Judy

I met Judy in 1992 when I joined the Chai Tech Chavurah, of which she was a founding member.  I found Judy reserved, somewhat harder to get to know than the more outgoing members.  But over the years I found so much to love and admire in her.  Judy and Mel, and later just Judy, hosted one of the Chavurah’s annual events, a Saturday afternoon and evening at their condo in Pajaro Dunes on the coast.  We would all drive down and arrive in time for a lunch of cold cuts that Judy had laid out – because God forbid there wouldn’t be food!  There was always plenty to eat, a simple, straightforward meal, much like Judy herself.  You could count on it.  We would spend the afternoon walking on the beach or schmoozing in their cozy living room, and as evening fell we would make a circle around the barbecue on their deck and share the Havdalah service that marks the end of Shabbat.  And then we would eat again, of course.  It was one of my favorite events of the year, low key, predictable, warm, and nourishing, a perfect reflection of the hostess.

I got to know Judy better when I retired and was able to join the women of the Chavurah in the weekly mah jongg games.  At lunch before we played Judy shared stories about her family, as we all did, challenges and accomplishments.  Judy clearly adored her children and grandchildren. There was pleasure, but never anything boastful in her sharing. Her conversation was part of the fabric of our little community, strengthening our bonds.  When it came time to play, Judy played patiently.  While many of us used the weekly games as an opportunity to complain about bad hands or bad luck, Judy just played.  She took the hand she was dealt and did the best she could with it, quietly, without fanfare, without regret for a missed opportunity or exaltation over good fortune.  She didn’t play to win, she played to be part of the community.

I got to know a different side of Judy after Jay joined the Chavurah.  I was a little nervous about how she would welcome him, and I was quite surprised by their becoming immediate fast friends.  Jay teased her, and she loved it.  He brought out a girlishness in her that I had never seen.  If he was home when we played mah jongg at our house he would invariably say to her, “Come on Judy, get in there and kick some ass.” And she would blush a little and giggle.  I loved the thought of ladylike Judy kicking ass – and so did she.  At dinner on mah jongg evenings Jay would ask how I had done, and he always wanted to know how Judy had done too.

Judy was the Chavurah historian, remembering who joined when, who moved away.  We counted on her to clear up questions or resolve disputes about when something happened or who did it.  She was not the first person you would notice in a group, but if you watched quietly you would see that she was an essential part of the glue that held us together.  She was faithful to her family, her friends, her synagogue, and her community.  She enriched us all.

For many years Judy did the behind the scenes task of preparing the yahrtzeit list for the rabbis, a necessary job that mostly goes unnoticed.  It requires consistency, attention to detail, thoroughness.  It requires showing up.  Judy’s work is done, and it’s time for someone else to add Judy’s name to the list now.

Jay said, “Judy was a joy.”  Amen.