Eulogy for My Mother

There was a way that you could tell who knew my mother well and who had just met her. We called it the sneeze test.

Newcomers would “God Bless You” after the first sneeze. Acquaintances would wait through the first half dozen. Family members stood fast through the first six or seven clusters cho..cho..cho..cho..cho..

And sometimes even we were fooled. God Bless you…Cho..cho.. cho…too soon.

It seems both profoundly fitting and odd to be standing here at the Jewish Center of Bayside Oaks where Susan, Ruth, Eve and I all celebrated our bat and bar mitzvahs. Where Leon and I sang together in the High Holiday Choir –he an alto, me a soprano. My father sat on this Bimah as the president of the Men’s Club; my mother as the president of the Sisterhood. On High Holidays the rabbi shisshed the congregation to order as the men stood outside smoking Lucky Strikes and Camels.

It was over a half century ago, in another time, in another life, when we live and grew two blocks away on Garland Drive. Where we played spud, and touch football in the streets and Nigel our Great Dane terrorized the neighborhood. An easy walk took us to Springfield Boulevard for a slice and a coke for a quarter and a five minute ride took us to Bell Boulevard for a Creamy Egg Cream or a hot fudge sundae from Carvel. On hot summer nights we would all climb in the back of the windowless J Raphael and Son van and careen across the floor as my father drove us to Corona Ice King. We smelled of cinnamon and allspice for days.

It was a time of Wednesday night Bowling League and Monday night Gin Rummy. And with my mother it was always a time of wonderful music. The four of us dancing and spinning wildly as my mother played Mozart’s Turkish March on the piano in the living room. My mother and father singing “My Funny Valentine” – she with her beautiful clear voice and him less so. My mother playing lead singing roles in Jewish Center of Bayside Oaks musicals. Close to 50 years later, I bet Susan, Ruth, Eve and I can still remember the words:

“Someone's painting the leaves all wrong this year - wish you were here

Why did the birds change their song this year - wish you were here

They're not shining the stars as bright

They've stolen the joy from the night

Wish you were here, wish you were here, wish you were here

Who could have imagined that suddenly, and seemingly so swiftly, my father’s death would shatter this magical and idyllic life? How could this happen? How could we go on?

But my mother was a survivor and she possessed remarkable strengths as she faced and overcame this and other painful challenges. She was an Ayshish Chayal – a remarkable woman of valor.

And so she rebuilt her life; she went to work and became a preschool teacher par excellence. The International Playgroup; the Shelter Rock Jewish Center; The Samuel Field’s Y. She dispensed medicines and washed children’s hair as a Camp Mother at Camp Kfar Masada.

And wherever she went the children followed her and cried with delight: “Billie, Billie, Billie.”

And after she put her children through college she completed her own education receiving a Bachelors of Arts Degree in Early Child Education from Adelphi University.

How could God not see the great goodness in this woman’s heart? Her children grew and they built families of their own. And they blessed her with grandchildren and great grandchildren. They called her Nana and they filled her with joy. They were her jewels and they adorned her with riches.

It is said that in His infinite vision God brings together Chasans and Kallahs, brides and bridegrooms; men and women who are “bshert” meant for each other. And perhaps because of the beauty of her inner soul God blessed my mother twice; first with my father and then when my mother and Leon discovered each other. They built a new life together filled with love, family and Judaism. Leon was my mother’s husband but all of our family has been blessed by this gracious and good man.

My mother’s memory began to fade shortly after a visit to Israel. She fought so hard to hold on to her memories. Perhaps five years ago, as we sat at a restaurant on Northern Boulevard we became partners in memory:

“I was dating another man, who loved me and kept on trying to give me something”.

“I met my, father, I mean my husband at a place”. “He was so very handsome and we fell in love immediately.”

“We wanted to get married right away but we had to wait until my sister got married first. When we got married, it was at the same place as my sister”

And even later days, her love and her humanity continued to shine through:

“I like you here. I love you so much. How are you?”

“I love you dear. When will you come to this place again?”

As her illness progressed, people would ask me how my mother was doing. I answered as she would: “It is what it is.” There was peace in her heart; she had lived a good and meaningful life; she had treated people with dignity and respect; she cared for others and knew that others cared for her. She had raised a family and that family had raised new families and their children did the same. It is what it is. It’s okay.

She spent the end of her days in warm sun of Jerusalem – her stories and her memories being absorbed into the shared memories of our people. Yesterday, she joined our ancestors and is now buried in a sacred land, in the shadows of sacred places. Her life was a blessing to all who knew her.

What is the measure of this woman?

The children who flocked to her.

The friends who revered her.

Family – sisters and brothers in laws, aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins and more who adored her.

Children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who bless and honor her.

What is the memory of this woman?

A warm and welcoming smile.

Lovely inviting brown eyes

Soft but strong hands.

The syncopated sound of a staccato sneeze. Bless you… wait.

And a song.

“Where did the night go

So soon, so soon.

So young but a moment ago.

So young but a moment ago.

Excuse me, do you have the decade?

Somewhere in heaven an angel is saying: “I can’t believe it’s already been 5,771 years since Creation. It went by so fast”. Down here on earth, an astrophysicist is chiming: “It seems like the Big Bang was just yesterday”.

Here in Georgia, it seems like each time I turn around I am refilling my weekly pill dispenser, whose daily compartments become more crowded with each passing year. One’s ownership of a pill dispenser is, in itself, a confirmation of the all too rapid passing of time. Jo and I are approaching our 30th anniversary and our little birds have left the nest. It seems just yesterday that they were eating regurgitated worms from our mouths. This may explain their intense desire to find themselves in remote locations. Alya is planning to complete her PhD in Developmental Biology in December and has begun looking at post-doctoral fellowships. Her patient efforts to explain her research to us always end with the same phrase: “Where did I lose you?” Nomi has completed her undergraduate education at McDaniel College in Westminster and has begun her efforts for Americorps. She will spend the next 12 months linking students at her alma mater with volunteer opportunities in Carroll County. She has inherited her parents’ social work genes. G-d help her. A six foot tall and bearded Jacob graduated from Weber High School this past spring. As I write he is in the Holy Land of Israel where he will spend nine months on the Habonim Dror Workshop program. These are truly the days of awe.

Speaking of the Days of Awe, it is a little known fact that Einstein’s journey to conceptualize the space time continuum began with the phrase: “Rosh Hashanah is early this year.” Clock towers had nothing to do with this. Rather, he sat in Congregation Ein Zman in Bern, Switzerland, checked his pocket watch for the 19th time and whispered underneath his breath: “I can’t believe its only 10:30 am. How can it be that Rosh Hashanah is early when the rabbi’s sermon seems to last forever?” Thus, the theory of special relativity was born.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks and even years seem to be less than fully helpful in framing our lives. I’ve come to frame the passing of time with alternative measurements: “Goodness, Gladys, I haven’t seen you since my last periodontal appointment.” Or: “It seems like my colonoscopy was just yesterday.”

I thus offer the following observations to provide a perspective on the passing of time:

• Wile E. Coyote initiated his efforts to kill the Road Runner 62 years ago. His most recent efforts have involved unplugging the Road Runner’s Acme Heart Lung machine.
• It’s been 43 years since the SS Minnow crashed on a deserted island stranding Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the professor and Mary Ann.
• The enterprising Captain Kirk, Spock, Dr. McCoy, Scotty, Sulu, Chekov and Uhura began to go where no man had gone before 36 years ago. During that same year, Mr. Whipple began his treks through supermarket isles stalking customers who furtively squeezed toilet paper. Perhaps those were simpler days.
• The Band sang and danced at the Last Waltz 33 years ago. Pink Floyd intoned “we don’t need no education” 31 years ago.
• Speaking of “not needing”, 36 years ago, a Mexican bandito exclaimed: “We don't need no stinking badges” in Blazing Saddles. As it turns out, the line first appeared 62 years ago in the film “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre”.
• It’s been 30 years since John Lennon graced our lives, 15 years since Jerry Garcia was a Friend of the Devil and 9 years since George Harrison sang “My Sweet Lord”.
• The Watergate scandal began 38 years ago; Iran Contra 24 years ago; Whitewater 18 years ago.
• Don McLean drove his Chevy to levee 39 years ago. Sadly, the levee was dry.
• George Jetson turned 86 this year. Jane is 83. They live in a gated community on Mars.

Let us all continue to marvel at the passing of time together and may this 5771 be healthy and sweet for you and your family.

The Tupperware Conspiracy

I don’t believe there is a international wives conspiracy. However, if there is one, it involves Tupperware and lids.

What do Amar'e Stoudemire, Jack Abramoff and Bernie Madoff Have in Common?

What do Amar'e Stoudemire, Jack Abramoff and Bernie Madoff Have in Common??

“Amar'e Stoudemire landed in Israel yesterday for a voyage of discovery after learning he has Jewish roots.” “Yesterday Army Radio reported that the Florida native plans to spend time in Israel learning Hebrew, having recently learned his mother is Jewish.”

Thus reports Ha’aretz in its on-line English edition. This is exciting news for those Knick fans among us. The last time a Jew (Red Holtzman) led the Knicks to a championship, Arik Sharon was leading Tzahal to victory in Yom Kippur War. However, Amar’e’s pilgrimages to Israel to uncover his Jewish roots also raises a frightening specter: The Knicks have invested millions to acquire this franchise anchor, what if he decides to stay in the Holy Land to learn in a Yeshiva? This level of bad luck would cause us all to immediately run home and make sure our Mezuzot were kosher.

Stoudemire’s embracing of his Jewish roots comes on the heels of a difficult number of weeks in the on-going “who is a Jew” saga. Fortunately, we are the midst of the Netanyahu/Sharansky inspired truce period – or should I say, “half time”. It has always been my understanding that if Amar’e’s mother is Jewish then he is Jewish. That is, if her mother is or was Jewish. And so on. But what if his mother’s mother’s mother was converted to Judaism by a Conservative or, “hash v’shalom”, G-d forbid, a Reform rabbi? Who will have the final authority to declare him a Jew? I am inclined to accept him as a Jew because he can dunk and has a terrific jump shot. These are not generally characteristic we associate with members of our tribe.

Further, given the choice I am more inclined to accept him as a Jew and invite him as an exalted guest to our Sukkah than, another Jew in the news, David H. Brooks who, we were recently informed, misappropriated over $6,000,000 from his military hardware company for personal expenses. These expenses included his daughter’s multimillion-dollar bat mitzvah party that featured performances by 50 Cent and Aerosmith. It is my assumption that while his common human decency is questioned his authenticity as a Jew is not. This also can be said of Jack Abramoff who now checks the books at Tov Pizza in Pikesville Maryland after serving 3 and a half years at a minimum security prison in Maryland for fraud, corruption and conspiracy. His crimes included bilking Native Americans out of millions of dollars and using these funds for a number of projects, including the Eshkol Academy, an all-boys Yeshiva in Maryland. Like it or not, we don’t get to question these individuals’ legitimacy as members of our people. Can anybody say: “Bernie Madoff”?

All of this transpires close enough to T’sha B’Av that we should be mindful that infighting among our ancestor; between Pharisees and Sadducees, between assimilated Hellenists and first century Haredim contributed to the destruction of the Second Temple and the exile of our people. I so desperately fear that we do not see the danger.

Determining who is a Jew and who is not a Jew can never anything more than an in-exact science. These exercises, whether internal or externally motivated, have never served our people well. One would think that, as Jews, we would have learned that religious edicts made within a political framework generally do not end well for us.

I’d like Amar’e Stoudemire to feel welcomed and comfortable as a Jew. But as a professional who has been in the Jewish identity business for over thirty years, I dream of the day when all Jews will feel welcomed and nurtured by our Jewish community. Young men and women today are searching for a place where they can explore their spirituality and answer the difficult questions that confront them. Our profound divisions and vituperative bickering will not draw them to our people.

I cannot help but think of “A Soldier’s Story” the brilliant 1984 film based upon Charles Fuller's Pulitzer Prize winning “A Soldier's Play”. A Black officer is sent to investigate the murder of a Black sergeant in Louisiana. The obvious assumption is that the murder was racially motivated. In the end, we learn that a Black soldier had murdered the officer, a seemingly evil and heartless man, in profound contempt. Thus the seminal line: “Who gave you the right to judge, to decide, who is fit to be a Negro and who is not?”

Indeed, who gave you the right?

David Raphael ©2010

Stanley Greenspan Z"L

Four days after I heard the news of his death I still can’t comprehend a world without Stanley. He was like earth, fire, wind and water; an essential elements of our universe. His light guided us and his fire warmed us. His gravity grounded us.

I will never understand what angels and demons drove Stanley, but I do know that they drove him to a passionate pursuit to make the world a better place. He was driven and he, in turn, drove us to care more and to do more.

Stanley’s uncompromising nature made him difficult to contend with at times. He was, to an extent, a “Challenging Child” who could be demanding, argumentative and petulant. But, without a doubt his unyielding passion, drive and devotion were core elements of his brilliance: We do not have to accept the world as it is; we can change, we must change. Like Einstein who questioned fundamental assumptions about time, space and matter, Stanley’s fierce intellectual independence allowed all of us to see our children and ourselves in a new light. His genius enabled us to see a better world and his passion drove us to pursue it.

No one would ever question Stanley’s fashion sense; he had none. Sweat pants, flip flops, a well- seasoned baseball cap were standard attire in and around the home. When Jo and I met with him for our first session with Jacob, he sported a flannel shirt, wrinkled khaki pants and sneakers. After our experience with white coated and carefully quaffed clinicians at the child development center, we didn’t know what to think. But within minutes we knew that we had found the only person who could help Jacob and the only person we would let help Jacob. Stanley’s attitude toward dress revealed his contempt for social conventions that did not directly advance human good and humankind. The blue blazer, tie and button down blue shirt would come out for presentations, speeches and conferences. They were tools to serve a greater good but had no intrinsic value of their own. Thus, Stanley compelled us to ask important questions: What is truly important; what truly matters.

Without question, our son Jacob would not have healed had Stanley not questioned and challenged (and compelled us to question and challenge) all the presuppositions of the day; children with ASD cannot get better; they are slated for a life of marginality. Jacob would not have been the warm, thoughtful and funny teenager he is now if we had blindly gone along with the directives proposed by the “experts”. When we sat impassioned, and emboldened in front of the Board of Education special needs panel, rejected their advice to send Jacob to their “special needs program” and demanded our rights to educate him in the “least restrictive environment” – it was Stanley’s uncompromising passion that drove us and sustained us. We were able to see a better world and a better future because Stanley showed us that world and convinced us that it was possible. When the administrator of his elementary school insisted that Jacob be placed on medication, Stanley’s analysis was direct and simple: “They’re full of shit”. Those were clinical terms; an assessment of a system that far too often looked for the easy way out and too blithely accepted compromised on behalf of our children. Stanley would do none of these things. And he would not permit us to do these things.

Last night, on a cool, beautiful southern evening, I sat on the deck and had dinner with Jacob. We talked of movies, of politics, of life. It has been both a typical and eventful week for Jacob; of the five colleges to which he was accepted, he chose to attend Georgia College and State University, a lovely small liberal arts college in Milledgeville Georgia. He was scheduled to have the final interview to confirm his participation in a pre-college year program in Israel. He drove to school on those days where my work took me out of town. He got an 89 in his statistics test. He did all those things one would expect of a typical teenager. He did all the things he would be incapable of doing without Stanley’s intervention (along with those of Stanley’s remarkable colleagues). Jacob continues to lay the foundations for his future; a future that, seventeen years ago, when a mute and isolated child rummaged through a closet of broken toys and meandered aimlessly about a sun drenched office on Glenbrook Road in Bethesda, Stanley was able to see. When the world seemed so dark for us, Stanley showed us a beautiful and hopeful future, illuminated a path forward and compelled us to pursue it. “You should not place any limits on Jacob’s potential, he might not go to MIT but he just might.”

What will we do without Stanley: All the things he taught us to do: to be uncompromising, fierce advocates on behalf of our children; on behalf of all children; to see the world differently and challenge conventional wisdoms and assumptions; to care less about social norms and niceties and more about what truly matters – our children, our families, each other. For all he has done for us, this is what we must do for him.

Let's Celebrate, Florida

I’m in Orlando and I’m sitting in an candidate interview – and it is getting late. The candidate mentioned that she lived near Celebration, Florida – a community created by Disney. My mind starts to wander – I wonder if there is a Celebration Funeral Home. There is just no way that wouldn’t be weird. “Welcome to the Celebration Funeral Home – sorry for your loss – let’s Celebrate". How about the Celebration Emergency Medical Services – “Congratulations, you’ve had a heart attack”. Does the Celebration Fire Department bring marshmallows? Personally, after all these years of being a social worker, I want to work for Celebration Demolition. Let's just put that cake out in the rain.

Back to the interview

The Torah According to Home Depot

I am delighted to present this D’var Torah in honor of my uncle, Rabbi Myron Fenster who is visiting us from New York.

I thought it would be valuable to explore what we can learn about religion, faith and belief from our city of Atlanta. Thus, I would like to compare Judaism to that great Atlanta institution – Home Depot.

Like Judaism, you can find just about anything you need at Home Depot: Need a new Weber gas grill, it’s there; looking to find the exact shade of fuchsia so that your walls will match the carpet, it’s there. Time to insulate the attic; lay down new sod; replace the sputtering Hotpoint refrigerator – it’s all there.

But all of us have had the experience of going into the Home Depot, searching for some obscure part, perhaps a 1-1/2 inch galvanized floor flange, and wandering down aisle after aisle staring hopelessly at seemingly unending shelves of plumbing fixtures. We are rescued by an orange vested expert who leads us to the right aisle and shelf and, perhaps, points out that a 1 ¾ inch galvanized floor flange might work better.

Thus it is with Judaism. There is so much richness in our tradition; so much wisdom, meaning and beauty. But where do we start to look; what text; what chapter, what verse; what commentary? How do these ancient passages offer meaning for our lives? How fortunate we are when a wonderful and wise Jewish leader helps us find our way and reveals the beauty and wonder of our tradition. From my early days, my uncle, Rabbi Myron Fenster, has been such a guide for me. Since our family has moved to Atlanta, we have been blessed to have Rabbis Mario and Analia as our guides as well.

Close to three thousand years before Home Depot adopted the slogan: “You can do it and we can help” our Torah empowered us through similar words:

Deuteronomy, Chapter 30

11. For this commandment which I command you this day, it is not too hard for you, neither is it far off.

12. It is not in heaven, that thou should say: 'Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?'

13. Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou should say: 'Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?'

14. But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that you may do it.

With the help and guidance of great teachers and great rabbis, the wisdom, joys, values and essence of our remarkable Jewish tradition are there for us. It is not in the heavens – we can do it.

There is an additional linkage between Home Depot and Judaism. Like the Home Depot, all that we find within Judaism will enable us to find comfort and joy in our lives and in our homes. The teachings of Judaism are “not in the heavens” but they are here, on earth for use in our everyday lives. There is no “Lighting” aisle in Judaism, but there is no shortage of enlightenment.

Next week’s D’var Torah will explore why Judaism more refreshing than Coke.