Eulogy Delivered in Memory of DEVORA URKOWITZ By Rabbi David Rosen

Congregation Beth Yeshurun, Houston, Texas

My friends, this is such a sad moment for the Urkowitz and Radinsky Families - and for all of us gathered here together. We have lost a flower in full bloom, a radiant neshamah that elevated our spirits, who enchanted us with her smile and infectious enthusiasm, and who inspired us - 0 how she inspired us! - with her extraordinary courage.
As a rabbi, I often find myself reminding my congregants that there is a difference between what we do and who we are. At the end of the day, we need to leave our jobs at the door and not let them infringe on the sacred responsibilities and privileges that truly exalt us outside the work place as human beings.
We rabbis are, of course, the worst followers of that advice, but then devoted Jewish educators like Devora are a close second - and understandably so.
Because if living a holy life, a life devoted to Torah, tefillah and gemilut hesed, if celebrating a life of Shabbat and yontiffs and the joys that come with serving HaShem are who you are and what you have been raised to hold dear, then where do you draw a line between that and teaching those values, transmitting this love of God and mitzvot; where do you draw a line - can you? - when hundreds of Jewish children, the Jewish future, are entrusted to your care?

And that's what made Devora such an extraordinary educator. Not because it was a job and she was good at it, but because it was a calling that flowed from the very essence of who she was.

When I first came to Beth Yeshurun 13 years ago and met Devora, I wondered how such a fit with our congregation was possible. Here was Devora, the wife and daughter of Orthodox rabbis, dressed in her long skirt and long-sleeves, with that ever­present beret on her head as a mark of tzi'nyut - modesty - teaching children whose own religious upbringings were varied but hardly Orthodox.

She embodied a love for k'ial Yisrael, and if there were differences between Orthodox, Conservative and Reform kids, all she saw were Jewish kids entrusted to her care, and whose Jewish futures were in her hands to be shaped, lifted and exalted.

For a long time, I wondered how she came to feel that way until one day I had a conversation with her Dad, my dear friend Rabbi Radinsky.
Joe, you may not remember this conversation, but it is firmly planted in my mind as an example of why you were such a great influence on Houston Jewry - and even more, on your family.

We were sitting in your office, just you and me, and out of the blue, you, an Orthodox rabbi, told me that you supported the creation of the Emery-Weiner High School. And I was shocked, and asked you why.

And you said, "Look, naturally I support the Hebrew Academy and I wish all the kids from Beth Yeshurun would go there. But it's Orthodox and I know many won't go. So we need to have a high school where Beth Yeshurun kids will go and get the best Jewish education they can. Because they've got to learn, too; they're Jews
And when I heard you say this to me, Joe, I understood Devora because that was what drove her to give our kids here at Beth Yeshurun everything she could - because even if they were not Orthodox, they were Jewish and they needed to learn as much as possible, and she was determined to reach them and to teach them. Not to make them Orthodox, but to make - and keep them - Jewish.

And it made her such a marvelous influence on them. Those hundreds and hundreds of kids saw in her a role model of piety and faithfulness, and at the same time, a woman who played with them, embraced them, and only wanted for them the same joy in being Jewish that she so obviously felt.

Last week, all the kids wrote Devora letters, and these hundreds of letters were organized into an heirloom, a beautiful book filled with love.
"Dear Morah Devora," one child wrote, "I love when you stand on the chair at the model seder for Passover. You make me laugh and smile."
"Dear Morah Devora, I love you because you inspire my love for Judaism. Thank you for all the wonder you bring into our world."
"Dear Morah Devora, my favorite time with you is Purim. That's the only time you wear pants."
"Dear Morah Devora, you are nice, cool and awesome. You Rock.

And Devora left such a mark on our teachers, too.

"Devora," one of them wrote, "You are a breath of fresh air. You always have a smile on your face and spread happiness through the halls of Beth Yeshurun."
And another: "Devorah, I'm waiting for a miracle ... but in reality, you are the miracle. You exude beauty, radiance, and optimism. You have brought light, joy, and hope to so many people."

Yes, for 16 years, Devora taught what she believed not only in her words and enthusiasm, but in the way she conducted her life, spoke of others in public and private, and embraced the uniqueness of each child even as she stayed true to her own principles.

Yes, for Devora, what she did and who she was were one and the same. And we knew what we had - we all knew what we had ­which is why our hearts go out to Mark, and to Tzvi and Michelle; Ariel, Eitan and Atara, and to Juliette and Joe, and to Dena, Elie and Naomi, and to Lillian.

That flower in full bloom has now withered, but our memory of its beauty will never fade.

On Passover, we set before us two symbols of our people's past-maror, the bitter herb, and charoset, the sweet mixture of apples, nuts and wine. Together they represent both the suffering and sweetness of life, and remind us that both are part and parcel of human existence.

In Devora Urkowitz's life, there was, tragically, too much maror in the closing months of her life, more pain and hurt than she in her goodness deserved. And yet, I will always think of her life as one of extraordinary sweetness, a life that sweetened everything and everyone she touched. And though I never, of course, gave Devora a little kiss on the cheek or even shook her hand, today, on behalf of a grateful congregation, and meaning no disrespect, Devorah, this kiss - comes to you, now, with all our love.

Shalom haver, Shalom Morah shelanu, Morah Devora