Remarks delivered at my grandfather’s funeral that took place on December 26, 2024. I don’t want to call it a “hesped”/eulogy since it occurred on the first day of Chanukah, when eulogies are otherwise forbidden. Here is just a small snapshot of the giant that was our patriarch. Yehi Zichro Baruch – WB

I’m going to be very honest with you; this is one of the weirdest days of my life. Never in my mind did I picture something like this happening (as ridiculous as that sounds). It just doesn’t make sense. He was my grandfather and lived a wonderful rich, robust life. It feels so bizarre.

Today is the first day of Chanukah, a day in which we are not supposed to give traditional eulogies. I will try to stay within the confines of those boundaries but my grandfather, Ed Balk, Yehuda ben Yaakov, was not a traditional person by many measures. You see, my grandparents exuded a sense of royalty but it’s different than the standard. It’s true that my grandmother, my Savta was a queen. THE Queen. But when I think of my grandfather, I don’t think of him as a king. To explain why, I need you to travel with me to Passover, and I think you’ll get the picture.

Pretend we didn’t just light the Menorah and journey with me to some of the most cherished times of my childhood when we would spend our seders on Polo Drive and then on Crandon, in a room built specifically in mind for hosting these type of events. The Haggadah makes a point to let us know over and over again that it was God Almighty that redeemed the Jewish people from Egypt. Not through an angel, not through an intermediary, a messenger or a middleman, but by the Master of the Universe Himself. It’s true that He sent Moshe and Aharon to take a large role in the process, but after all was said and done, it was He, with a Mighty Hand and an Outstretched arm who took care of business. When you care for people, when you want to have a relationship with people, you put in the work. When a King or a President pardon an individual, they are not the ones showing up to free that person from jail. Or to put it differently, a king doesn’t roll up his sleeves and play baseball with you in the backyard. A monarch doesn’t grill their own chicken or salmon for dinner. A king doesn’t make their own oatmeal day after day, year after year, putting it in the freezer to cool it down before it was just right. A king has subjects to do their bidding out of fear or dread. That’s the opposite of who my grandfather was. So Saba was definitely not a king, and I think you understand why. 

You all know by now that Saba loved oatmeal, and he loved Buicks. I remember when I was at camp one summer when I received a full page email from my father, in all caps: SABA BOUGHT A CADILLAC! To make it even more bashert, the leather seat color was named “oatmeal” and the beige of the car mirrored the bowls that he used. Unfortunately, this was a love that was not meant to be, and after a few years, much to the Chagrin of my dad, the Cadillac went away and a new Buick was procured. 

But more than oatmeal, Buicks, and Cadillacs, what I learned the most from Saba was that the best ability is availability. You show up for those that you care about. It was exciting when Saba and Savta, and later just Saba would show up at our events and celebrations, but I can’t say it would be a surprise because it always happened. When he flew in for my Chag HaSemicha, our engagement party, and even for Yaakov’s bris, like most of his great-grandson’s brissim. I remember him calling me a few days after Yair was born, with sadness in his voice and he apologized that he wouldn’t be able to make the trip in because his eye doctor didn’t want him to fly because of the pressure. Whose almost 91 year old grandfather hops on a plane for these things? Ours certainly did. And that didn’t stop him from flying to Florida a year later for Leo’s bris, just a little before his stroke. One final point about brisses: I still can’t believe that he and Savta drove from Florida to Chicago for my bris, a 19 and half hour drive at best. Or how, on Thanksgiving in Indianapolis at Aunt Carla’s house when we heard that Uncle Lester passed and the funeral was in Chicago. We got in the car and drove through a snowstorm to get there, turned around and came right back after the graveside service. (In the Cadillac, for the record. The best ability is availability, and Saba Raba was available for all those he cared about.

It’s painfully fitting that your passing comes among the weeks when we read of Yehuda in the Torah, and when we celebrate the legacy of Yehuda and the rest of the Maccabees. There is so much more to say about you Saba, and it’s so hard to stifle ourselves both because of Chanukah and because of the time limit we have, but I think I can capture what I’m feeling best in something I wrote in your 90th Birthday Book:

Dear Saba,

Our sages teach us that when parents give a child their name, it is more than just a moniker to differentiate them from their peers. The attributes and nuances of the name that a child is given takes a hold of their character based on the meaning of the name or who it is they were named for. When it comes to Edward, Ed, or Eddie, I’ll admit I’m at a loss for an explanation. However, your Hebrew name speaks volumes. 

We learn through recounting the episodes in the beginning of the Torah of the sense of leadership that runs through the veins of the Biblical Yehuda ben Yaakov (I’m sure you’ve chanted those specific verses tens of times). Yehuda was an individual who spoke up not because he wanted recognition or accolades, but because it was the right thing to do. Famously, when the youngest of the sons of Yaakov is about to languish in jail for a crime he did not commit, it was Yehuda who spoke out that he should be taken in the stead of his little brother. Meanwhile, none of the other brothers, all of whom were assembled there, sought to right this wrong. Not even the eldest of the bunch.

You, our very own Yehuda ben Yaakov, have taught us so many vital life lessons, not through stern warnings, but through devoted action. You did not implore your progeny with the importance of Jewish continuity and commitment to our communities; you stood up and took active leadership roles. Nevertheless, working behind the scenes was not the end of the line. You were and are a committed Minyanaire (and, as I found out this week, a Mensch of the year!) and a dedicated Baal Koreh. Whether sitting on boards of organizations or preparing the weekly laining, your demeanor was not one of regret or frustration at what you had committed to do. This pattern of behavior would not have continued for decades had you not felt the importance of what you were doing. The importance not for your name to be adorned atop the organizational letterhead or in the weekly synagogue bulletin, but the importance of ensuring that all was taken care of. 

Your service to your Jewish community inspired your children, all of them, to make a commitment to Yiddishkeit in theirs. No matter where they have lived, the Balk children, and now grandchildren, have not been content to sit on the sidelines while others inform us what our Jewish experience is to be. You did this all while maintaining a robust professional life at Solon Gershman (and what I’m sure was a busy golf schedule as well). While the world landscape may be different now that it was then, the groundwork that you laid for us all is so important. My size 16 feet will have trouble filling your shoes in regard to leadership and dedication to us, your loving family. 

When Grandpa Jack and Grandma Eva named you Yehuda (or Yidel), I’m not sure of what their exact thought process was, but what I can say for sure is that there is no more fitting a name for someone of your stature. 

Saba, you’d always remind us to appreciate the moment. We joked last night that that’s why one of the only indulgences you actually splurged on were watches because of the value of time. You’d always remark “You couldn’t get it next week!” But Saba, how we’d give just about anything to get it next week. And the week after, and the week after, and the week after. We take solace in the fact that you’re no longer in pain, that you’re reunited once again in the Grand Central Station shel maalah with Savta, your parents, Aunt Noma, my mom, and everyone else that you loved and that loved you so much. But Saba, you still have some work to do. The same way that you were able to accomplish so much, take those same enthusiasm and tell God that we need help down here. Our people need protection. A painful war is still raging in our homeland. There are still 100 hostages that need to come home right now. You did so much, not with brashness or brute strength, and we need people like you more than ever. 

Saba, I’m sorry that I did not show you enough kavod in your lifetime. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you enough, even though you were great on the phone (and quick). I’m sorry I considered wearing a tie that I bought on Amazon to your funeral today. In Gan Eden you will see just how much we love you and how hard we will continue to work to keep the Herculean legacy that you lived every day of your life, alive and well. Thank you for everything. Umacha Hashem Elokim Dima M’al Kol Panim.