It was very sad to hear about the sudden loss of Lonnie Borck. Lonnie was just 47 years old, and he leaves behind his wife, Ronit and 5 children.
He will not only be remembered as a loving husband, father, son, and friend, but also a true mensch to all that bumped into him.
Lonnie was also a senior Hatzolah member in Baltimore and no doubt saved many lives. Many are now recalling all the things that are unknown about all the times that Lonnie would help others, even those he did not know.
Indeed hundreds of those his business associates left tributes left him moving tributes, all over social media. Including these touching messages which show was a meilitz yosher he was and how he conducted himself as a ben torah and was a walking, talking, kiddush hashem, spreader.
Touching message from Scott Ross
REQUIEM FOR A MENSCH:
It was the unlikeliest of kinships.
He, a pious Orthodox Jew, whose very existence revolved around faith, family and service to humanity. Me, an irreverent cynic, with the practical spirituality of a coconut and a guiding core manifest more in conscience, principle and duty than the formal tenets of my Reform Jewish upbringing. He and his wife, parenting five children, including two-year old twins. Me, an empty nester, eighteen years his senior. He, a volunteer first responder, saving lives without flourish or fanfare. Me, a pedestrian do-gooder. While he observed the Sabbath as a holy day, I observed the Miami nightlife and partied all night. When he talked kosher, I talked spare ribs and stone crabs, just to break his matzoh balls.
Yet, nary a late Friday afternoon ever passed without him remembering to call the old heathen in Miami to bid me, “Shabbat Sholom,” a happy and peaceful Sabbath. Even if we had spoken earlier in the day, there he was again, like clockwork, as if part of his Shabbat ritual. Because it was. Only recently did I express to him how much this simple human gesture meant to me. You see, little kindnesses ALWAYS mean more to me than grand gestures. He knew that, instinctively. He was easy to love.
Now, like the waft of white smoke from Shabbat’s last burning wick, he’s gone.
Just.
Like.
That.
Forty-seven years young.
I was Lonnie’s kibitzer. He was my reluctant straight man. And involuntary foil. I was the deliberate Oscar Madison to his frenetic Felix Unger. No matter what I threw at him, either in business or politics or over-the-top irreverence, he lavished me with the kind of love, affection, admiration and trust more often reserved for lifelong friends. Or brothers. Yet, an unlikely domain name transaction in 2007 gave rise to an unlikely kinship between the unlikeliest of friends. Nothing was left unsaid.
Now, that kinship feels like a 2 x 4 upside the head. I am devastated. And reeling that the news arrived too late for me to book a morning flight to Baltimore to attend his funeral today. Instead, I will summon whatever faith I can muster in earnest and recite the Mourner’s Kaddish in his honor for the next thirty days; and try to help his wife, Ronit, make sense of Lonnie’s digital assets.
To those of you in the global domain diaspora who were blessed to know Lonnie, please honor him with good thoughts, meditation and prayer; and keep a regular place in your heart for Lonnie’s wife, children and parents. They’ve got a lot to carry and a long way to go.
If you’ve got anything left, please grit your teeth and root for the Philadelphia Eagles on game days, as I now will. I think Lonnie would like that.
Business associate and friend Ron Jackson had this to say
As much as Lonnie accomplished in our business the most important thing in his life was his family and his faith. To me the greatest testament anyone can make to their faith (Lonnie was an Orthodox Jew) is to let God’s love shine through them in the way they live and treat others. There was never a moment around Lonnie that I did not see that love shining through him. It is a light that can’t be extinguished and it will live on in the lives of his family and the countless friends he influenced over the years. Thank you Lonnie for the life you led and the lessons you taught us while you were here.
