My Father Barak

I learned just yesterday, at my father’s funeral, that his Hebrew name was Barak.  When the Rabbi asked us for the information, my brother remembered that my father was indeed named for the military general in Deborah’s army, as retold in the Book of Judges.  Talk about coming full circle.  Talk about finding a little peace.  Talk about a little consolation prize.

And imagine the implications of my 93 year old father last November voting for our first Afro-American President.  One Barak going to bat for another Barack.  The natural progression of one  generation laying the groundwork for the next one is awe-inspiring.  The fact of one Barak, having served as a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division during World War II, being laid to rest while the other Barack is trying to unite the world with a more rational path to peace seemed totally aligned.  Yet these men had nothing in common really, except their names and my admiration.

The act of burying a loved one is a raw, heart-wrenching time, but  the deep sense of loss is tempered and buoyed by the presence and hope of the younger generation.  My children, nieces and nephews are such spectacular people that I know the life of their grandfather Barak , their beloved G-Poppa, will be honored well and wide.  When all is said and done, that is the best legacy one could hope for.

Mission accomplished.  And always ongoing.

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3 Responses to “My Father Barak”

  1. Natalie R Says:

    How could anyone say it better? You said it all. Condolences again.

  2. ERG Says:

    G-poppa would have loved this entry. He was a good man.

  3. sarahsouth Says:

    love to you and your family. can’t wait to give G-poppa’s G-son a big hug this weekend.

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