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IN MEMORY OF OUR BELOVED MEMBER
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Eulogy from Rabbi Jonathan Kohn
I’ve never known a time at Congregation Kneseth Israel without Don Lesser. Of course, many people have been here longer than I, but until recently, nobody here had ever known a time at CKI without Don.
And because of him, CKI was a happier place. He got huge satisfaction out of a great many things, and when he was pleased he was not shy about letting you know it. Not only did he care deeply about this congregation, but he cared specifically about what happened here in this room.
It was Don who taught me to make our charts for the weekly Torah reading, and he used to prepare those charts every week himself. He loved the chance to take out the Torah scrolls and work with them. When the service was going well, I would see him beaming in his pew like a kid at a birthday party, and my own spirit would be strengthened, as I would say to myself, “Boy, I’m glad I’m doing this.”
I always knew, of course, when I had done well. Don would give me a hug and tell me the greatest compliment he knew. He would say, “You taught me something.” Don didn’t go just for the extra things that we might add to a service. He loved the service itself.
Coming to Shul was as important to Don as coming anyplace else in the world. When he performed a reading, or an honor, or an occasional Haftara, he prepared very carefully, not because he wanted to look good but because he wanted the synagogue to look good and, even more important, for the service to be right. He loved showing off the synagogue. His sons remember when he used to take them to his place of work in advertizing, and how he used to show them all the offices, and show off his sons to his colleagues. Well, that was just how he would show off the synagogue. His people, his family, his synagogue—these were what he loved, and he wanted the world to know it.
A man named Yosef Gamzu wrote, “Yesh anashim im lev shel even, yesh avanim im lev adam,” some people have a heart of stone, and some stones have a human heart. Examples of the latter are the stone tablets of Moses and the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Another example, at least for Don Lesser, of stones with a human heart, was this room here, where so much took place that brought him joy.
The image of stones has a peculiar role in our prayers. On Friday nights we read from the Psalms: Adonai tsuri velo avlata bo. The Lord is my rock, in whom there is no flaw. On Chanuka we refer to God as Tsur Yeshuati, the rock of our salvation. Rocks are dependable. When all else changes, a rock is still there. That is why we build on a foundation of rock, and why the brick laid first on the foundation is called the cornerstone.
And that quality, of standing firm with everything else in flux, applies to Don Lesser. In that way he was a rock. As his family knew, events would not change him. His spirit and his optimism never varied—he would always rise above his circumstances. His devotion to his family never changed. He always found time for them, and for his sons as Cubmaster, or with the Indian Guides, or coaching baseball. His devotion to his family, to his synagogue, and to his Elgin community were all rock solid. Len Winner, his friend at age six, was his friend at age 80.
And if he liked a joke, he would like it just as well a year and ten years later.
But the image of the rock also has its limit. God is called a rock, but the Torah almost never is. The Torah, God’s teaching, is compared to many other things: to water, for instance, and to milk, and to fire, and most frequently to a tree, the Tree of Life, but almost never to a rock. Only in one way do we ever make that link, and that is that just like a rock, when you strike the Torah sparks fly out.
The rock in our prayer book is dynamic, and so was Don Lesser. Once he loved something, he would always love it. Once he joined a community, he was always devoted to it. And once he chose to do something, he would do it with a full heart and never stop as long as it needed doing. He could say, “Look at this building, listen to this joke, talk to these people, come to this place,” without ever saying, “Look at me! Look at me!” His heart was in all these other things, and if you loved any of them, then you loved him too. He knew it and you knew it.
Don Lesser brought people to this congregation, and he helped make the congregation worth coming to.
And because of him, CKI was a happier place. He got huge satisfaction out of a great many things, and when he was pleased he was not shy about letting you know it. Not only did he care deeply about this congregation, but he cared specifically about what happened here in this room.
It was Don who taught me to make our charts for the weekly Torah reading, and he used to prepare those charts every week himself. He loved the chance to take out the Torah scrolls and work with them. When the service was going well, I would see him beaming in his pew like a kid at a birthday party, and my own spirit would be strengthened, as I would say to myself, “Boy, I’m glad I’m doing this.”
I always knew, of course, when I had done well. Don would give me a hug and tell me the greatest compliment he knew. He would say, “You taught me something.” Don didn’t go just for the extra things that we might add to a service. He loved the service itself.
Coming to Shul was as important to Don as coming anyplace else in the world. When he performed a reading, or an honor, or an occasional Haftara, he prepared very carefully, not because he wanted to look good but because he wanted the synagogue to look good and, even more important, for the service to be right. He loved showing off the synagogue. His sons remember when he used to take them to his place of work in advertizing, and how he used to show them all the offices, and show off his sons to his colleagues. Well, that was just how he would show off the synagogue. His people, his family, his synagogue—these were what he loved, and he wanted the world to know it.
A man named Yosef Gamzu wrote, “Yesh anashim im lev shel even, yesh avanim im lev adam,” some people have a heart of stone, and some stones have a human heart. Examples of the latter are the stone tablets of Moses and the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Another example, at least for Don Lesser, of stones with a human heart, was this room here, where so much took place that brought him joy.
The image of stones has a peculiar role in our prayers. On Friday nights we read from the Psalms: Adonai tsuri velo avlata bo. The Lord is my rock, in whom there is no flaw. On Chanuka we refer to God as Tsur Yeshuati, the rock of our salvation. Rocks are dependable. When all else changes, a rock is still there. That is why we build on a foundation of rock, and why the brick laid first on the foundation is called the cornerstone.
And that quality, of standing firm with everything else in flux, applies to Don Lesser. In that way he was a rock. As his family knew, events would not change him. His spirit and his optimism never varied—he would always rise above his circumstances. His devotion to his family never changed. He always found time for them, and for his sons as Cubmaster, or with the Indian Guides, or coaching baseball. His devotion to his family, to his synagogue, and to his Elgin community were all rock solid. Len Winner, his friend at age six, was his friend at age 80.
And if he liked a joke, he would like it just as well a year and ten years later.
But the image of the rock also has its limit. God is called a rock, but the Torah almost never is. The Torah, God’s teaching, is compared to many other things: to water, for instance, and to milk, and to fire, and most frequently to a tree, the Tree of Life, but almost never to a rock. Only in one way do we ever make that link, and that is that just like a rock, when you strike the Torah sparks fly out.
The rock in our prayer book is dynamic, and so was Don Lesser. Once he loved something, he would always love it. Once he joined a community, he was always devoted to it. And once he chose to do something, he would do it with a full heart and never stop as long as it needed doing. He could say, “Look at this building, listen to this joke, talk to these people, come to this place,” without ever saying, “Look at me! Look at me!” His heart was in all these other things, and if you loved any of them, then you loved him too. He knew it and you knew it.
Don Lesser brought people to this congregation, and he helped make the congregation worth coming to.
Eulogy from Richard Kruth
Why am I up on this bimah talking about Don Lesser?
I didn’t know him for several years like many of you that are here today.
However, for the short time that I did know Don, we bonded, sitting next to each other davening (praying) here at the CKI synagogue on Shabbos.
Back to why I am up here to speak to you about Don?
At a time in my life, after being away from Judaism for over 50 years, I felt it was time for me to renew myself spiritually.
I chose to join CKI and met Don for the first time while attending Shabbat services. His big warm friendly smile made me feel welcome. His booming voice reciting the prayers in Hebrew helped me to remember what I thought I had forgotten.
Dr. Joe Rosenfeld, in an email referring to Don Lesser and his passing, said that CKI lost a pillar of the community.
I wondered, “What does that mean; “Pillar of the community”?
To quote the Talmudic Sage Shimon the Righteous, there are three things that sustain the world. They are the three Pillars of Judaism:
I believe Don met all three of the pillars of Judaism and I hope that his memory will encourage other CKI members to follow his Righteous example.
For Donald Allen Lesser, I say Alav hasholom
Why am I up on this bimah talking about Don Lesser?
I didn’t know him for several years like many of you that are here today.
However, for the short time that I did know Don, we bonded, sitting next to each other davening (praying) here at the CKI synagogue on Shabbos.
Back to why I am up here to speak to you about Don?
At a time in my life, after being away from Judaism for over 50 years, I felt it was time for me to renew myself spiritually.
I chose to join CKI and met Don for the first time while attending Shabbat services. His big warm friendly smile made me feel welcome. His booming voice reciting the prayers in Hebrew helped me to remember what I thought I had forgotten.
Dr. Joe Rosenfeld, in an email referring to Don Lesser and his passing, said that CKI lost a pillar of the community.
I wondered, “What does that mean; “Pillar of the community”?
To quote the Talmudic Sage Shimon the Righteous, there are three things that sustain the world. They are the three Pillars of Judaism:
- Torah- follow the commandments in the Torah, not just the 10, but all 613 mitzvot. Of course who among us can honestly say that they have observed all 613? However, the sage said that the most important of the mitzvot was to: Love fellow human beings. I believe Don showed his love for everyone.
- Worship- to participate in religious rites in a service to God. Don was a servant of God.
- Acts of Righteousness- A righteous man is one who does good deeds. Don was a doer of good deeds.
I believe Don met all three of the pillars of Judaism and I hope that his memory will encourage other CKI members to follow his Righteous example.
For Donald Allen Lesser, I say Alav hasholom