Sometimes there are good funerals

In loving memory of Avi Halzel

Sometimes there are good funerals.
The kind where a person has lived a long, full life and dies peacefully, surrounded by the people they love.

And then there are funerals you wish didn’t exist.

The ones for young people. Good people. People whose presence alone made the world better.

Today I went to one of those.

It was a beautiful, meaning-filled funeral—and I wish it weren’t real.

Today we buried a loving husband, father of four, and the CEO and Head of School at Denver Jewish Day School, Avi Halzel.

Avi was an understated guy—known for being kind, steady, and a little goofy. He was my son Koby’s first drum teacher. Avi showed up in people’s lives with care and warmth. Even while carrying the responsibility of leading a school, he was the kind of father who showed up fully—at sports games, competitions, and the everyday moments that matter.

I picture Avi in fleece vests, greeting students at the school entrance.
Taking kindergartners on imaginary trips to Israel.

Riding his bicycle for Children’s Hospital in my son’s memory.
Playing drums in the synagogue band, revealing his alter ego as a rockstar.

Today I heard story after story about the way he showed up for his family—with quiet strength, deep love, and unwavering support. He and his wife Rayna were a college love story, together for forty years.

I knew the public Avi, not the private one. But the words shared today were so beautiful and strong that they made me wish I had known him even better.

Avi was just 59 years old. He was planning to retire next spring.

A life tragically cut short by cancer.

If only…
If only there had been one more day, one more week, one more year.
One more celebration.
One more adventure.
One more time to hear his voice.

Stupid cancer breaks our hearts. It steals from loved ones.

There are no answers. No “at leasts.”

All we can do is try to make meaning in the moments we are given.

In Jewish tradition, we say “May his memory be for a blessing.”
Not because memory takes away the pain, but because remembering someone’s goodness asks something of us. It invites us to carry forward the kindness, steadiness, and quiet presence they brought into the world.

May Avi’s memory continue to live in the lives he shaped—
in his family, his students, his community,
and in the music he helped bring into the world.

May his memory be a blessing.