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Eulogy
HARVEY SILVERMAN
“Optimistic.”
The rabbi’s eulogy was boilerplate. The subject’s name was
inserted but otherwise the comments were recited by rote with a
delivery that lacked any sense of kindness, sympathy, or caring.
Well, the departed had not been a member of the synagogue,
the only one in the small city in which he had lived for nearly
half a century. He may never have met the rabbi. What the rabbi
knew of the late gentleman for whom the eulogy was being given
had come from a conversation with the deceased’s older brother
who similarly was not a member of the synagogue. Perhaps
boilerplate was all that one could expect.
The small sanctuary was filled. The seats were occupied by
family, friends, acquaintances, customers. All sat quietly as the
rabbi continued a description that applied to any generic dead
person. When he described the departed as optimistic I could
not help but figuratively shake my head and think to myself, “No,
you asshole, David was a lot of things but he was not optimistic.”
I was disappointed. But understandable, I supposed. Here
the rabbi had to go through the required steps for somebody he
did not know, somebody who had never supported his
congregation or his synagogue. The rabbi was human. Perhaps
he was resentful. Perhaps one could not expect even feigned
compassion.
David’s brother followed with his own eulogy, then a cousin,
finally a nephew. Each was dull, a mere recitation of facts,
humorless, hardly a celebration of the man’s life. Later that day
his brother told me that had he been certain I would attend (I
had flown 1500 miles to get there) he would have asked me to
speak.
I wish that he had.
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