My Eulogy for Popo
This is the eulogy I delivered at the funeral of my Popo (grandmother), Helen Chang (10/5/1924 - 2/2/2023) on 3/13/23 in Honolulu, HI.
Click here for the video of my eulogy, click here for a printer-friendly transcript, and click here for the podcast version. For the beautiful eulogy given by my brother, Jonny, click here.
My Eulogy for Popo
King Solomon concludes the Book of Proverbs with a portrait of the virtuous woman. The Hebrew phrase he uses to describe this woman is “eishes chayil.” The first verse reads: “Who can find an eishes chayil? Her value is far beyond pearls” (Proverbs 31:10). There is a debate among the medieval Jewish commentators as to how to translate the term “eishes chayil.” Some understand it to mean “a woman of valor” or “strength,” as in the strength displayed by a soldier. Others render it “a wealthy woman,” since the word “chayil” usually means “wealth.” I believe that Popo embodied both definitions, and I would like to show you how.
The Sages of the Talmud (Midrash Mishlei 31:10) illustrate the first definition of “eishes chayil” with an anecdote about a woman named Bruriah, the wife of Rabbi Meir, one of the greatest rabbis who ever lived.
There was an incident involving Rabbi Meir who was sitting and expounding in the study hall on the Sabbath afternoon [when, unbeknownst to him,] his two sons died. What did [their] mother [Bruriah] do? She placed them both on the bed [upstairs] and spread a sheet over them. [At nightfall] when the Sabbath ended, Rabbi Meir returned home from the study hall. He said [to his wife], “Where are my two sons?” She told him, “They went to the study hall.” He replied: “I looked around the study hall and I didn’t see them.” She gave him the cup [of wine to conduct the ritual ceremony at the end of the Sabbath]. Afterwards, he asked her again: “Where are my two sons?” She told him, “They went elsewhere, but they’re on their way back.” She brought him his food [for his post-Sabbath meal] and he ate and recited the [after]blessing.
After he recited the blessing, she said to him: “Rabbi, I have a question to ask you.” “Ask me your question,” he replied. She said: “Rabbi, the day before [yesterday] a man came to me and entrusted me with a deposit [for safekeeping]. Now he has come to take it back. Shall we return it to him or not?” [Rabbi Meir] said, “My dear, one who is entrusted with a deposit must return it to its owner!” She said to him: “Rabbi, I did not want to give it back without your consent.”
What did she do? She took him by the hand, led him up to the room, brought him near the bed, and lifted the sheet from upon [the bodies of their two sons]. Upon seeing them both dead, lying on the bed, [Rabbi Meir] began to cry, saying, “My sons, my sons! My teachers, my teachers! My sons in the way of the world, and my teachers who enlightened me with their teaching!”
At that moment, Rabbi Meir’s wife said to him: “Rabbi, didn’t you tell me that I needed to return the deposit to its Owner?” [whereupon Rabbi Meir] said: “The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away. May the name of the Lord be blessed” (Job 1:21) … With this statement, she consoled him, and his [peace of] mind was restored.
This is the meaning of “Who can find an eishes chayil (a woman of valor)?”
This entire Talmudic passage was sent to me as consolation by a friend of mine (who knew and loved Popo) when he learned of Popo’s passing. My friend didn’t realize the poignancy of this teaching, for he was unaware of the great tragedy of Popo’s life: the untimely deaths of her two sons, Matthew and Robby, ages 19 and 22, whose lives were taken in 1973 just a few months apart.
I have known about what happened to Matthew and Robby for as long as I can remember. Indeed, I was named after Matthew, and my brother, “Jonathan Robert,” was named after Robby. When I was younger, I was only dimly aware on an abstract level of how difficult it must have been for Popo (and Kung Kung) to survive the losses of both sons in rapid succession. It wasn’t until I was older that my mom relayed to me her memory of Popo crying hysterically over the loss of her two precious boys, in this very cemetery. She told me how Popo was so nearly overcome by despair that she said she wanted to ram her car into the side of the cliff to end her suffering. Why didn’t she make that fateful decision? Because of her deep conviction that she must go on – for the sake of her daughter, for her husband, and for herself. And so she did.
How did Popo cope with such a horrendous catastrophe? How did she make peace with God? How did she succeed in living such a full life after so much was taken from her? And what does all this say about who she was as a person? I have been thinking about such questions ever since Popo died – questions I didn’t ask her during her lifetime and can ask her no longer.
Part of me regrets not asking Popo these questions while I still had the chance, but another part of me knows that there was no need for me to ask. The answers to these questions were right there in front of me. They were manifest in how Popo lived, and in who she was to all of us. And if I had to take a guess at her unspoken answers, and sum them up in a single word, that word would be love.
Popo loved us so much. She loved us unconditionally. Her love was always there for us, and it was there in abundance. That is what Popo was and will forever be to me: a permanent loving presence in my life. Although there is no way for me to know for sure, I intuitively sense that Popo’s capacity for love was, at least in part, a response to her terrible misfortune. Only one who has suffered such a loss knows how important it is to show love to your loved ones while they are still alive. Only one who has experienced such a harsh confrontation with mortality knows how brief is the span of time we have been granted to spend with our loved ones. And if one has loved and lost and then taken the risk of choosing to love again, then that love will prove to be unstoppable.
Popo was an eishes chayil in the first sense of the term: a valiant, strong, courageous woman who persevered and chose life after being dealt a crushing blow by the hand of death. She may very well be one of the most courageous people I have ever known. Only recently have I come to realize that Popo’s strength and love have been the bedrock upon which my entire existence rests. She passed on that strength and love to my mom, who passed it on to me and to Jonny in how she raised us. I would not be here physically without Popo, but I would also not be who I am if not for Popo being the valiant woman she was.
The second definition of eishes chayil is “a wealthy woman.” Popo was wealthy in many ways. On the most basic level, she (and Kung Kung) had enough money to not want for anything, by their hard work and by the grace of God. She was wealthy in terms of her many talents, which she applied in her personal and professional life. She was wealthy in friendship. It would not be an exaggeration to say that EVERYBODY loved Popo. And I’m not just talking about the hundreds upon hundreds of people who actually knew her throughout her lifetime, but the thousands of people who merely encountered her. To meet Popo was to love Popo. I am fortunate that so many of my friends got to “meet” her through my many Popo-related Facebook posts over the years. I don’t think she realized that she had become a social media icon, and I am grateful for being able to “share” her with so many people in this way.
But none of this captures the true meaning of eishes chayil as a “wealthy woman” according to Judaism. The Sages of the Talmud teach: “Eizehu ashir? ha’Sameach b’chelko. Who is wealthy? One who is content with their portion” (Avos 4:1). To be wealthy means to be happy with what you have, and this was another one of Popo’s crowning virtues. Looking back, I cannot recall ever hearing Popo complain. I mean actually complain. Sure, when a driver cut her off in traffic, she would say “Lo LO!” under her breath, and when something annoyed her, she’d say “humBUG!” (or, when warranted, “ROBERT!”). But in her general way of life, Popo was always smiling, always laughing, and always positive.
This trait found expression in Popo’s musicality. The chorus of one of her favorite songs goes: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” These lyrics, which we heard her sing so many times, could very well have been written about Popo herself, and the sunshine she radiated to those around her. Popo loved to play the piano and was able to play almost anything by ear. But there was one severe limitation on her musical skill: she only knew how to play in major keys. She was incapable of playing any song in a minor key, and thus, incapable of playing sad songs. And on the rare occasion that she tried, the song would somehow end up major by the end. I can’t help but be amused by the symbolism.
Popo’s “contentedness with her portion” was evident in how she appreciated life’s pleasures. She loved dressing up in colorful matching outfits and was admired in her social circles for her fashion sense. She loved her jewelry and wore it whenever she could – not in order to project any sort of image, but simply because she liked how she felt while wearing it. She enjoyed good food, and always savored her favorites – including sushi (which she taught me how to make), corn (which she once smuggled into Honolulu from Yakima because IT WAS JUST SO CHEAP!), and especially ice cream (her guilty pleasure, and arguably, her only true vice). And Popo’s kindness meant that she enjoyed cooking and sharing food as much as she enjoyed eating it.
Popo’s jubilant demeanor was also expressed in her quirky sense of humor, which was an idiosyncratic blend of silliness, wit, comedic timing, and physical antics – all reminiscent of I Love Lucy, a show which I loved watching with her growing up. My memories of conversations with Popo involve constant laughter. It didn’t even matter what we were talking about. She infused all her interactions with a joy that was contagious.
In all these ways and more, Popo fit the second definition of eishes chayil. She was a truly wealthy woman – one who was happy with her portion. Popo always wanted to give us money whenever she could, and she did. But the real wealth she bequeathed to us, and the real inheritance she left for us, is the propensity to enjoy life – a disposition she fostered in us by her own example.
These two eishes chayil qualities that Popo possessed – her acceptance and enjoyment of her portion in life, and her strength and determination to live, even in the face of death – these qualities were her Yin and Yang: dual-elements of her soul which complemented each other and formed an integrated whole. Her resilience is what enabled her to accept the reality of her portion, both the good and the bad, and her contentedness with that portion further bolstered her resilience.
When I look back at Popo, knowing that this was the life she lived, I am inspired to make the most out of my own life. I don’t know whether God will grant me as long of a life as Popo, but I am determined to make the most of the life I am given, as Popo did with hers.
I am reminded of the words of Marcus Aurelius who wrote: “Even if you were destined to live three thousand years, or ten times that long, nevertheless remember that no one loses any life other than the one he lives or lives any life other than the one he loses.” Thank you, Popo, for teaching me “the way of the world” – for teaching me how to live.
Bruriah consoled her husband by saying, “Didn’t you tell me that I needed to return the deposit to its Owner?” Rabbi Meir responded by saying: “The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken. May the name of the Lord be blessed.”
God gave us the rare and precious gift of our Popo. We were blessed by her love, her strength, and her joy for our entire lives. After 98 years on this earth, the time came for God to take her back. We are all sad to lose Popo, but she will continue to live on in who we are and how we live.
“The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken. May the name of the Lord be blessed.”
Goodbye, Popo. I love you.
