Eulogy for Ron Fink Levi ben Chaim Zev v’ Bunia
July 12, 2011
There is a conversation that I have had many times with Ron-usually after a Friday night service has concluded and before we leave the bimah area. The conversation goes like this-“Ron, that was beautiful, your music so spiritual to me-you play and it just opens the door to my feeling spiritual.” And Ron would always respond: “thank you, I appreciate that, but honestly, I don’t know what that means-I really don’t know what spirituality is-I just play.” And I would marvel that Ron could be a vehicle, a vessel for something so profound for me and for so many of us. But for a man who didn’t feel spiritual, there was rarely an Erev Shabbat that Ron wasn’t in this sanctuary. Unless he was out of town, Kathy will tell you that at the end of a week, even if it was a bad one-it was Ron who insisted they come to Temple. And in that desire, I believe is the key that linked Ron and me, and that links so many of us to Ron. We may all feel or find something different in this sanctuary but we need each other for the magic of community to happen. Ron gave us the spirituality and the creativity of his music. He gave us his musical voice and his intellectual voice, bringing a harmony to our community at our most open, vulnerable, raw moments: the moments when we are in prayer. He was here because he loved this community the people, the music, the experiences we share. And we have been enriched by it in a way that is hard to quantify with words. For me, the sound of my spirituality is silenced. Our piano mourns the loss of its most familiar, gentle partner. And we feel this profound loss of a longtime friend.
And what of Ron’s family? Our hearts reach out to Betty, Ron’s mom, to his brothers Fred and Stan, to Ron and Kathy’s extended family. For Kathy, for Joseph and Anna, we can only begin to understand the enormity of your loss. We know the love that exists in your family. Kathy: that you and Ron have been each other’s best friend for 38 years doesn’t begin to describe your relationship- your souls are so intertwined- you complete each other in every way- in thoughts, in humor, in your passions, your music—together, you are whole. We have seen it in this very sanctuary, when Ron is at the piano you are never more than 2-3 rows away. Or on Shabbat morning, if Ron would be here, sitting side by side- even Kathy, as you have said kaddish for your mother Mary Mathias this year, not a moment’s hesitation Ron has stood by your side so that you are not alone, and to tell us as well, how close he felt to your mom. You told me Kathy that you and Ron met as freshmen your very first day at UC Santa Cruz when you were 18- and have often joked that you don’t know how either of you made it through the first 18 years of your life without each other. While your children, your families, your professional work have brought each of you great joy, the quality of your relationship was the greatest fulfillment in your life. And the two of you had every right to want a quantity of years together, to complement that quality of relationship. Part of the range of emotions that have marked these last two weeks for you, anticipating a heart transplant, has been the now-faded glimpse that perhaps there would be many more years together, post-transplant. The loss of that unrealized promise adds to the pain of today.
Ron’s doctors may have felt they diagnosed Ron’s heart condition seven years ago, but the truth is, we who have known Ron have known about Ron’s heart his whole life. His heart was exceptional,: loving, kind, gentle, caring. He gave of himself unselfishly, unassumingly, always with steadfast support to others. His “lev tov”, his good heart, can be attested to by his friends, his family, in his personal interactions. We saw Ron’s heart in how he parented Anna and Joseph- the home he created with Kathy was open, accepting, nurturing, and very, very musical. His love and support of you, Anna and Joseph, was and remains, unconditional, whether you wanted to go to Thailand, New York, or travel on a sailboat for a year, and while he never would want to think he guided or influenced your choices this way, he was so proud that right now teaching, playwriting, and music fill your professional lives, reflecting passions and skills found in both your mom and dad. The music room in your house has been a magical place of family sharing and creativity, but so has your kitchen table been a place of learning, discussion, debate and openness. Joseph and Anna, your dad could not have been more proud of more loving of you- you may not have had quantity of years with your father, but you have had a quality, that will abide with you your whole life long. And Sam, you have already been a son-in-law to Ron, although your wedding date is in the future. You and Meg have both been warmly embraced by Ron and Kathy, which is the kind of acceptance all of us have known of Ron.
Ron used to say he was so lucky that he was able to take his hobby and make a career out of it. John Heath and Ron met in 6th grade and have been writing musical education plays together their entire lives-John the lyricist and Ron the composer. Together through Badwolf Press they have published 50 musicals, educating young students on meaningful topics, even as they memorized lines and practiced songs. Ron was able to craft a life that kept music flowing in him and from him, and in so many ways we at TBT have been the beneficiary of this, as he has composed liturgical settings for High holy Days. How common a sight for us to walk in to choir rehearsal on a Tuesday or Thursday night in August and see Ron sitting barefoot at the piano. If he wasn’t playing he was usually perched cross-legged on the piano bench. We saw his expression of love for Jewish music in many ways, including through the Ventura Klezmer Band, through his partnership with Cantor Ralph of blessed memory, and of Steve Perren. Ron’s music always looked effortless, but he was working hard- providing the musical bridge between Steve and Ralph, both of whom were singing by ear. And Ron and Cantor Michael- I would tease them that at times it was like Michael’s guitar would be baiting Ron to come out and play, and Ron would always take the bait…and then the two of them would tale a song to a place that was new and spontaneous, often leaving us smiling with joy, or speechless with its depth. And I have never heard anyone make the accordion sound so cool. It was a delight for me to experience Ron’s music so close by- I can only imagine the feelings of the many of you who have played music with or sang with Ron over his many years here. It was only a few years ago that Ron, Jerry, and Robin were given an Annual TBT Award for the extraordinary gift they give us each Shabbat as our worship musicians. Where other congregations hire talented musicians once a month to play, we are truly blessed that each Shabbat there are extraordinary people who happen to be exceptional musicians who voluntarily create our worship experience with us. Ron showed an incredible courage in this last decade, though he might never have seen it as such. He worked to care best for his heart by changing his lifestyle. He gave up jogging and took up golfing. He adopted a conscientious diet. He courageously endured episodes where his de-fibrilator would fire repeatedly, and then wonder why his confidence in his heart would waver. He walked that tightrope of embracing each day and trying not to fear the unknown in each day. In the difficult moments, he let friends be there with him, help him, support him. I don’t think he understood how much he inspired us.
Ron’s death has been a shock to us all. How we wish we could turn back the clock, back to Shabbat, how we wish we could write a different ending – would hours, minutes, one more day have brought a different reality? So close, so close, top of the transplant list, any day now, certainly this weekend…it is hard not to be angry, not to be frustrated- certainly not with Ron’s heart!- but with the random click of moments that promise a second-chance at life, or the finality of death. But let me say this. To dwell on the “almost” will be a poison to the human spirit. While we may not yet be at the place of acceptance of Ron’s death, we must push ourselves past any resentment of Ron’s death. To play the game of “what if” or “if only” is a mental maze with no exit. Let our minds and hearts respond to Ron’s death in a different way. In the last two weeks of Ron’s life, as excrutiating as it was, there were countless sacred moments. Ron’s family was with him, and all the words of love and support that have always existed were uttered again. There was music, and singing, and sharing. There were phone calls and visits, and a caring and devoted medical staff. There was Kathy who barely left Ron’s side. A few years ago, when Kathy co-led our adult b’nai mitzvah class, the Shabbat parasha they learned included these words from the patriarch Jacob, who from the darkness of night awakens and says, Al ken yesh Adonai, b’makom hazeh v’ani lo yadati- surely God is in this place, and I didn’t know it.” Ron, you were never quite sure what God was or is, or how one experiences sacredness. Ron, Kathy will tell you- God was in between every word, every kiss, every melody, every emotion that your family felt these last two weeks, holding on to you for dear life. In the strength and the bonds and the closeness and the laughter and the tears. You may not have termed it as such, but the feeling is the same: Believe Kathy: God was in that place.
So let us respond to Ron’s death not with anger or challenge, but also, not with complacency. In recent months Ron had been actively involved with Team Chazon, as we have re-envisioned what it means to be a temple community. He had passionate feelings about what makes a Jewish community unique, and imperative. He was deeply committed to what this community is at its best, and what this community can be as we grow. His message of community is a message for all of us, for it speaks of love, support, acceptance, creativity, music, ethical behavior, and a strong link to heritage. He loved the ethical imperatives and kind behaviors implicit in Judaism. He believed that a temple community is a precious vehicle for understanding, and living the richness of Judaism. In the way we hold each other now, the way we support each other, the way we come together to mourn and pray, and in the way we eventually find our voice to sing together again, let us prove Ron right. Zichrono livracha.
Rabbi Lisa Hochberg-Miller
July 2011
We lost our father much, much sooner than any of us had hoped. But, despite that, we feel that we are lucky.
We are lucky because we had him for 25 and 29 years, and those years were full of love and life. We were incredibly close to our father for years. I spoke to him on the phone for an hour almost every day of the 3 years I’ve lived in New York.
We are lucky because he raised us to believe that we should not just try to be happy, or successful, but to leave the world a better place. It’s the life he lived, on a day to day, person to person basis. Even when doing something as simple as grocery shopping, he thought of it as his duty to entertain the cashier, and make their day a little better. In this last week, whenever a nurse walked into his room, he would greet them with “What can I do for you?” and he meant it.
We are lucky because he showed us that it was possible to dream of a difficult career and then to actually do it, and because he always reminded us of the practical work needed to make that possible. As a young man, he wanted to write musicals. He has written over 50 that are performed in schools all over the world, and I don’t even know how many lives he touched that way.
My father was the first artist I ever knew.
There isn’t a shortage of things I could list here. I could stand here all day telling you ways he was wonderful, and silly, and funny, and loving, and the ways that he affected all of us in my family, and I still won’t have summed up everything we gained from having him in our lives.
None of us, my mother, my sister, me, have any regrets about our relationship with him. No regrets at all. We are so, so lucky for that.
One night, a couple weeks ago we all thought he was almost certainly gone, and that night we all went through the process of dealing with that. And then he woke up, and was himself, and we had an entire week as a family together before he left for good. I know that there are so many people in this world who would give up every possession they have for a chance like we had, so I know that we are unbelievably lucky we had that chance. I won’t ever forget how completely blessed we were to have that week.
We spent much of that week singing with him. As my mother says, “His second language was English. His first language was music.” I would like now to sing his favorite song, and one that I sang with him just a few days ago.
The overgrown lavender, and the perfumed rose
Love lasts longer, much longer than those
Pebbled beaches, chaparral crowned bluffs
Love lasts longer than any of us
Joseph Fink
