A few weeks ago, I lost my dear friend, colleague, mentor, and true warrior, Cheryl Kravitz.

I met Cheryl in early 2008. We met at an IFCADV (Interfaith Communities Against Domestic Violence) board meeting where she and I served as directors. We were like high school girls sitting in the back of the classroom, about to get in trouble for passing notes and giggling, even while talking about the difficult realities facing victims of domestic abuse in local faith communities.

There we were: me, a 30-something mom of four kids, seven and under… and her, a mom of an adult daughter, a teenage daughter, a doting grandmother of two (who were similar in age to my children), and a loving wife to an incredibly supportive husband… AND
A survivor of a violent and abusive marriage (in her own words).

What did we have in common?

• Our passion for the mission.
• Our respect for religious and cultural differences.
• Our shared Jewish heritage.
• Our complete inability to sugarcoat anything.
• Our love of calling out BS.

But most importantly, our belief that we could make a difference, while still finding joy, friendship, and love along the way.

Cheryl moved quickly from colleague… to board member… to volunteer… to confidant… to mentor… and most importantly, dear friend and sister-in-joy.

When she passed, I read and heard so many beautiful tributes, ones I know I can’t hold a candle to…honoring her work in the civil rights movement, the American Red Cross, IPV (Intimate Partner Violence), her deep devotion to her family, her passion for music, her love of yoga, and her affection for her WANDS UP FOR CHERYL band of warriors.

(Just Google Wands up for Cheryl!)

And I kept asking myself:
What can I share?
What do I have a right to share about my grief, my loss of Cheryl?

Then Saturday, as I was walking into shul (synagogue), I noticed my boots were a bit dirty, because the last time I wore them was to Cheryl’s funeral, where my heels literally dug into the earth (poor choice of shoes). I thought to myself: this is exactly the kind of thing I would have texted Cheryl about. She would’ve laughed, and I would’ve laughed, and it would’ve been one of those small moments that somehow made everything feel lighter.

It made me smile. Like, a real ear-to-ear grin.

Fast forward a few hours into services: my shoe broke.

I know it sounds nuts, but I’m in a dress with knee-high, four-inch-heel boots. Now you might be thinking, “Lis, heels break all the time.” True. Been there, done that.
Once actually at a program with Cheryl!

This time, the shoe broke in the front, like one of those Sesame Street shoes that flaps like a mouth when it’s talking.

I managed to make it through kiddush and lunch without it becoming a major production. But then I walked outside.

It was pouring.

The break got worse, and as I walked, the flap folded backward so the insole was basically landing right in the puddles. So I started walking in a way that kept the flap going forward, not just to keep it from breaking more, but because I was determined not to have rainwater soak through the bottom of my insole.

I know I looked ridiculous.

Right foot forward.
Left knee up. Carefully down.
Right foot forward.
Left knee up higher.
Flap back, foot in water.
Right foot forward.
Left knee even higher, flap thankfully the right way.

I was annoyed. And embarrassed.

And then, at the exact spot where I had thought of Cheryl on the way into shul, I felt Cheryl.

And all I could do was burst out laughing, with tears streaming down my face. I knew she was with me, laughing at me, and laughing with me at how absurd this whole thing was… and I still had a full block to go.

I love you and miss you, my friend.

Thank you for being a dugmah (an example), for me and for so many, in how to live life to the fullest, not to take ourselves so seriously, not to take anything or anyone for granted…and to always, always… show up for others.  

As I start a new job and a new chapter this week, I’ve picked up my phone to text you about it more times than I can count. You have been so supportive of me during this journey.

I hope I make you proud as we stand up for and support people and communities whose lives have been forever changed.

May your memory forever be a blessing to all who knew you and the countless lives you touched and SAVED through your words, work, and legacy….a legacy that will continue because of you.