Jules’ Eulogy for Naomi

I’m Jules, Naomi’s brother, and we’re all here to bid her farewell and celebrate her life. Naomi’s sense of the divine was rooted in her love of family and friends (and how pleased she would be to see us gathered in her honor), and rooted in her love of music, art, and the awesome beauty and power of nature, but less in the formal trappings of organized religion — hence the lack of clergy today. Rather she asked that we gather, reminisce, and share stories and anecdotes about her. And I think that’s great because none of us ever know a person completely.

I in my life have been son and brother, a husband, an uncle, a friend, a biologist, a student, a teacher, a customer, a grocery clerk, even a sandblaster for a while, but no one knows me in all of these capacities. But we can share unique bits of Naomi with each other and learn more about her.

Since I’ve known Naomi all of my life (she was here when I arrived; I was here when she left), I’ll go first and begin by saying I never understood how the oldest child does it. My path was smoothed out for me by four wonderful sisters, and Naomi being closest in age to me, not only smoothed but paved it. She taught me which teachers to sign up for, which ones to avoid, when to ask Dad for a raise in allowance, and when to keep my mouth shut.

And even when we arrived in Chicago in 1967 and I discovered the area’s formidable winters, we met at Marshall Field’s (remember Marshall Field’s?) so she could teach me how to buy a winter coat. I was thrilled when I introduced her to Joyce, the girl I was dating who became the love of my life, and with sisterly approval, Naomi told me I’d done good. Some of my fondest memories are of Naomi and Joyce sharing a giggling fit in those early dating days. And Naomi was happy to hand off coat buying duties to Joyce and I thought Naomi’s teaching-little-brother tasks were over.

But recently Naomi paved my way with another lesson. She taught me now to die. When over eight years ago, out of the blue, her mortality was thrust upon her and she was told she had 6-8 months to live, her response was: "Hmmmm, I’d like a 2nd opinion, which she sought and which bettered her first option 12 fold. Eight months became 8 years. She said, “I’ve always wanted to see China. I think I’ll go see China.” Joyce and I were terrified. Beijing is the most polluted city in the world! Winter is coming! You’ve just had lung surgery! Her travel companion took sick and cancelled. The next-in-line companion broke her leg and had to cancel. So Naomi went on her own, made friends with fellow tourists, and loved the experience. And then she cruised the rivers of Europe, joined her sister, niece and nephew in London, saw Central America, went to Hawaii, explored the Baja Peninsula with her sister. She worked tirelessly for the women’s board of the Chicago Symphony. Some of you have seen her listed in their programs. She took art courses, made stained glass, painted. She and I took a lit course at Northwestern. And she sang in two choirs and she danced at a niece’s wedding and at bar and bat mitzvahs of grandnieces and nephews. She took Joyce and me to see Billy Elliot to celebrate our anniversary this past May and we all gloried in that wonderful show. (If you have not seen it, we highly recommend it.)

Shortly after, her health declined seriously, her doctors advised her to find a 24-hour caregiver. Instead, Naomi found herself an angel. I know we’ve all heard of Gabriel and Michael, but there’s another (in our midst) named Leonie and you can all meet her his afternoon. She blessed Naomi’s last weeks so that Naomi died peacefully and painlessly with family and her new friend at her side.

What a last lesson: Embrace life with a bear hug!

I can’t count the gifts — spiritual and material she has given me. One I particularly treasure is a book of the complete poems of my favorite poet, Robert Frost. It’s inscribed, “October, 1964. Happy birthday to my favorite brother. Love, Naomi”  His poem Always is apropos. It goes like this:

Now I go out walking
The world desert
And my shoe and stocking
Do me no hurt.

I leave behind
Good friends in town.
Let them get well wined
And go lie down.

Don’t think I leave
For the outer dark
Like Adam and Eve
Put out of the park.

Forget the myth.
There’s no one I
Am put out with
Or put out by.

Unless I’m wrong
I but obey
The urge of a song.
I’m—bound—away.

And I may return
If dissatisfied
With what I learn
From having died.