Eulogy / Rabbi Andrew Rosenkranz

Eulogy for Todd D. Barron by Rabbi Andrew Rosenkranz

Eulogy transcription-
Todd David Barron was born on August 29, 1974, and he died, after one of the strongest-willed battle anyone has ever seen, on Jan. 26, 2024. He was predeceased by his father, Harry, and is survived by his mother, Andrea, his wife, Debra, his siblings, Heidi, Lisa and Michael, and of course his two beautiful daughters, Sarah and Lilah.

On the Hebrew calendar, Todd passed on the Jewish holiday of Tu B’Shevat, the “birthday of the trees.” And like the ketubah hanging in Todd and Debra’s bedroom with a beautiful, exploding-with-color, vibrant watercolor of a “tree of life” that fills their entire ketubah, Todd indeed was that tree. He brought the zest of life to all who knew him, to everyone he encountered, to every room he entered, to every event he auctioneered, every party he hosted. A tree bears seeds, a tree provides oxygen for the world, a tree uplifts with its beauty, and and a tree gives ahome to an array of God’s creatures. How fitting that the ketubah, the marriage contract that defines the covenantal partnership Todd and Debra shared, is a tree. How fitting that God called for him on Tu B’Shevat.

His girls, all three of them, were the beauty in his life. Debra, you can’t fake love. A couple can’t promenade a show of compassion and respect as merely an act for the world to see and not truly feel it and live it for years without it being genuine and heartfelt. We all watched as your sincere, unmistakable love for Todd was on display for all to see these past six years. It’s true, Todd had the drive, he was “the big engine that could.” The words “giving” and “up” were never said sequentially, ever, nor am I quite sure that those words ever entered your husband’s mind. But you were the catalyst of his drive, the core and substance of Todd’s will to live life to its fullest potential.

And, indeed, you loved him. You were patient and kind. You were understanding. You were a provider. You crawled into Todd’s hospital bed in Miami and curled up next to him during the early stages of his treatment, and then I watched you do it again when Cantor and I came this past week to say our goodbyes. Both times I saw you caressing his face, gently kissing him on his forehead, and showing him the ultimate tenderness, a trait that cannot be taught, but can only be innately practiced.

Sarah and Lilah, you’re too young to understand this today, but I’m sure when you read this years from now it will make more sense to you. Today may be your father’s funeral, but your father lives on. He will live on as long as you are alive. Through the pictures, the stories and memories that you tell your children, he will live on. As you grow older, you will naturally take on many of the principles, beliefs and characteristics of your father. And then again, in you, your father will live on.

Andi, Heidi, Lisa, and Mike, you knew this day was coming, but you could never be prepared for it. A mother is not supposed to bury a child. Brothers and sisters are supposed to gather around the Thanksgiving table, read from the Hagaddah, celebrate B’nai Mitzvah, graduations and weddings of your nephews and neices, as one family, for many, many years. And while that is no longer to be, be comforted in what you know your son and brother brought to your lives, not just these past few years, but throughout your childhoods, as adults, and up until the moment Todd passed into the olam ha ba – the world to come. Todd was a precocioius little brother, grinning from ear to ear as he got to tag out his big brother at home plate, sharing with dizzying awe the simple science projects his sister would set up for him when they were children, kvelling at the title “rabbi” that his older sister worked so hard to earn. Everything in Todd’s life was about doing. Organizing, for other people. Attending to details, for other people. Creating experiences, for other people. He could befriend anyone. Literally anyone. The fella he met at a basketball game and struck up a conversation with was the fella he was sharing a drink with at the bar the next night. The friends he made in college were the friends he shared his life with until his last days. The community of trust and friendship, and of lovingkindness, that he shared with his Wellington friends, both at the temple where he and Debra have been raising their girls alongside so many other families, was expressed in forms of gratitude that included experiences he would create. But it’s important to note – to all those who knew Todd and were the recipients of his warmth and generosity – that Todd didn’t just create gatherings and parties. He didn’t create vacations, or nights out at restaraunts, or galas or non-profit auctions.

Todd created time. He created instances. Todd understood – even before he was diagnosed - that the days, hours and minutes of a lifetime are precious, and are to be used wisely and without haste. What delighted Todd Barron is that which made other people happy. Their enjoyment of life became his enjoyment of life. If we could only imagine what this world would look like if everyone adopted the Todd Barron outlook on life.

Todd did so much more than the bare minimum of what our Torah commands of us: to treat everyone the same way we would want to be treated. He understood that the obligations to his wife and children, to his large, extended family, to his friends, his synagogue, the people he worked with, and the community in which he lived, was so much more than “treat everyone the way you’d want to be treated.” To him, that was just the starting point, the bare minimum. What son takes his mother to SunFest year after year, or goes above and beyond, over the top, each year for Mother’s Day? Even in the closest of sibling relationships, what brother pines to be with his big brother throughout their days growing up with one another, doing practically everything together, for crying out loud even going into business with each other and working side by side with one another for over twenty years? What husband takes his wife on a whirlwind weekend to New Orleans and then secretly arranges to carve out time on Friday night to go to the local synagogue and renew their vows with on their tenth anniversary?

Sarah had her Bat Mitzvah just a few months ago right here from this bima. When it was evident that Todd was nearing the end, I called Debra. I asked her, “Do you want to go forward with this in the midst of everything that’s going on with Dad, or does Sarah want to push it to the traditional 13th birthday?” After all, preparing for a Bat Mitzvah in and of itself takes a tremendous amount of commitment and dedication. Doing it a year early so her Dad can be there is in an entirely different realm of devotion. Debra explained to me that the family had a discussion, and that it was Sarah’s decision, and hers alone, to push through. Sarah was insistent on going ahead as scheduled, Debra told me. Sarah said she was going to continue to push herself in her practice and preparation, and that she was going to do this for her Dad.

When I hung up the phone, I leaned back in my chair, stared at the ceiling, and thought to myself, “That’s how Todd Barron is going to live on in his children.” Here’s his little girl, pushing through, doing all that she can to give her Dad what he gives to everyone else. A memory. An experience. A lesson in perseverance. Not for her own behalf, but for the behalf of someone else. In this case, for her loving father. In Judaism, when we hear of someone’s passing, it’s typical to say, “zichrono livrachah,” may his memory be for blessing. How do you know your memory is going to be blessed? When you have an entire community supporting you. When a grieving spouse has girlfriends who come together to take over every detail of arranging for today so that she and the girls can spend their time feeling comforted among their families and friends. When social media is inundated with the sharing of memories and anecdotes and heartfelt tributes. When an uncle stands in for his brother the night before the funeral to take his niece Lilah to the daddy-daughter dance.

That, Todd Barron, is when you know that what you did here on this earth, the time you spent with your family and friends, always giving, always caring, always loving, will forever be a blessing to everyone who will remember you.

Cain yehi retzon, may it be God’s will, that Todd Barron’s legacy will continue to be a blessed memory to all of us. Amen.