EULOGY
RABBI BARRY CYTRON
Just before Phyllis and I were to set out for Chicago and our annual summer “grand-parenting” responsibilities, Elliott’s daughter Judy reached me, to let us know that Elliott had taken a turn for the worst, and his likely demise was within 24-48 hours. Our automobile trip was inevitably, then, punctuated, over and over, by our reminiscences of him, overlain with immense gratitude and plenty of smiles, for the countless, serendipitous encounters with him over these last thirty years. Like those outfits that Elliott loved to wear when he was hawking samples at Byerley’s, our remembrances of him are clearly delineated, joy-filled and indelible.
It is not an exaggeration, I think, to say that he was “one of a kind.” Or maybe better said, one of the truly stellar representatives of that unique, “one of a kind” generation of Minneapolis Jews that we find ourselves bidding farewell to with increasing frequency. Full of verve, ingenuity, moxie, creativity, energy, inventiveness, Elliott was an embodiment of so many values the Jewish people hold so close: commitment to peoplehood, passion for fairness, and hearty embrace of, and passionate enthusiasm for, others.
Elliott, from everything we personally knew about him, and would learn in the community over the years, was, most of all, about wanting to ensure that others had a “ fair shot” at life, and the best it can offer. Three representative aspects of Elliott’s personality, exemplified in three stories, stand out among the many that we recalled in the stories we told each other as we drove the Wisconsin highways to our Illinois destination.
RABBI BARRY CYTRON
Just before Phyllis and I were to set out for Chicago and our annual summer “grand-parenting” responsibilities, Elliott’s daughter Judy reached me, to let us know that Elliott had taken a turn for the worst, and his likely demise was within 24-48 hours. Our automobile trip was inevitably, then, punctuated, over and over, by our reminiscences of him, overlain with immense gratitude and plenty of smiles, for the countless, serendipitous encounters with him over these last thirty years. Like those outfits that Elliott loved to wear when he was hawking samples at Byerley’s, our remembrances of him are clearly delineated, joy-filled and indelible.
It is not an exaggeration, I think, to say that he was “one of a kind.” Or maybe better said, one of the truly stellar representatives of that unique, “one of a kind” generation of Minneapolis Jews that we find ourselves bidding farewell to with increasing frequency. Full of verve, ingenuity, moxie, creativity, energy, inventiveness, Elliott was an embodiment of so many values the Jewish people hold so close: commitment to peoplehood, passion for fairness, and hearty embrace of, and passionate enthusiasm for, others.
Elliott, from everything we personally knew about him, and would learn in the community over the years, was, most of all, about wanting to ensure that others had a “ fair shot” at life, and the best it can offer. Three representative aspects of Elliott’s personality, exemplified in three stories, stand out among the many that we recalled in the stories we told each other as we drove the Wisconsin highways to our Illinois destination.
I jested with Phyllis about what remains my all-time favorite recollection. It was vintage Elliott Royce. There he was, at the annual Gay Pride parade assembling at Loring Park, this amazing event that has been going on in the Twin Cities for forty plus years. That’s true! For almost half a century, well before it was the “IN” thing and popular, there has been this signature event in Minneapolis. And of course, who should be there but Elliott, unabashedly embracing all of life and love! And with him that day was his beloved mother Lillian.
I am forgetting how old exactly Lillian was. It might have been 103, maybe 104. But there she was, in her wheelchair, with a hand printed sign proclaiming “I am Lillian Royce, and I’m for Gay Rights at age 103.” A marcher spotted her, with that signature poster flapping in the breeze , and strutted right up, to enthusiastically declare: “Wow, 103 -- you are some beauty!” Without losing a beat, Lillian looked up and proudly exclaimed, “Well, you should have seen me at 101!”
She was right, of course. Lillian was beautiful, aesthetically and in a hundred other ways, too. And that story says so much about her, and Elliott, too. About a passion for equity, for impartial treatment, for the guts to take up a cause that was just disturbing conscience and arousing determination in those years. That Elliott and Lillian should have been in the middle of it fits right in with everything I can recall about Elliott, about the pride he had in his heritage and his own personal history, and his readiness to help others achieve their fair and equal share.
Those values are even more evident in a story I had never heard until my wife shared it with me on the automobile ride down yesterday. Phyllis recounted that, almost out of the blue, a fellow exerciser at the Minneapolis JCC, a lovely woman in perhaps her mid to late ‘70’s, started talking to Phyllis one day after they emerged from the swimming class.
“Do you happen to know Elliott Royce,” she asked. When Phyllis acknowledged our frequent, happenstance meetings, she insisted on relating the incredible impact that Elliott had made on her and her family’s life. They were new immigrants, she said, recently arrived from the collapse of the former Soviet Union, displaced from home, language, culture, profession. Apparently Elliott asked them if they knew anything about the furniture craft and repair business. Inexperienced though they might have been at the time, they bent the facts just a tad, intuiting that they were about to be thrown a lifeline.
That is precisely what happened, this woman said. Elliott set them up, provided them the chance they otherwise might never have found. That was all they required. An OPENING of the DOOR! With that extraordinary, grace-filled gesture Elliott provided, this family set down roots, rebuilt their lives, raised and educated their children and clasped the very fullest that America has to offer. Just last week, Phyllis said, this woman confided that her granddaughter had just accepted a premier position with one of the most prestigious consulting firms in the nation.
As Phyllis recounted this story, it made so much sense, fitting in with everything else I knew and had heard about Elliott’s generous eye and bountiful heart. It was of a piece with his wanting to teach others “how to take a fall” so they could get up whole and hearty. And it dovetailed perfectly with the way I have, over the years, literally introduced Elliott to my students at Saint John’s and Macalester, even when Elliott has not actually been present in the classroom.
Here’s what I mean. Elliott and son Jeff have starring roles, as it were, in a documentary from the late 1970’s or early 1980’s about the burial society that the Adath synagogue had created. In an attempt to rekindle a more modest, less remote, and thus communitarian approach to death practice, the synagogue had embarked, under its Rabbi of those years, Arnold Goodman, on an ambitious project.
Part of that effort was to include congregants taking responsibility for every facet of the funeral service, from preparing the deceased to counseling the bereaved to the act internment and the holding of memorial services. The documentary that aired on TV, and that I routinely show my students, tenderly tells the story.
At its center is Elliott Royce, who is featured telling how he came up, by his own resourcefulness, of a method by which to make an affordable, simple, final holy vessel to carry the deceased to his or her final resting place. Elliott and son Jeff, with their hands, tools and ingenuity, had developed a coffin that could be made for just a handful of dollars.
As Elliott explains what motivated him to undertake the project, he says something like, t“Over the years I have been a pallbearer at the funeral for many of my friends. It was always hard work. So I wanted to create a casket that would allow the pallbearers to carry out this final, sacred act in as fitting, and as agile a way as possible. With this coffin that we have now made, you can carry your friend as it should be! And you can carry him a ‘long way!’”
And then Elliott adds a final thought. “And why should it be that only men are pallbearers? Why shouldn’t we have a light enough coffin so that women can easily lift it, too, so they can look after their friends, so they can bear them home with the same reverence?”
My students never fail to take notice of the gentleness in Elliott’s voice as he says this, of the kind spirit in those simple words. In responding to their observation about this man whom they have never met but are always taken with, I will often add one final thought. I tell them that the Jewish tradition reserved a special phrase for those who carry out this ultimate act of friendship and human connection, that of bearing the dead to the grave. In Judaism, I note, we speak of it as Hesed shel Emet – an act of guileless motivation, of utter innocence, an act incapable of repayment by the individual for whom it is rendered. It is, in every respect, a deed of unrequited kindness and love.
In so many ways, via so many simple, everyday gestures and gifts and kindnesses, at so many and varied hours, Elliott truly lived a life of Hesed shel Emet. May his memory always be for a blessing.
I am forgetting how old exactly Lillian was. It might have been 103, maybe 104. But there she was, in her wheelchair, with a hand printed sign proclaiming “I am Lillian Royce, and I’m for Gay Rights at age 103.” A marcher spotted her, with that signature poster flapping in the breeze , and strutted right up, to enthusiastically declare: “Wow, 103 -- you are some beauty!” Without losing a beat, Lillian looked up and proudly exclaimed, “Well, you should have seen me at 101!”
She was right, of course. Lillian was beautiful, aesthetically and in a hundred other ways, too. And that story says so much about her, and Elliott, too. About a passion for equity, for impartial treatment, for the guts to take up a cause that was just disturbing conscience and arousing determination in those years. That Elliott and Lillian should have been in the middle of it fits right in with everything I can recall about Elliott, about the pride he had in his heritage and his own personal history, and his readiness to help others achieve their fair and equal share.
Those values are even more evident in a story I had never heard until my wife shared it with me on the automobile ride down yesterday. Phyllis recounted that, almost out of the blue, a fellow exerciser at the Minneapolis JCC, a lovely woman in perhaps her mid to late ‘70’s, started talking to Phyllis one day after they emerged from the swimming class.
“Do you happen to know Elliott Royce,” she asked. When Phyllis acknowledged our frequent, happenstance meetings, she insisted on relating the incredible impact that Elliott had made on her and her family’s life. They were new immigrants, she said, recently arrived from the collapse of the former Soviet Union, displaced from home, language, culture, profession. Apparently Elliott asked them if they knew anything about the furniture craft and repair business. Inexperienced though they might have been at the time, they bent the facts just a tad, intuiting that they were about to be thrown a lifeline.
That is precisely what happened, this woman said. Elliott set them up, provided them the chance they otherwise might never have found. That was all they required. An OPENING of the DOOR! With that extraordinary, grace-filled gesture Elliott provided, this family set down roots, rebuilt their lives, raised and educated their children and clasped the very fullest that America has to offer. Just last week, Phyllis said, this woman confided that her granddaughter had just accepted a premier position with one of the most prestigious consulting firms in the nation.
As Phyllis recounted this story, it made so much sense, fitting in with everything else I knew and had heard about Elliott’s generous eye and bountiful heart. It was of a piece with his wanting to teach others “how to take a fall” so they could get up whole and hearty. And it dovetailed perfectly with the way I have, over the years, literally introduced Elliott to my students at Saint John’s and Macalester, even when Elliott has not actually been present in the classroom.
Here’s what I mean. Elliott and son Jeff have starring roles, as it were, in a documentary from the late 1970’s or early 1980’s about the burial society that the Adath synagogue had created. In an attempt to rekindle a more modest, less remote, and thus communitarian approach to death practice, the synagogue had embarked, under its Rabbi of those years, Arnold Goodman, on an ambitious project.
Part of that effort was to include congregants taking responsibility for every facet of the funeral service, from preparing the deceased to counseling the bereaved to the act internment and the holding of memorial services. The documentary that aired on TV, and that I routinely show my students, tenderly tells the story.
At its center is Elliott Royce, who is featured telling how he came up, by his own resourcefulness, of a method by which to make an affordable, simple, final holy vessel to carry the deceased to his or her final resting place. Elliott and son Jeff, with their hands, tools and ingenuity, had developed a coffin that could be made for just a handful of dollars.
As Elliott explains what motivated him to undertake the project, he says something like, t“Over the years I have been a pallbearer at the funeral for many of my friends. It was always hard work. So I wanted to create a casket that would allow the pallbearers to carry out this final, sacred act in as fitting, and as agile a way as possible. With this coffin that we have now made, you can carry your friend as it should be! And you can carry him a ‘long way!’”
And then Elliott adds a final thought. “And why should it be that only men are pallbearers? Why shouldn’t we have a light enough coffin so that women can easily lift it, too, so they can look after their friends, so they can bear them home with the same reverence?”
My students never fail to take notice of the gentleness in Elliott’s voice as he says this, of the kind spirit in those simple words. In responding to their observation about this man whom they have never met but are always taken with, I will often add one final thought. I tell them that the Jewish tradition reserved a special phrase for those who carry out this ultimate act of friendship and human connection, that of bearing the dead to the grave. In Judaism, I note, we speak of it as Hesed shel Emet – an act of guileless motivation, of utter innocence, an act incapable of repayment by the individual for whom it is rendered. It is, in every respect, a deed of unrequited kindness and love.
In so many ways, via so many simple, everyday gestures and gifts and kindnesses, at so many and varied hours, Elliott truly lived a life of Hesed shel Emet. May his memory always be for a blessing.