Elsie’s Funeral: A Celebration of Love and Legacy

Funerals can be uplifting. My mother’s was. Exactly one week ago, we gathered at Congregation Ahavath Sholom to honor her, barely over a day after she left us. We followed traditional Jewish protocols, which calls for a rapid burial. The synagogue was the perfect venue, as it’s always been her second home. The themes of the day reflected her priorities: faith, family, productive work, and a love of beauty. 

What made the funeral uplifting for us? In addition to the warmth we felt from honoring Elsie’s legacy, there’s power in coming together with loved ones. There was an unspoken connection in the sanctuary, as if all of us were bound together as one unbroken chain of love. In Catherine Sanderson’s blog post this week, she cites research that gathering with others lifts us up, whether it’s to celebrate a happy event or a memorial service. It explains why coming together to celebrate my mom gave me such a “peaceful, easy feeling” (to quote The Eagles). Science even supports that being with others we care about releases “various feel-good chemicals (oxytocin, dopamine, endorphins), which lower stress levels.” (Sanderson, “What Weddings, Birthdays, and Funerals Have in Common,” July 9, 2026).

Ironically, that community outpouring of love almost didn’t happen. A few weeks before my mother died, she told us not to have a big sendoff for her. She said, “Just get together a minyan [of ten] at the cemetery, and keep it simple. I’ve already been celebrated enough in my life.” She was worried about my broken hip and my weakened voice from recent vocal cord surgery. As my hip recovery was accelerating, she allowed one expansion. “I’d like for Lizzy to deliver the eulogy. I just hope she’s not out of the country when I die.” She closely followed our daughter Lizzy’s active schedule of international speeches, so she hoped to get the timing right.

As fate would have it, the timing was right (just barely). Lizzy had just returned from a speech in Jerusalem and was booked to leave on Monday night for Italy. When my mom died on Sunday night, we told Lizzy to go on with her plans, and I would cover for her. I assured her that Bobbie (what the grandkids call my mother) would understand. Lizzy wouldn’t have it. “I can’t not be there. I have to come.” She juggled her travel arrangements and flew immediately to Fort Worth with her husband Ira. Likewise, our son Adam and Brooke came instantly from visiting family in Cleveland. To top it off, my mom’s brother, Rabbi Leonard Oberstein wanted to eulogize his sister, and he arrived from Baltimore with his wife and four of his 12 kids. The funeral was expanding from the original graveside minyan of ten.

We set in motion to give my mother the glorious tribute we all felt she deserved, joined over the day by some 300 dear friends. We settled on having three eulogies: Lizzy, Rabbi Leonard, and our Rabbi Andrew Bloom. The consensus was that I would not speak and just absorb the moment, without pressure to find the right words. When we arrived at the synagogue, my cousins expressed dismay that I wasn’t speaking. Not wanting to feel regret later, I approached Rabbi Bloom right as the service started and said to call on me to say a few words after all. He called on me first, and I had no idea what would come out of my mouth. 

I found the strength to speak. As Elsie’s son, there’s no wonder where that strength came from. I knew Uncle Leonard would cover my mom’s family heritage and upbringing, and Lizzy would give the highlights of her life of service. I didn’t want to overlap. I chose to describe her final two months and her heroic battle over illness. I joked that she filled her days watching the financial news, leading one nurse to come to her for investment advice. “I have $40,000. Should I invest it in the stock market?” Elsie gave a tutorial: “You’re investing when the market’s at an all-time high, but put it in a mutual fund and ride it out over the long term. But keep back a nest egg for emergencies.” Soon after, a doctor at the hospital came to her bedside and said, “I hear that you’re really smart. Can you give me some financial advice?” Another master class in investing followed. 

At one point, my wife Laurie suggested she ease her mind from all the serious news she was glued to, worrying day and night about Israel’s security. When Laurie suggested the Hallmark channel, Elsie answered, “Honey, I just have no interest in that.”

That was Elsie, right to the last day. Our last conversation was about her legacy and how the next generations are carrying on her Jewish values. It brought a peaceful ending to a remarkable life. Fittingly, Elsie (quite the “firecracker”) set off her last earthly sparks on the Fourth of July, and found eternal rest the next day.

Lizzy’s eulogy painted a vivid picture of her Bobbie, retelling stories of Elsie’s inimitable wit and wisdom. It was a eulogy filled with love, laughter, and legacy. Click on this LINK to watch Lizzy’s eulogy for Elsie. After hearing Lizzy’s eulogy, my friend Loyd dubbed her “ELSIE 2.0” — now that’s what I call carrying on a legacy!

I’ll conclude with a final act of love for our beloved Elsie. In Jewish tradition, those at her graveside place three shovels of dirt on the casket. The funeral staff then completes the task, using heavy equipment to fill up all six feet with dirt. My son-in-law Ira intervened. He insisted that no strangers were going to put dirt in that grave. He grabbed a shovel and began relentlessly filling the grave. Two cousins and two friends joined in to help him. It was over 100 degrees, the hottest day so far this year, in the blistering afternoon sun. I tried repeatedly to get Ira to stop, for fear he’d get heat stroke. I assured him he’d done enough. His reply: “No way I’m stopping. We’ve got this. We can do this. Let’s go. Bobbie deserves this respect!”

My eyes are now too full of tears to keep typing. You get the picture. This is what I mean when I talk about a legacy.

Marvin E. Blum