Rabbi Josh's Eulogy

Hey Judah,

I have agonized over this letter to you for days now. And what I realize is that I’m just simply dead inside. I haven’t been able to exhale since you’ve continued on your journey from this world, and I don’t know how to handle that. I wasn’t prepared to loose you. In so many ways, you were a kind of compass for me, and I just can’t get myself straight. It is from the throws of shock that I write you this note.

Reb Shlomo Carlebach used to say that each Jew is a like a Sefer Torah and deserves to be kissed. I would add that each of us is a version of God’s book of teachings to this world, and we would do well to study each other’s Torah, the teachings that we have to convey to the world. In this regard, your life was like a Torah as you’ve left many transformed in your wake, and there is much to learn from you.

My friend, if you ever wondered whether or not you were loved, or mattered to people’s lives, just check the blog! Your impact was unique, profound, and widespread. And the hole that you’re leaving behind… is irreparable. Worst of all, you were robbed, and so the world, as your life was way, way too short.

I’ve known you now for 35 years. That turns out to be longer than virtually everyone in my life, including my own father, since he passed when I was 31. My oldest friend, Judah, you’ve always been more than that to me. You were a kind of brother.

As we traversed the various schools and life experiences together since Nursery, I came to feel safe with you and your family to the point where if I wasn’t in my home, I was surely in yours. I spent five years in Jerusalem, and every year, except for one, I missed having second seder at the White house, a sacred tradition that I hope to create for myself one day. I’ll never forget when I could return the favor and had you over my apartment for Passover in Jerusalem in 2001 while you were in medical school. That year, Jerusalem was home like no other year because you were there. Judah, in school I took you in as a friend, but you brought me home as a brother.

We did a lot of growing up together. In high school, we agonized over our crushes together, contemplated the meaning of life with our friends, and most of all spent many nights at Norms dreaming about what our lives would look like. You were always somewhat stressed out by the question because it was clear that you were in the rare position of having the talent to be able to pursue just about anything you wanted… except for track. We both stank at that. You had deep interests in science, but had a knack for literature. You were good at math, and took positions on political issues. And all the while, you maintained a strong sense of faith, passion for Jewish tradition, loved your family, and had a deep desire to live your life fully. And you were only a teenager. Though that may not have been so unusual for a teenager, you maintained that innocent passion for living into your adulthood and all the way through your ultimate challenge with cancer. You never gave up on a desire to live. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You were a dedicated friend. There were a number years there where the deal was if you or I showed up at the other’s window, regardless of what time of night, and uttered the hex, “Norms Run,” the other had to go. In this way, we were a comfort to each other during those dark nights of late adolescence. Even now, the stories are trickling in about the quality of your friendship with people in high school, law school and medical school. You have become somewhat of a legend for no other reason than you were sweet, kind, and sincere. You knew how to be a good friend.

Judah, you were different. You loved sports, and played poker, but you were also an artist. Although you were often tormented by the anxiety of what decisions to make for your life earlier on, you never missed an opportunity to sit in amazement of the nature around you. Most people will travel to various countries with a map, a book, and a camera. You would forget the map, bring many books, a camera, but most importantly a travel set of watercolors and a sketch pad. Simple things would make you happy, but nothing more than a smile from a pretty girl! You loved movies, but somehow we always had opposite interpretations as to whether or not a movie was good. I could always count on you having a peculiar perspective on things that would challenge me to think in wider spaces. You always had something cooking in the back of your mind, and would take people by surprise with your readiness to discuss your intellectual curiosities. In that regard, you were very much your father’s son.

We shared many interests, particularly a love of Judaism. You loved camp Ramah and even Hebrew High. Although I went to a different camp, I understood inherently the intensity of your friendships there, and enjoyed listening to your camp stories. You came alive in camp, and brought that energy back home. As we got older, you were a frequent guest at my Shabbat table, but only if you were not going to be with your family on Forrester. Having you at my apartment was the most natural thing in the world.

You went from college to law school, to studying pre-med at UCLA and ultimately to medical school. You even threatened an MBA and Rabbinical school for good measure. You’ve never changed since you were a child Judah. You just loved it all, and couldn’t wait to learn more.

Judah, you were not only a brother, but you were also my teacher. You taught me how amazing reading could be. You taught me how to have patience. (Especially with you!) You taught me the importance of dedicating oneself to family. You took your family very seriously, even when you felt frustrated with the tumult and constant activity at the White house. You taught me that it should be more about my family than it is about “me.” You cherished your relationship with your father Seymor z”l, who was a role model for you in many ways. You loved your mother. You were dedicated to helping to make her life easier in whatever little ways you could. And you were protective of your siblings. I also recall the ways in which you were in awe of your Grandfather’s artistry. You spent your life developing those parts of yourself you most respected in your own family.

Once, and I’ll never forget this, we were at Israeli dancing one night post college, and you were doing your best at an older dance I had learned years before at camp. As I was leading you through it, you looked up at me and said with clarity, “Josh, you’re a teacher!” That was at the very beginning of my own development that landed me as a Rabbi. Although it was your mom who saw the Rabbi in me years before, your insight and encouragement actually inspired me to take it seriously. I could do that because I trusted you. Many people did.

You taught many how to look at the simple beauty of life. You had a twinkle in your eye, a quiet demeanor, a peculiar sense of humor, and you never quite got how handsome you were. I wish you could have heard how many women confessed to me recently the crushes they had on you… If you only knew then, we might not have had to have so many late night breakfasts at Norms.

Judah, if someone didn’t look at you carefully, they might misunderstand and think that yours is a tragic story of a life interrupted. My own rage against God was voiced in the demand to just let you be the doctor you always wanted to be so you could continue doing God’s work in this world. But then I realize how that might be a misunderstanding of your life. I don’t know that I will ever forgive God for taking you so tragically and so early, but I must acknowledge the gifts and beauty you brought into this world. Yours is a voice I know better than anyone on earth. Now it has been silenced, but your words linger on. And not because you seemed to know more English words than anyone I’ve ever met, but because your words made an imprint on everyone who heard you. More important than the words you spoke were the words you refrained from speaking. You were careful about Lashon Harah, you tried not to speak about others, one of the highest ideals in our tradition. I really don’t know what I’m going to do without you here in the physical. Our nearly nightly conversations, and pre-Shabbat “Good Shnabbes” phone calls sustained me more than I realized. I suppose we will all be lost for a while as we take our first steps on our journey without you as you continue on your newest one beyond this world.

The Mishnah teaches us, “Aseh Lecha Rav, U’kneh L’cha chaver/Make for yourself a teacher and acquire a friend.” Judah, you have been my teacher, but most importantly you have been my friend. We learned much together in this life. To leave a legacy of friendship and to be a model of decency, to have made a difference in other people’s lives is to have lived fully, richly and with meaning. Judah, although your life was tragically short, and although you thirsted to start a family, you lived the way you always wanted, and achieved just about everything you ever dreamed of. We should all have the courage to live the way you did.

There is a song that has special meaning to me and my family, and I realize it could have been written by you in the way you lived your life:
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"

I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world

Goodbye, Judah.