Uncle Bill was a bit of a free spirit, but he wasn't afraid of hard work. He held seemingly dozens of jobs, starting with truck driving, served in the US Army during World War II, ran a chain of auto repair service stores, and sold recliners. He was a real fixer, and he was social beyond belief. He had half a dozen children and dozens of children, and some great-grandchildren as well. The Rabbi said that he had led "a Biblical life," and certainly his descendants will be like the stars in the heavens.
Bill remarried late in life, and the second wife was nearly forty years his junior. Many tongues wagged and made dire predictions about their short-term prospects. Of course, people sometimes surprise you, and it's unwise to bet against love. Bill and his young wife had been married over 23 years when he lost his fight against cancer.
At the memorial service this morning, the Rabbi referred to Bill's wife as a "true woman of valor." As much as she tended to his bodily needs, and suffered with him in his final struggle, I am inclined to agree, and I am praying for her recovery. She looks exhausted, poor thing, and I can't begin to imagine what it must be like.
And yes, I did say "Rabbi." Bill's bride is Jewish, and her family belongs to one of the older synagogues in the South. The Sanctuary is beautiful. I don't want to go into too much detail, because someone might recognize the place, or know my uncle; he has lots and lots of friends. I am still officially anonymous here on the Web, but I should point out that I have a lot of experience at singing in Hebrew, and have done so for a long time. So I volunteered my services to the widow, and the family told me afterwards that having me sing the 23rd Psalm (in English, but on traditional Hebrew melodies) was "a beautiful way to bring the two halves of the family together." So I'm glad that I was able to put my gifts to work in God's service that way. Even though I had to get out of bed at 3:00 AM to drive the four hours to the other city, it was worth it, if only to know that it helped the widow and the rest of the family.
The Rabbi gave a beautiful, erudite and witty homily about my uncle, who spent a great deal of time and effort on fixing things at the synagogue. He and his wife volunteered for the soup kitchen and manned the homeless shelter there at times. The homily was touching without sentimentality, and he handled the possibly delicate situation of having a roomful of evangelicals (and at least one Catholic) with tremendous grace. My siblings and I came away from the service feeling satisfied, though we were sad to say farewell.
In the Temple they have a saying: Zecher tzadik livrachah, or May the memory of the righteous ever be for a blessing. Rest in peace, uncle, in the bosom of Abraham, and may I receive the grace to meet you there.