never came in life, but as I stand here now, I know that I can forgive him. I believe that he now sees clearly that despite everything, he was still my little brother. And I loved him. That is why I brought him home.

Uriel lived much of his adult life alone. But today he is not alone. Today he is surrounded by family who loved him deeply—family who wish he had seen that love with his own eyes. I am sorry he did not witness it in his lifetime, because there is no doubt that he was loved here, very much. His aunt Leah was like a second mother to him and our Aunt Faigie and Gideon loved him with all their hearts and kept in touch regularly. We only had six first cousins, Chagit, Amichai, Elad, Tamar, Yael, and Shay and I know they each have memories of him and met up with him in different times in their lives – he knew that you all loved him and are so saddened by his passing – he knows that – of that I am sure.

Our cousin Yael shared a memory that captures something important: she came to visit us when our daughter Joely was a baby, and she watched Uriel—this tall, strong, muscular young man—holding that tiny baby with such extraordinary gentleness. That image stayed with her, and it speaks to a truth. Beneath the anger, beneath the struggles and the brokenness he carried, there was a softness, a tenderness that most of the world never saw. I wish more people knew that about him. I wish he had felt safe enough to show that side more often.

Uriel faced medical challenges in recent years, and while his passing was sudden, it came after a struggle his body could no longer sustain. But his life is not defined by those medical issues. His life is defined by the things he built, the roads he travelled, the music he played, the dogs he loved, the people he helped, and the flashes of gentleness that surfaced when you least expected them.

As we lay him to rest here in Rechovot, near his grandparents who cherished him, we do so with sadness but also with gratitude—gratitude that we could bring him home, gratitude for the good years we had, gratitude that his journey brought light and meaning into the world in its own way.

In our tradition, we say: Tehei nishmato tzrurah b’tzror ha-chayim. May his soul be bound up in the bond of life. And may his memory be a blessing to all who knew him.

Uriel, may you rest in peace and may you forgive me too. I ask you for mechila.”

I am sharing these words with the world, well for those who read this anyway, so that the last words about him, are good and kind. That is also a life’s lesson. Life is too short, and there is a futility in thinking one can change the fact that one goes when it is one’s time – for it is all in Hashem’s hands. But, in this world, the time we have needs to be spent with those that matter in our lives, those who love us, and whom we love back. Those people are the ones who show up – those people come to a funeral, reach out, make a shiva call, bring or send food, and tell us funny or cool stories about who we’ve lost. They brought him alive for me and my mom – some who shared their stories of him or some who just listened to ours, who wanted to know him in some way.

Even in death there is connection. And the process of sitting shiva is painful but healing. But being embraced by family, friends, and a community is literally inspiring. Looking to my leaders HaRav Zvi Koren and Rabbanit Oshra Koren, to the men who came to make  a minyan in my home so I could say Kaddish, to the members of my shul, Kinor David, to my community in Ra’anana, and our greater circle of friends from around Israel, who comforted us, fed us, and cared for us, I am inspired by each and everyone of you. You all participated in Chesed Shel Emmet (a deed that can never be repaid) for Uriel A”H. I know he is looking down upon us and seeing every moment of it. I know that he now knows what he missed but that he is comforted by the knowledge that in his death he was honored, loved, and respected, and so were we.

May the memory of my brother Uriel A”H always be for a blessing and may those reading these words be moved to do a small mitzva in his name, so that his neshama may have an Aliyah and kindness be spread in the world.