My Address at the Yom Hashoa Ceremony in Johannesburg, 2007 - Dedicated to Dad's Memory

יום הזיכרון לשואה ולגבורה תשס"ז – יוהנסבורג, דרום אפריקה

My Grandmother, סאסיה בת יעקב צבי הי"ד, for whom my sister is named, was gassed to death in Auschwitz-Birkenau on ב' סיון 24^th May, 1944, along with my uncle יעקב צבי בן מנחם הי"ד, and my uncle, מאיר בן מנחם הי"ד, for whom my brother is named.

My Grandmother, פעסיל בת צבי הי"ד, for whom my daughter is named, was gassed to death in Auschwitz-Birkenau on כג' סיון the 14^th June, 1944 along with my Aunt, איטה בת מנחם הי"ד, my Uncle, שמאי בן נפתלי הי"ד, and my cousins, מלכה הי"ד, and עטיה הי"ד.

My Aunt, לאה בת הרב טוביה הכהן הי"ד, was gassed to death in Auschwitz-Birkenau on כג' סיון the 14^th June, 1944 along with my cousins, צבי אהרון בן יואל פנחס הי"ד, עטיה בת יואל פנחס הי"ד, שלום שמואל בן יואל פנחס הי"ד, and מינדל בת יואל פנחס הי"ד.

My Uncle, משה אריה בן מנחם הי"ד, was shot to death in Satoralujhely, Hungary, ז' חשון on 24^th October 1944.

My Grandfather, מנחם בן שלמה זלמן הי"ד, for whom I am named,was murdered on a death march near Sachsenhausen, Germany, on כד' שבט 7^th February, 1945.

הו"כ אלופי ומיודעי הרב הראשי - Chief Rabbi Goldstein

הו"כ רב י ומורי היקר – Rabbi Tanzer

Distinguished members of the presidium,

Rabbanim and members of the Christian clergy,

Members of the Diplomatic Corps

Ladies and gentlemen,

Survivors ניצולי השואה –

מכובדיי.

We belong to a tradition that has always extolled the virtue of gratitude. In our liturgy, the very first prayer we are supposed to utter in the morning when we get up, when we open our eyes; is to say thank you. So, thank you. I thank you for the few moments that you allow me to spend together with you today.

This is the second time in my life that I stand here, beneath Hermann Wald’s awe-inspiring and powerful memorial. I stood here 39 years ago today, when I was 15 years old, as one of 6 children of Holocaust survivors, who were each honored with lighting one of these six memorial flames. Then too, the “Torch of Holocaust Remembrance” was passed to the next generation.

I stand here today, joined in spirit by my sister and brother, feeling very humbled by the generosity of spirit shown by the organizers of today’s event who have chosen to honor our father’s memory on this solemn anniversary, and it is my duty as an adult member of what is now called the “Second Generation,” to speak of him, yet not about him.

I stand here today feeling very humbled because although I did grow up here, I am not a native of this community nor of this country, yet I must attempt to speak words of worth and merit, that will perhaps also inspire and motivate you, as I speak of my late father’s legacy as a survivor of the brutal, cruel, and inhumanly evil years of the Holocaust.

20 years ago, the late president of Israel, Chaim Herzog was the keynote speaker at Israel’s central national Holocaust Remembrance Day ceremony at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. He opened his remarks by saying that perhaps instead of holding large ceremonies with many speeches, it might be better if we allowed the victims to speak. I thought then how dramatic that would be. Imagine if we all sat here today for an hour and just listened to the wind rustling through the trees; if we remained silently ensconced for 60 minutes within our own private thoughts about the incomprehensible and ghastly murder of six million of our kinsmen and women – grandparents and parents, sisters and brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins; husbands, wives and children. But no matter how potent and vivid and remarkable such an exercise might be, I think it would be an insufficient and inadequate response to the events that we have gathered here to commemorate today.

Let me tell you some stories that will illustrate this.

Both of my late parents were Holocaust survivors. But unlike my mother, who survived the vicious brutality of Auschwitz-Birkenau; and the malevolent hatred of the death march from Poland to Germany in the freezing winter of 1944; and the malicious cruelty of the concentration camps in Frankfurt and Ravensbrück - my father’s experiences are best described as atypical. My father was a slave. He was drafted into the Hungarian Forced Labor Battalions in October 1941, when he was 20 years old. He spent most of the next three years clearing forests, digging trenches, paving roads and laying railway lines, starting in what is today Slovakia, through the Ukraine, and deep into the plains of Russia. He and a friend once noticed a security lapse at one of their prison camps, and decided that should an opportunity present itself they would make a run for it. That opportunity did one night present itself and they did indeed escape into the Russian outback. After walking some 30 kilometers on the night of their escape they came to a town, Kalatsch, where they noticed signs had been placed all over, warning the locals against taking in any strangers seeing as the Germans had spies in the area. Soon enough they were found by the local constabulary and questioned as to who they were and what they were doing there. My father replied truthfully; that they were escaped POW’s from Czechoslovakia, and that they were looking to sign up for the Czech Legion. The officer in charge then asked in Russian: “Are you Czech or Slovak?” My father figured that this person was probably cleverer than the others, if he knew the difference between Czechs and Slovaks, and replied: “Ya Yevrey – I am a Jew.” Under the circumstances that was not a smart thing to say. The officer placed his hand on his pistol and replied: “Chto? Ty Yevrey? Skazhi Shma Yisroel!” “What? You’re a Jew? Say Shma Yisroel!” When my father did so, the officer burst into tears and embraced my father, saying that my dad was the first Jew he had met “from the other side.” Who knows, if my father had met some other officer and said the same thing, if he would have lived to see the next 63 seconds, never mind the next 63 years! My father did indeed join the Czech legion; he became a soldier and fought against the Nazis, and finished the war with the rank of Major.

The fact that my father did survive seared into the bedrock of his soul, scorched into the very nucleus of his being, an obligation to actively remember those who perished, an obligation which led him - among other commemorative ventures - to establish the South African National Yad Vashem Memorial at the Etz Chayim Synagogue here in Johannesburg. Dynamic remembrance became the primary motivator of his life. No event in his life would go unmarked by some form of moral action.

I remember one afternoon when I was a child - and this was in the old South Africa - a black man came to our front door, begging for money. My father asked him if he had eaten recently. When he replied that he hadn’t, my father brought him into the house, sat him at the dining room table and proceeded to serve him a meal. After the man had completed his meal, my father gave the man some money and sent him on his way. I marveled at this, and my father, sensing my consternation, said to me: “We were once less than vermin,” (a description he would use often in his life) “and no-one would give us to eat. Now that we have, should we not give to others?” And it wasn’t just a matter of giving food. It was also serving the meal. In the dining room. "ואהבתם את הגר – כי גרים הייתם" “You shall love the stranger,” the Torah instructs us, “for you too were strangers.” Dynamic remembrance, moral action.

The other defining event of my father’s life was the establishment of the State of Israel just a short time after the end of the Holocaust, to where he, my mother and my sister immigrated in March of 1949, and where I was born a few years later. Although he was absent from Israel for 30 years, during which time he served the Jewish community of this country with great dedication, his heart always remained there. Israel was for him the place of Jewish redemption, Jewish independence, and Jewish liberty.

In January 1971 I walked through Tel Aviv’s old Central Bus Station with my father. Those of you who are familiar with that landmark know that it’s an understatement to describe it as not the prettiest place in Tel Aviv. My father turned to me and said: “Look around you – what do you see?” I replied: “What do I see? I see dirt, pollution, noise, beggars and panhandlers, screaming people pushing and shoving.” My father said: “You’re not looking properly. Look, this is קיבוץ גלויות - ingathering of the exiles. This is what the prophets spoke of. Look around you, there are Jews here from Yemen and Romania and Poland and Kazakhstan and Morocco and Hungary and Persia – and they are all free, independent, proud Jews. During the Shoa we were less than vermin, and now look what we have achieved!”

I believe that to be his legacy as a Holocaust survivor. To always recall redemption. To forever cherish Jewish liberty. To perpetually value Jewish freedom. To ceaselessly treasure Jewish independence. To persistently stand up for social justice. To remember dynamically. To constantly be motivated to moral action.

We Jews have tons of mitzvot that are זכר ליציאת מצרים. We are forever recalling our exodus from Egypt thousands of years ago. Not only during the recently completed festival of Pesach which recalls the historical events of the exodus from Egypt, but also daily, when we put on Tefillin - we do so זכר ליציאת מצרים. We wear a Tallit and a Tzitzit זכר ליציאת מצרים. We make Kiddush on Shabbat זכר ליציאת מצרים. We observe festivals זכר ליציאת מצרים. We redeem our firstborn sons - זכר ליציאת מצרים. We are instructed to care for strangers, widows and orphans זכר ליציאת מצרים. Why? What is this constant recollection of an event buried so deeply in the sands of time?

I believe my father’s legacy would answer that upon our exodus from Egypt we achieved our redemption, we gained our liberty, we obtained our freedom, we were granted our independence. So that Jews after the exodus could from then on be just that, free, liberated, independent, Jews. So that they can freely put on their Tefillin and Tallit and Tzitzit. So that they can openly, in every place on God’s earth, keep their laws and customs, and say Kiddush and observe their festivals. So that a Jew, even when on the run from his oppressors in the bitterly cold snow-laden plains of Russia, when apprehended and asked his identity could say "עברי אנכי" – “Ya Yevrey”- “I am a Jew.” So too after the Holocaust, Jews who had been “less than vermin” once again were liberated, free, independent, strong, proud and living in their own land, with their own freely and democratically elected government, never again to be üntermentschen or dhimmi, never again to be dependent for protection upon the whim, caprice or grace of others.

Simon Wiesenthal, who my father brought to this country in 1969 as a guest of the South African National Yad Vashem Memorial, once described the following scenario: “When we come to the other world and meet the millions of Jews who died in the camps and they ask us, ‘What have you done?,’ there will be many answers. One will say, ‘I became a jeweler.’ Another will say, ‘I have been a successful banker.’ Another will say, ‘I built houses.’ But, said Simon Wiesenthal, I will say, ‘I did not forget you’."

I imagine that my father too will by now have said to them, “I did not forget you.” And then he might also have added: “I undertook to do things to honor your memory. I cared for the poor and I tended the sick, I raised up the downtrodden and I taught the uneducated, I supported the weak and fed the hungry and championed justice – all in your memory.”

In summation let me focus on the wonderful young men and women who are here today, who are all me - 39 years ago, and who are now - in keeping with the theme of this ceremony - the “Next Generation” to whom the torch of Holocaust remembrance is being passed.

What are you to do with this memory?

מסכת סוכה דף מ"א ע"א: מנלן דעבדינן זכר למקדש? א"ר יוחנן: דאמר קרא (ירמיהו ל:יז) "כי אעלה ארוכה לך וממכותיך ארפאך נאם ה' כי נדחה קראו לך, ציון היא, דורש אין לה." דורש אין לה? מכלל דבעיא דרישה!

Sukkah 41a: From where do we know that we must perform deeds in memory of the destruction of the temple? R. Yochanan replied: Since scripture says (Jer: 30:17): "For I will restore health unto you, and I will heal your wounds, says the Lord, because they have called you an outcast. She is Zion; there is no-one who cares for her." There is no-one who cares for her, implies that deeds be done so that she is cared for.

What are you, the members of the “Next Generation” to do with this “Torch of Holocaust Remembrance” that the theme of this ceremony passes on to you?

I’ll tell you. Always recall Jewish redemption and relentlessly cherish human liberty; constantly value Jewish freedom and tirelessly treasure everyone’s independence; and vigorously, vigorously pursue true moral action.

That is the legacy left by my father, Joseph Jacob Fogel: Rabbi, Mentor, Soldier, Humanitarian, Zionist; Holocaust Survivor.

What we said...

Shuli's Eulogy

Dearest Dad,

I am so very deeply and profoundly sad that you are gone, and I already miss you so much. And I will miss so much our weekly “How are you, Dad?” “Good!!!” – Which was always your response, no matter how you were feeling! And I will miss all our e – mails where you would fill me in on all the family news, on all your comings and goings, where you would so often instruct me to write a check for this and that one’s birthday, or anniversary, or bar mitzvah, or wedding, always, ALWAYS remembering all the important events in our lives – you had an incredible memory, and an exceptional ability to make all of us feel so special! And not only us, your family, but many other people who have told me over the and over again what an amazing influence you have been in their lives! I have traveled all over the world, and wherever I meet people whose lives you have touched, they always remember you so strongly, so positively, so fondly and with great love and admiration.

I feel like we, your children, are so lucky and privileged to have been raised by you and Mom. You have taught us so much by your example in how to relate to others, how to overcome life’s challenges, how to always move forward positively, how to be filled with acceptance and gratitude for the good things in life, and how to know that “nothing happens haphazardly”.

You have taught us about the importance of family! Even as young children, we were always amazed at how you cared for your own parents! And then we watched with admiration as you lovingly and passionately cared for and looked after all your brothers and sisters throughout your life – what a shining example you have been to us in how to care for family!

Dad, you taught us not to be afraid… To “moenie worry nie”. You had such strong faith that things will work out, that Hakadosh Baruch Hu will “see to it”. You were always so positive and optimistic. Even in bad times, you had such strong, unshakeable belief, that that too was and will remain an inspiration to us all. How often you said to me, Dad, in one of the many languages you knew “Alles sal regkom”, and when you believed it, I believed it!

Dad, I so enjoyed helping you with your book “NHH” – how many faxes and letters and note, and conversations and revisions went back and forth between us?!! And what a joyful project it was to work on it together! And what a gift it was to us, your children, and your grandchildren that you wrote it! What an everlasting treasure your book and your stories are to all of us!

And you taught us to do acts of charity and loving kindness, you never missed an opportunity to help someone in need – or to contribute to a charity or a cause you believed in , another shining example that you have passed on to us and our children.

"כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאודת והעיקר לא לפחד כלל" – that’s what all of us were singing to you, Dad, as you went on your way… Not to be afraid. But you weren’t afraid, Dad, because G-D was with you. He was always at your side, protecting you – and you are with him now.

Thank you for all these gifts you have given to us, Dad! Thank you for your astonishing humanity!

And, Dad, I love you… Love you too… Love you Infinity and a half!


All my love,
Shulie


Nachi's Eulogy

My thoughts today wander to many, many different places and are probably a little disjoint, so please forgive me for that.

I need to give thanks to some people. הכרת הטוב is something that was very important to my Dad. First of all, to Yocheved, Dad’s devoted, caring, loving, affectionate wife friend and partner these past 7 years. You and Dad taught us many things. For me the most fascinating lesson was that there is romance when you are close to and over the age of 80. Watching the two of you lovebirds before Dad’s Parkinson’s disease got the better of him was a vision to behold. You lived it up despite dad’s limitations. Before, you traveled abroad here, there and everywhere. Later you took all your vacations here in Israel. You gave Dad the most wonderful final chapter in his long, full and satisfying life and we are and will be ever grateful to you for it.

Secondly I need to thank all of Dad’s “other” family. אחי, תלמידי, מורי ורבי הרב רפאל בן אשת אבי מורי Raphael, Andy, Eitan, Chaya Rivka, Avraham Yitzchak and little Eliyahu who lit up my father’s eyes every time he saw him. Amira, Moshe, Ora, Yael and Avi. Yoram, Caryn, Gaby, Elian and Yonatan. Ayala and Howard, Rafaela and Yarona. Even though some of you had some initial hesitations about this “shidduch”, once it was done, you accepted it and my Dad, embraced him, respected him and loved him. And he loved you all in return too.

My third thanks are to my youngest brother, Rolly Deang. You are Dad’s youngest son. You cared from him far better than I could have this past year and a half. The long nights in various hospitals where you slept, refusing to leave Dad’s side. The nightly games of scrabble you played together. You have been far more than a caregiver. And I want you to know, here before Abba’s body, that from this day you are now part of our family. We adopt you as one of us. And for as much as it will be within my power, you and your family will not lack for anything.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to my wife Michele and my children. But I would have to stand here for many hours to even begin to scratch the surface of doing justice to that subject, and so I will thank you all in a different forum.

And I thank all of you who have come here to pay Dad your last respects. I see before me an array of people who describe and define the various chapters of his life.

Some years ago I attended a funeral in Efrat at which one of the sons of the deceased said that he never knew what he would say at his father’s funeral. That statement provoked my thoughts and in essence from that day I knew exactly what I would say here. I would repeat something that my father said at the funeral of his lifelong friend Rabbi Gershon Mayer Engel, עליו השלום.

My Dad always identified very strongly with his biblical counterpart Yosef. As Yosef was the בן זקונים in his family so was my Dad. Born on the week of פרשת ויגש, which describes the meeting of Yosef with his father Yaakov, and was thus named Yosef Yaakov, he saw great similarities between his destiny and that of his biblical namesake. At uncle Gershon’s funeral Dad spoke of a Midrash that described בני ישראל traveling through the desert with two ארונות. In one were the tablets from Sinai and the Torah, and in the other, the bones of Yosef.

והיו האומות שואלים מה יש בתוכם? וענו להם בני ישראל "קיים זה את מה שכתוב בזה". –

“And the nations asked what is in these arks? In these coffins?" And Bnei Yisrael answered them saying: "This one fulfilled that which is written in the other one.” That is a proper description of my Dad.

He grew up and developed his worldview in an environment which was Halachic netto. He never got caught up in the practice of pseudo-halacha which is so prevalent in the orthodox Jewish world today. He was, and taught us to be, tolerant and accepting of others. Living for 30 years in Apartheid South Africa, he cared for people of all races and colors. Once, a black beggar came to our front door asking for money. Dad asked: “You want money to go and buy alcohol?” and the beggar, in worthy-of-mention honesty, replied: “of course!” Dad took him into the kitchen, sat him down at the table and served him a meal. When he was done, Dad then gave him money for his booze; teaching us that when you care for someone else, you need to provide for their needs – לקיים מה שנאמר: והעבת תעביתנו די מחסורו אשר יחסר לו.

I often wondered if those poor people in Cape Town who would get blank envelopes of cash every Friday in their mailboxes, did they realize when the envelopes stopped coming after Dad & Mom returned to Israel, where the envelopes had been coming from for all those years?

In closing let me say the following: Throughout his life, as those of you who may have read his auto biography may remember, Dad had a דרך. A clear and very well defined pathway - a דרך ישרה - which was both a straight road as well as a correct path. He had an astounding sense of what was right and just and correct. Sometimes it would aggravate me, I confess.

The day after Yom Kippur I came from Efrat to see Dad in hospital in Netanya. He almost immediately sent me to the apartment to find two envelopes in his desk drawer, to “take care” of them. When I got there I discovered that one was for צדקה and one for the ועד בית. Seeing as he had started to pay what he owed – and he always paid ahead, not behind – it needed to be taken care of immediately. That’s how it was.

Dad was a Zionist in the truest and purest sense of the word. He loved being here. He never ceased to be amazed by what the Jewish people have achieved here. And he was overjoyed to be present and the ברית מילה and פדיון הבן of his second great-grandson, to celebrate דור רביעי ישובו הנה – and to witness the presence of four generations of Fogels here in Israel.

For his 80th birthday we kids gave Dad a paper cut family tree. Into it was cut out a פסוק, which in all of תנ"ך, is that special, single one that defines Dad’s essence. In it, the prophet Micha says:
הגיד לך אדם מה טוב ומה ה' דורש ממך, כי אם עשות משפט ואהבת חסד והצנע לכת עם אלוהיך.
Rest in peace Dad. Give our love to Mommy.
תהא נשמתך צרורה בצרור החיים – ואין לך עוד חלק עם החיים.
המקום ינחם אותנו בתוך שאר אבלי ציון וירושלים.



Ilan's Eulogy


"הגיד לך אדם מה טוב ומה ה' דורש ממך כי אם עשות משפט, ואהבת חסד, והצנע לכת עם אלוקיך"
(מיכה)


Dad,

I remember the very first time I read this פסוק and the epiphany I felt, coming from the sciences, at what truly appeared to be the genetic code of my Dad, כתוב במפורש בתנ"ך.

A man so just and honest, a man who embraced חסד, and a man of total and pure humility.

You had so different a perspective of the world than most of us. You took nothing for granted. You found inspiration in תפילה each and every day – as if discovering new depth and new meaning in the very תפילות that challenge so many of us with their regularity.

Money and material things had little meaning to you. You were always שמח בחלקך, you spent most the years of your life giving to, and providing for others.

I remember as a child when financially things were difficult for us; you were still מקפיד to take the מעשר from your salary for צדקה. And even then, you always emphasized to us, as the doorbell rang and rang – כל הפושט יד, נותנים לו.

You set up קרן שם טוב which has provided for, and continues to provide for those in need – all while maintaining their dignity in the process. And Dad, I must confess that I also knew of another חסד that I learned of back in 1978 and that only at this time of הספד would it be appropriate to share. How you would go in the dark of night to put money in the mailboxes of needy widows in Sea Point – truly חסד של אמת.

Yourאמונה and ביטחון בה' was absolute and unwavering. It carried you through the שואה, through all the challenges of the הקמת המדינה, and really through any challenges or adversity that you faced. And in fact, even when things appeared bad, you steadfastly held by your NHH motto – Nothing Happens Haphazardly. And even as we, your kids, and for this I ask סליחה, sometimes rolled our eyes – you were NEVER wrong. Not even once.

You were a man of great tolerance. I believe this is how you drew thousands, and I mean literally thousands, of people to you, and closer to G-D. You taught by example. You did not judge. And this gave those around you the space to learn at their own pace and in their own time.

Your אהבת הארץ was pure as it was true. You awoke every day, and I mean every day, delighting in each tree you saw planted here בארצנו. You reveled in each apartment block that went up. The craziness of people around you here in Israel was also of הנאה to you -. חוצפה שבחוצפה - you would say it - was all part of the תהליך of the גאולה.
You were ever aware of the depth from which you arose, and the miracle of being an עם חפשי בארצנו. As you always quoted from "שיר המעלות": "בשוב ה' את שיבת ציון היינו כחולמים".

Your late mother, הי"ד, always wanted you to become a 'רב'. Little did she know of the depth of knowledge that you would develop over the years. You knew the תורה, Baal Peh. You could quote the משנה, גמרא and הלכה by דף and עמוד. And you could always answer any שאלה any of us had. You may not have been a Chabadnick but you indeed achieved חכמה, בינה and דעת.


But your greatest quality, I believe, and the one you will most be remembered for, was your צניעות. You were a man of such incredible humility, so aware of your place in the greater universe, and ever cognizant of the words from "מודים": "על ניסיך שבכל יום עמנו, ועל נפלאותיך וטובותיך שבכל עת, ערב, ובוקר, וצהרים..."

"מה שהאלוקים הוא לעולם,
ההורים הם לילדיהם."

You have left us an incredible legacy that I hope we will be worthy of passing on to our children.
You have now gone to join Mom ז"ל, but you will ever be with us. As I have continued to include אימי מורתי in my ברכת המזון, I will continue to include אבי מורי.

Know also that your Cheved, you wonderful, warm, loving, caring Cheved, will remain our Cheved – as she has been throughout my life.

The final words we sang to you as your נשמה left your גוף were:
"כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאוד, והעיקר לא לפחד כלל", and you never did. Your אמונה בה' never faltered.

As you go on your final journey, I am reminded of two things you said, that I will always associate with travel.

As a little boy, I remember that whenever the plane turned on to the runway, you would exclaim: "דרך המלך".

As you go on your final דרך המלך, I bid you farewell with the very wish you always give me when we part:

"צאתך לשלום, ובואך לשלום"

Naama's Eulogy

Our dear Sabba,

You taught us about our roots: You taught us who we are, where we came from, and who our family is. And you wrote us a book so we wouldn’t forget it.

You taught us Ahavat Habriot אהבת הבריות and that "דרך ארץ קדמה לתורה".

You did for others in the community.

You were charitable בגלוי ובסתר, always helping those in need. חסד you taught us.

And we learned from you about יראת שמיים. Despite the hardship in your life, the tragedy of losing family in the Shoah, you never stopped believing. You were proud to live in Israel, saw it as a נס גלוי that we were all afforded through the מסירות נפש of others.

One of your favorite זמירות on Shabbat was "כי אשמרה שבת א-ל ישמרני/אות היא לעולמי עד בינו וביני". - “what a great deal, what a bargain”, you told me once.

Your favorite Haftara was the Haftara of Shabbat Hagadol (Malachi 3):

"הביאו טרף בביתי ובחנוני נא בזאת", Hashem says,

"אם לא אפתח לכם את ארובות השמיים והריקותי לכם ברכה עד בלי די".

"ובחנוני נא" – with the hand motion.

You always believed that Hashem will provide.

And you taught us Torah, Sabba.

You learned so much and shared with us פניני תורה that we’ll always remember.

You asked me once to read aloud what Rashi says about Noach:

"יש מרבותינו שדרשו אותו לשבח ויש שדרשו אותו לגנאי"

Those שדרשו אותו לשבח – those are רבותינו, you explained. But those שדרשו אותו לגנאי – Rashi doesn’t say that they are רבותינו. Those are just others: "יש שדרשו אותו לגנאי".

You enjoyed Rabbi Elon’s shiur so much. I don’t think he knows that you’re his biggest fan.

Just two weeks ago you opened your Siddur to פרקי אבות Pirkei Avot and pointed out to me that it says "סייג לחכמה-שתיקה"; therefore שתיקה, you said with a chuckle, is not חכמה.

You always did מצוות with הידור.

Sabba, You also taught us humor, and only those who know you can truly appreciate dialogues like:

-“How are you?”

-“ככה”

-“Nu, אשרי העם שככה לו”

Or when you were Rabbi in South Africa, and people used to say “baei dankie” – Thank you in Afrikaans, and you’d reply “why must I buy a donkey?, I have got a car”.

And my all-time favorite, which I only heard fairly recently: When Zar Nikolai was, well, Czar, he commanded that whenever he visited a town, the bells in the town’s bell-tower should be sounded. Once Czar Nikolai visited a town, but there were no bells. So the Czar sent a messenger to the man in charge of the bell (Sabba told me the official title of the man, in a foreign language; I don’t remember), to ask him why he didn’t sound the bell. The man replied: “You want to know why we didn’t sound the bell? there are 5 reasons”. “Lets hear them,” said the Czar. “Well,” said the man, “The first reason is that we have no bell.” So the Czar said, “ok, I don’t need to hear the other 4 reasons….”

[A note to family: Sabba told this joke with such a straight face. Daddy and I just plutzed when he told us. We weren’t expecting to hear a joke that we hadn’t heard before…And you know how Sabba told jokes, with the faces and the hand motions. It was just hilarious].

And how we enjoyed laughing with you, especially during "ואמרתם זבח פסח".

[Another note to family: there is nothing inherently funny about that part of the Haggada. One year when we had Seder together – I don’t even remember when it was, we got to this Piyyut and Chanan said those two words “Zevach Pessach”, really loudly, and pronouncing the “Ch” sound very distinctively. Sabba just burst into laughter, and it’s been a thing ever since. In fact, sometimes, out of the blue, when Chanan would be visiting, Sabba would look at him, say “Zevach”, and laugh.]

And you taught us about family, Sabba, and how fortunate we are to have each other and be together. We’ve all spent Shabbatot and Chagim with you Sabba – on one side of the world or the other.

We ha the best time, always parting wanting more.

With the younger children you played “one potato”, and “en, den, dei, nus”, and “he caught him, he brought him…. Hum hum hum”.

I remember how you sat on the carpet teaching us how to play with nuts on Pessach.

You sent us all birthday cards – spent forever in card shops, I heard.

And chag sameach calls.

And that, Sabba, is what you taught us: you didn’t only teach us our roots, Tora, יראת שמיים, אהבת הבריות, the importance of family – you taught us kindness, how to be kind to all; compassion, toward the less fortunate; and generosity, towards strangers as well as family.

And this isn’t even מחצית שבחו.

I stand here in awe of you Sabba. I am who I am today because of you, and those who know me know how much this is true.

בצילך חסינו, Sabba. We’ve been walking in your shadow and I hope we’ll be able to walk in your footsteps.

And so, for my brother “The General”, my sister “Gribeleh”, myself – named for your mother; for Talya and Aviva, Judy, Naomi, Amichai, Adin, and Maya, and Paul and Meytal, and Max and Ivri--- I’d like to play some role reversal:

We’ll say: “We love you, Sabba”

You would reply: “I love you too”

And we’d respond: “We love you more”.