“You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.” 

The Rabbi read Psalm 16 in Hebrew then English to open the memorial service for my friend Jonathan Brostoff yesterday, November 8. “To reflect on his loss and celebrate all he gave,” County Executive David Crowley said.

A multitude had gathered together at the Zelazo Center at The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, formerly “Emanu-El Synagogue” the place of both Jonathan’s Bar/Bat-Mitzvah and wedding to Diana.

It was fitting. It was packed. It overflowed—liked Jonathan’s heart—with all those who loved him and whose lives he had deeply touched in a multitude of ways over the course of his short life.

“You never know what someone is going through internally…” I heard the man sitting next to me say to the man next to him, another friend, Mark Thompson, as we waited for the service to start.

“The last picture I have of Jonathan …” Mark said, then my mind wandered to the last picture I have of Jonathan.

No, it’s not of him giving the speech in front of the flag in our neighborhood park on the 4th of July following the parade with Diana and their four kids in tow, pushing scooters, pulling decorated wagons and waving flags.

No, it’s not the picture of him walking towards me with a big smile up Locust Street, wearing a baby in a pac across his chest, pushing a double stroller with two toddlers seated side by side.

And no, it’s not of him standing on our front porch sharing news about issues he believed firmly in and spoke up about with his fearless, couldn’t-be-stopped tenacity, while checking in to see how we were doing.

Although those are all vivid pictures engraved in my memory and heart, it was a photo that popped up on my phone on Monday, November 5 (the day of his passing), from three years earlier that he’d sent me. A photo of Jonathan with my brother John at a NAMI event (National Alliance on Mental Health). It took me to my chair in a stunned silence.

Since Jonathan’s work in the State Assembly, never once did he miss a chance to show up to support my work and cheer on Milwaukee students as they danced there hearts out at the Bradly Center each year.

And throughout the years I’ve known him, I never once saw him when those kind brown eyes weren’t smiling. Even when he wasn’t smiling he was smiling. They sparkled with a youthful light that defied age and pain. I wondered, how many, like me, had no idea Jonathan fought mental health issues, like others of us.

I listened to the Rabbi and speakers at his service share over and over again in different versions of the same story with the same outcome. Since a teenager, Jonathan made the disenfranchised, oppressed and forgotten, feel heard, seen and accepted, in all sorts of different ways. He brought people together from all corners and walks of life.

Right down to the final message when the Rabbi shared words I won’t forget. That sometimes, just as the Jews on the 7th day would make their way back home after their diaspora, their exile to Jerusalem, there is the paradox of opposites coexisting—dissonance and disconnect merging with a dreamlike state. Like a soul in exile, he said, it’s a spiritual journey some people are in touch with, at times so lofty, it fails to fit into this life.

Diana, exhibited such other-worldly strength, tenacity, courage and beauty as she smiled, encouraged, and hugged the mourners who wept in her arms, so like her husband.

Last night, it upset me that the news chose to show her one moment of tears, acknowledging how hard the last 18 months had been for them feeling isolated, when her overall message was one of such strength, joy and compassion. “We have to be kind to each other,” she said. “Yes we have differences, but we’re all human.”

Yes, we are all human beings deeply loved by our Creator, our one Father in heaven. Who are we to dare hurt or persecute or oppress or hate or judge another?

It was Diana’s tenacity and joy that I took away from the service with me, and her own beautiful acceptance of others when we fall short. It was her love, the spark in her own eyes, the light that defies age and pain, that I’m sure made her the love of Jonathan’s life. It was her laughter, the very spirit of Jonathan in her, in me, in you, and all who knew him, that I left with.

And it was in hearing Christ’s words in my head, “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” from John 12:24. Without those words I would be lost, broken beyond repair.

Was it a coincidence Jonathan’s Memorial Service was on the same day as my late brother Ed’s Memorial? Was it a coincidence that those were the same words that had carried me through his untimely death in 2008? Was it a coincidence that I received that photo on that day of Jonathan’s passing, which has pushed me to write—when I was too afraid, and didn’t think I could or should—with my one right hand?

I don’t think so. God is so, so good.

Over his forty-one brief years, Jonathan believed in people’s inherent goodness and shared more love and joy and laughter than most of us in a lifetime.

What do we do now? I think we know…

“You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.” Psalm 16:11