If only we had told him how much we loved him.
Bruce Kippur did not die that way. He was told his friends and family loved him and told him so amply. It was clear to him, and to them. The only statement made more often was his own how much he loved everyone around him.
All my bones shall speak, writes the Psalmist of the person who praises G-d with his entire being. For Bruce, all his bones all his being bespoke a joie de vivre.
Timing, they say, is everything. Bruce Kippurs funeral was held on the eve of Sukkot, a few hours before the onset of the holiday. When that occurs, the simchas yom tov, the joy of the festival itself, cancels the shiva. The mourning is truncated, finished early. In Bruces case, he was mourned formally for only those couple of hours between the time of his funeral and the time to get ready for the holiday. Mourning and Bruce did not go together.
With Bruce, it was always smiles, not tears. That is how he went out on the crescendo up to the most joyous Jewish festival of all, Sukkot.
That is how his many friends will remember him: as a person whose biggest joy in life was the likes of the Purim carnival at BMH-BJ and the melaveh malkah at Yeshiva Toras Chaim.
There are what we might call different mitzvah foci in life. Surely it is a mitzvah to care for the dead and to sustain the cemetery. Surely it is a mitzvah to visit the sick. And surely Bruce Kippur honored those mitzvot. But his main focus, his animating and animated motive and modus operandi, was elsewhere. He focused on the mitzvah to rejoice and to help others do the same.
Surely not least, this was evident in his refusal to be cowed by his formidable health challenges; in his beautiful smile and upbeat and uplifting attitude, sustained to the very end.
We shall miss Bruce and his mischievous, endearing and contagious smile. We shall miss his zest for life. We were buoyed when he told us how much he loved us. Like many others, we shall miss him deeply.
Copyright © 2011 by the Intermountain Jewish News
