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Ted Ruskin, 1943-2020

The Denver Jewish community is certainly diminished with the passing of Ted Ruskin, who succumbed to COVID-19 on the eve of Passover.

One never knew where Ted Ruskin would pop up. Despite his progressive loss of eyesight, he found a way to be present at many community gatherings and venues, running the gamut from the Reform Temple Sinai and B’nai Chaim to the Orthodox Chabad Jewish Center of South Metro Denver, from the annual Golden Hill Cemetery clean-up to the walk for Israel and the programs of the Rocky Mountain Jewish Historical Society — and these were only his public appearances.

Ted Ruskin was blessed with many passions and talents, such as the beautiful singing voice that he lent first to B’nai Chaim and then Chabad of South Metro Denver. B’nai Chaim honored him for his service as the congregation’s cantor in 2001.

Ruskin valued local Jewish history and was the impetus behind the annual clean-up of Golden Hill Cemetery with its storied “Hill” section, where the victims of tuberculosis 100 to 120 years ago were buried in paupers’ graves. That section of the cemetery had been neglected. Ruskin made it his mission to give these forgotten soulsthe dignity they deserved by recruiting volunteers to clean it up. Sadly and ironically, Ruskin, too, became a victim of an epidemic.

His respect for the deceased also manifested itself in one of his careers, that of designing and selling gravestones. He felt that everyone should be honored with a meaningful and unique memorial at his or her final resting place, and went beyond the call of duty to make it happen.

Ted Ruskin was courageous. When Gary Bobb passed away from the complications of still another epidemic, AIDS, Ruskin spoke out candidly about the way society approached that disease at a time when many would not publicly discuss it.

Perhaps most notably, Ruskin’s courage came through in the way that he carried himself as his eyesight shut down. It was, yes, his communal involvement that did not stop. But it was also his capacity for friendship, for being with people, for not letting his handicap shut him in. He kept on going. Ruskin greeted everyone he could and enjoyed people just the same. His “how are you?” was not perfunctory and his conversation not crimped. He might not see your face but he recognized your voice. He’d ask about spouses, children, work. As always he was interested in his communal colleagues and personal friends.

Ted Ruskin leaves few relatives, but a huge, diverse “family” of friends and admirers who deeply miss his gentle demeanor and warmth.

Copyright © 2020 by the Intermountain Jewish News




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