2 April, 2006

Riverside Memorial Chapel

NYC, NY

Dad’s funeral

Thank you for those thoughts, Torin.  My brother inherited many of my parents’ best qualities, and among them is my father’s gift for precise thought and language.

I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to comprehend a world without my father in it.

I don’t know how to eulogize a man whose wisdom, integrity, accomplishments, vision and love have been an unfailing beacon in my life.

I don’t know how to say goodbye to this most beloved father.

I don’t want to.

_____________________

Thank you all for coming, celebrating my father’s life, and sharing your memories with us.  I can’t imagine ever tiring of learning about the many facets of my father’s life to which I wasn’t always privy or aware – and hearing from so many of you has helped keep a vibrant image of my father alive for me and my family.

Indeed, my father was extraordinary in so many ways.

He had an amazing will to live, and he lived life with great passion.

Even through the stark contrast of his growing infirmity and physical suffering, no one was more generous, no one was more courageous, and no one was more full of joy and love.

My father’s passion knew few bounds – and his insights were heartfelt and truly his own.  He was passionate about the law, and practiced it as a noble endeavor. The pursuit of knowledge was a way of life for him, and the necessity of justice was unquestionable.   He loved being with people, appreciating beauty in its many forms.  Conversation was his favorite pastime. Children were his pure joy.  Helping others was both a moral obligation and his great pleasure.

Like his mother before him, who later in life was taken on by Jacques Lipschitz as a private sculpture student because of her distinctive vision, my father’s passion for art was inimitable.   His love of Bergman, O’Neil, Rodin, Modigliani, Bach – especially Bach – was inspiring.  To hear him speak about them was to hear a true believer...   I can recall him many years ago excitedly showing me his photographs of a series of Rodin sculptures – it was inspiring to listen to him explain why they were so moving, and made me appreciate the work in an entirely new light.  Certainly his passion for, and knowledge of music was shared in a similar way with his many friends and relatives.  Indeed, he chose Bach’s Cantata number 82 to be played today – “I have enough.”

He would light up at the pleasure of a beautiful flower, nature, children, love, music, the law, politics, other peoples’ wellbeing, conversation, art… and especially his family.  Nothing was more important, and in this regard, he was selfless. 

Through all his suffering, he always cared more for the people he loved than himself ­— a splinter in my hand was more urgent than anything that might be going on in his life, no matter how grave.  In this regard, Torin and I have lived an extraordinarily privileged life.  We grew up knowing that there was no one and nothing that would come before us with our father.  It never occurred to me that there was ever a time or an occasion when my father wouldn’t want me to call; or that there was anything I could do that would push him away from me.  And his just being there made me feel safe and protected. Knowing his love was like feeling a blanket of protection, and a river of affection.

I know how proud you were of your father, Dad.  I recall your stories of him… How

capable… how noble… how he was a man of his word.  We never knew your father, Dad.  But we knew him in you… in these very same qualities.­

My father would always say to me “Tell me how you feel… Tell me how you feel inside,” often pounding his chest to emphasize the kind of question he was asking.

Well, Dad, I feel bad.  I feel empty.  I feel lost without you.  But I know that you held on as long as you could to shield us from these feelings, and that if you had had the power, you would have held on forever, if only to spare your sons from having to feel the grief of losing their beloved father.  And I hope that I have inherited at least some of your strength, and capabilities, and that in this way life will go on and you will always be with me.

I never got to say goodbye to my father.  His courage and his great will always pulled him through, and I really expected him to continue in this same vein.  But I’m going to try here… Thank you dad for your unshakeable/enduring/abiding love and affection, for your unyielding faith and support, for your wisdom and guidance, in word and in deed.  I hope to be as generous a soul to the people I touch, as wise, honorable and powerful a professional in my work, and as loving a father.

We know how proud of us you always were.  I hope that you knew how very proud we were of you.  It has been a great privilege to be raised as your sons.  I hope to live my life in a way that would always make you proud.