A Final Song For Uncle Binyomin

By: Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence

I know the last place you’d expect to find something beautiful is at a levayah.

And it’s especially heartbreaking when it’s for a family member—someone who’s been part of your life for as long as you can remember.

But there was something about last Thursday that struck me as just that: beautiful.

Maybe it was the graveside levayah, something I’d never experienced before, that made this final sendoff feel more personal than the formality of sitting on a cold bench in some nondescript building.

This was intimate—a deeply personal farewell to my Uncle Binyomin, a man I’ve known my entire life. Even in his passing, he somehow managed to bring people together with the same effortless joy he always had—the kind I’ve never seen at a shivah house before.

Uncle Binyomin was the oldest of four, and he was a true people-person. He had this way about him, a rhythm to how he spoke. He’d think before he said something, pause, and then say it. And somehow, by the time the words came out, you already knew what he was going to say.

He was the keeper of family treasures—the guardian of old footage I didn’t even realize existed, recorded on an ancient Betamax camera.

The films were silent, but one Sunday, when his mother (my grandmother) was well into her nineties, the family gathered for her birthday. We sat around the living room watching those old videos—our parents as little kids—and the room went still. We all knew that the only reason we had this precious glimpse into our past was because of Binyomin.

He loved family heirlooms, the collectibles that told our story—who we were and where we came from.

Binyomin was also a huge fan of music. I remember walking upstairs in his house once and finding him sitting in front of his computer, newly discovering Napster. He was giddy, downloading hundreds of songs, marveling at how technology suddenly made his entire music collection accessible in seconds.

Another memory—a Shabbos sheva berachos that turned into a late-night kumsitz, filled with classic rock songs no one had ever heard sung at a Shabbos table before. It lasted for hours and left me with a new level of admiration for him because only Binyomin could blend spirituality, joy, and rock ‘n’ roll in one unforgettable night.

One of my earliest memories of him was an impromptu Shabbos invitation to stay at his house in a place called the Five Towns that, at the time, I’d never even heard of.

He had an office in Brooklyn and met my father and me at the Toys R Us right off the Belt Parkway. As my father left us, it suddenly seemed to occur to him that we might need something fun for the weekend. He looked at me and said, “Want to pick out some toys for yourself, Malkie?”

He didn’t have to ask me twice. In we went, and I walked out with an armful of new toys—just because.

Binyomin aged gracefully, somehow looking younger as the years went on.

He always had a full head of hair and a smile that stretched as wide as his backyard pool—his happy place. That’s where he’d spend summer days hosting family and friends, wearing a short-sleeved button-down, cargo shorts, sandals, and that trademark grin.

After he built the pool in his large, sunlit backyard, he started a Gordon family Fourth of July barbecue tradition that lasted for decades. Year after year, we’d gather there to reconnect with cousins, meet new spouses, and listen to his “official” welcome, which always included a joyful roll call of new babies who had joined the Gordon tribe that year.

Kids (and Uncle Abe) would splash in the pool, the adults would catch up over grilled food and laughter, and we all left feeling closer than when we’d arrived.

I don’t think I realized until writing this just how deeply the choices he made—the way he gathered people, the joy he created—shaped not just my life, but the lives of everyone he touched during his 79 years on this earth.

He was a connector, in every sense of the word. And even in his passing, it was clear to me that the closeness he fostered among our family wouldn’t fade.

His years were cut too short, and as I stood at the cemetery watching his wife Sandy, his children, their spouses, the grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren cry quietly as we laid him to rest, I felt it in my bones: he did things right.

He left behind a beautiful legacy—one of laughter, warmth, and togetherness—and I know he’ll continue to beam with pride from another place as we celebrate his memory.

May it forever be a blessing. 

Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of five, a writer, and a social media influencer.