Eulogy: Published in the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle

Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle: 7/15/2005- "Despite her tragic death, Devorah Rennert left a lasting legacy"

Suffice it to say, not everyone draws 700 people to a eulogy service. Add the fact that the service, in keeping with the Shabbat traditions, started at 11:30 P.M. on a Saturday night and lasted well into the morning without a soul leaving early and you have a glimpse of the kind of impact Mrs. Debbie Rennert had on everyone she met.

It was a sight like none I had ever seen. After nearly two hours of eulogies, 700 people followed the casket and the hearse as it slowly left the service. It was 2 A. M. The world was silent in a way it can only be in the middle of the night and yet, there were more people in that place than at any other time I had ever seen. In the distance, Lake Michigan waves crashed against the shore as 700 people slowly, respectfully, with eyes tearing and hearts torn asunder followed as one behind the hearse as it slowly turned onto Lake Drive. No one wanted to leave. The procession continued for several hundred feet on Lake Drive before the hearse finally accelerated away.

I stood, first in the street and then on the sidewalk for nearly a half hour after the hearse sped away. There was too much to process, too many memories to catalogue. I first met the Rennerts some twenty years ago when I was a freshman at the Wisconsin Institute for Torah Study (WITS). It is likely that my memories of the Rennert family are so much more vivid than any of the other families that made up WITS because they actually lived in our dorm building on a private floor for an extended period of time. I fondly recall the eldest Rennert child, Michoel, a boy of about 2 at the time playing on the school’s front staircase while Rabbi Rennert would swoop down, pick him up, and take him upstairs for family time.

And then there was Mrs. Rennert. One thing we noticed, even as young boys, was the sincerity she showed us all. We knew that she deeply cared for each and every person. True sincerity for all people is a difficult enough feat, but Mrs. Rennert was so much more than that. Not only did she care for each person, she was willing to do whatever it took, regardless of how difficult, to make that person’s life even a little better.

Perhaps the best way to describe this is with her smile. Mrs. Rennert was always smiling. Always. Yet whenever a person approached, whether to speak with her or to simply pass by, there was a change in her smile. It grew wider and more exuberant. And that pure caring smile, aimed at each and every person individually warmed every person’s heart.

My wife is by nature a shy person. She was nervous attending a Chanukah party at WITS because she did not know anyone. Her worry was not long founded. As soon as we walked in, Mrs. Rennert who had likely never met my wife at that point, greeted us, and immediately embraced my wife and daughter. How can one claim not to know anyone, when the true warmth and sincerity that is usually reserved for families was so evident in Mrs. Rennert?

Mrs. Rennert took my wife by the hand, and when, and only when my wife was ready, introduced her to dozens of other people. I was amazed, upon my returning after taking my daughter in to listen to a little music, to find her engrossed in conversation with Mrs. Rennert and all the people she had introduced her to. True sincerity. True warmth. True caring. And a true loss.

I have been to a number of funerals in my life. None has been more tragic than this. What can one say to ten children, newly orphaned? Seeing a four month old baby who will never know his mother is simply heartbreaking. But when I looked into the eyes of the Rennert’s two year old daughter at the eulogy in Milwaukee, a child who could not possibly understand what was going on around him, in the very building in which I had first met the Rennerts, I could see the fun and enjoyment of another two year old, their eldest son, Michoel playing on the steps two decades before. And at the funeral in New York, at the gravesite, I looked into Michoel’s own eyes, as he recited the Kaddish for the very first time for his mother.

As the days after Mrs. Rennert’s death turn into weeks, I can’t help but think, I am no Mrs. Rennert, but I can use her as a sterling example. Mrs. Rennert truly lives on as all her friends and relatives, hundreds of WITS alumni and everyone who reads the story of her amazing life (which is available on www.kerendevorah.org) endeavor to treat people the way she did. Mrs. Rennert may have been one of those rare people who always cared for others with total sincerity, but perhaps, making those traits a little less rare among the countless people she touched will be her lasting legacy.