Simon Barenbaum, who died on November 18, had a remarkably generous spirit and an unfailing commitment to community. He was a great gift in my life. This is my tribute to him.

Simon, emeritus professor of French at Middlebury College, had recently launched a conversation group when I met him more than 25 years ago. I’d studied French in my early years, but it had fallen by the wayside, purely from lack of use. One serendipitous day, I noticed a flier posted on the walls of the Ilsley Library. It was an invitation to join his French conversation group. At that point, I was hesitant, embarrassed that my French had become so rusty. Nonetheless, Simon welcomed me with reassurance and delight.

We met at the Bristol Bakery. As he told it, after he’d retired from teaching and happened to be buying what he deemed were particularly good baguettes, an inspiration struck him, “Why not have a conversation group here? This is the perfect place!” And so “Les Boulangers” (The Bakers) as he called it, was born. 

Word caught on and soon robust gatherings at the bakery felt like Saturday mornings at a French café. All levels of fluency were welcome. There were native speakers, beginners, and those who simply wanted to listen. We were there for what began as a love of French and soon grew into a love of the conviviality that Simon so conscientiously fostered. Pleased with the resounding success of his vision, Simon took on the role of our doting leader. He arrived at the bakery early and waited patiently for his flock. His briefcase, always by his side, held a cornucopia of newspaper clippings, magazine articles, and snippets of paper with hand-written poems – a carefully curated collection with which to spark interesting discussions. During these discussions, it was not unusual for Simon, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, to break into song, inviting us to sing along with him.

A masterful raconteur, he regaled us with stories. Coming from a family who had run a Yiddish theater in Paris, he knew how to turn simple narratives into compelling dramas as he carefully enunciated each word and used gestures to great effect. Such tales were highly entertaining. Others were heartbreaking. He often spoke of his years during World War II when he, his mother, and father were imprisoned in Drancy, an internment camp outside of Paris, and where, at the last minute, they made a miraculous escape. Simon’s eyes would brim with tears when he spoke of his beloved brother who died in Auschwitz. We cried along with him.

Despite this tragic chapter in his life, Simon was not bitter. He lovingly and frequently referred to such gifts as his devoted family, the simple joy of preparing evening salads, raking autumn leaves, bicycling down country lanes.

In his last year, Simon moved to Massachusetts where he could be near family. He continued with his conversation group via Zoom. A flurry of correspondence began. He eagerly awaited our letters and we eagerly awaited his responses. He penned amusing anecdotes of life in his senior living community and true to form, sprinkled the pages with uplifting song lyrics and drawings of musical notes dancing in the margins.

His lively conversation group is an enduring legacy. Though it has changed venues over the years, it continues to be the medium through which many warm and lasting friendships are forged. His belief in, devotion to, and nurturance of a strong and loving community yielded just that.

Merci mille fois pour cette lumière d’amitié, Simon. Thank you so much for this light of friendship, Simon. Our world is a brighter place because of it.

Linda Smith

Middlebury