Seen. Named. Celebrated.
This is a slightly longer one — if you don’t want to read, take a listen, here.
Over the past three weeks, I attended three ceremonies. They were different in many ways — different organizations, different cities, different occasions. One, a memorial service, a year on from an untimely passing, was an opportunity to remember and reflect. One honored a colleague mid-career with a rare and coveted award. The other marked the end of nearly twenty years of devoted service to a single organization. And yet they were, at their core, about exactly the same thing.
They were about being seen.
First was a remembrance for Howard Brown, a charismatic leader of interfaith work here in Detroit. Howard died after a long battle with cancer in 2025, and for so many, it didn’t feel like there were any opportunities to honor his memory. And so the American Jewish Committee hosted the evening, and it included Muslim, Hindu, and Christian leaders alongside the many Jews present. Interfaith work – especially with the Jewish and Muslim communities — has been, well, tense as of late. But the evening was about Howard’s never-ending commitment to just talking, just showing up, just being present, and people did just that. It didn’t matter if what they were discussing was the weather, or the Detroit Lions. It mattered that people perceived as opposites were engaging in conversation, knowing that nothing would be solved, but as Rabbi Tarfon, in Perkei Avot, the traditional Jewish text teaches, “you are not obligated to finish the work, but nor are you free to desist from it.” That sums up Howard. He kept moving forward, despite it all. And the community was better with him in it. The event gave hope and joy, and closure, to all who attended.
The second event was an internal affair at the Jewish Federation of Detroit — internal in the best possible sense. The room held direct reports and supervisors, yes, but also friends, family, volunteer leaders, and colleagues who have watched and worked alongside Julie Tepperman for years. She was being granted the William Avrunin Professional Development Award — a rare acknowledgement bestowed just eight times in 33 years. Not awarded annually. Not distributed. Bestowed. The word itself tells you something about the weight of it. (You can read more about William Avrunin in this excellent article by Beth Robinson in the Journal of Michigan Jewish History.)
What I witnessed was a portrait of a person — painted not on canvas but in words, offered by those who know her best. Julie is serious and funny. Deeply committed and delightfully spontaneous. A mentor and a friend to so many — and those are not separate categories for her. She holds them together the way only certain people can, the ones who never let the work crowd out the human being standing right in front of them.
The room did not just honor what Julie has done. It honored who she is. Those are related, but they are not the same thing. And the care taken to name that difference is something I will not soon forget.
The third ceremony was this past Tuesday evening, when my friend and colleague Lee C. Shapiro was celebrated as she stepped back from just about two decades as the Cleveland regional director at AJC. Nearly twenty years in one place, in service to one mission. I was compelled to go because some moments are too big to miss.
Lee C.’s event was by far the largest of the three; more external-facing than Julie’s, and no less moving than the ones honoring Julie or Howard. I am still thinking about how beautifully and completely Lee C. was feted by volunteers and co-workers alike, and most importantly for AJC, by the community partners and leaders that make the work in global Jewish advocacy so impactful. The colleagues who came from around the U.S., the local Ohio elected officials, the religious leaders. The room exuded love. In addition to a timely conversation on the state of the world with colleagues, a spontaneous reading of a Cuyahoga County resolution, we sat in awe at a compilation video of tributes to the honoree. Lee C. is honest, creative, reliable, and unflappable. Her work in national media prior to AJC clearly helped train her for diplomacy. Seeing the patterns and opportunities in every day work. Connecting people and ideas all across her adopted city of Cleveland. I will not soon forget how joyful this event was, how spirited, lovely, and how well it captured Lee C.
Why combine these three events into one post? Each could hold its own, surely. But Howard, Julie, and Lee C. gave something that doesn’t show up easily on a resume or a grant report. They gave sustained, renewable, chosen commitment. Not the commitment of signing on — anyone can do that. The commitment of staying. Of deciding, year after year, that this work, this organization, these people are worth showing up for again and again and again. They also have an interesting fact in common – none are “from” the cities where they lived and worked, and those cities – Detroit, Windsor, and Cleveland are all notorious for being difficult places to break into socially and professionally. But all are beloved names in these towns.
I find myself thinking about what that kind of longevity actually builds. Not just the friendships began, programs launched, the dollars raised, or the communities served — though all of that is real and significant. But the texture of it. The institutional memory. The relationships that span decades. The handshake that a Muslim doctor still reflects on during a tumultuous period. The younger professional who watched how Julie handled a hard moment and filed it away. The donor who trusted Lee C. because Lee C. was still there, still the same person, still showing up. You cannot manufacture that. You can only earn it, slowly, over time.
The Avrunin Award exists because someone once gave so much that their name became the standard by which others are measured. That is legacy. Not a check written at the end of a life, but a life lived in such a way that it continues to shape what comes after. Julie and Lee C. are building that same kind of legacy — in real time, in the rooms where the work actually happens. Howard, of blessed memory, did too.
So here is my question for you: who in your life has given that kind of sustained, generous, chosen commitment — to an organization, a community, a cause, a family? And have you told them how you appreciate them?
Appreciation is a gift, too. And it doesn’t require a checkbook.
Fondly, and with my best wishes for a Shabbat Shalom,
Kari
