Keith's Eulogy for Dad

Namaste!

I guess I'm that 'independent-minded' son who my sister, Claudia, referred to earlier. I'm the one who went furthest away, across those seven seas, traveling beyond, and opened up the larger world outside for my father and family.

In Nepal, Nepalis use the word, "Namaste", to greet each other. Like Hebrew, Nepali is based on a sacred language. The word Namaste, in its depth, means 'I bow down to the g-d within you'. Now, of course, that isn't exactly how it's used in everyday life, but this is its richer, more historical, religious meaning.

And today, we are gathered here to honor my father and 'bow down' to the spark of divinity that was my father. The godliness that was within him.

I first met that spark when I was born in Newfoundland, Canada and opened my eyes to see my father. I was either very fortunate or blessed by good karma to be born as my father's son and into this family. In fact, my father actually brought me into this world as he was the only doctor on the air force base where I was born.

In this, as in so many other ways, my Dad was ahead of his time, because my birth was photographed by both my mother and father. My Dad took movies and my Mom took slides. As Bruce said, Dad loved to record every moment of our lives. I guess, in this way, my birth was the original reality TV show!

Although I was the second son, second child, I took my time getting married. It seemed a rather large decision, one that I needed to take my time to make sure I got it right and chose wisely.

When Shakun and I decided to get married some twenty years ago in Kathmandu, there were no rabbis nearby to ask to officiate the ceremony. So, I looked up the traditional Jewish rules regarding marriage before our suburban society created its own modern forms. According to ancient times and traditions, there were only three requirements for a Jewish wedding: to make a public declaration, to exchange something of value and, of course, to spend the night together.

Since my father had birthed me, it seemed only natural that the most appropriate person to officiate our wedding ceremony was my Dad. Shakun and I wrote the service and my best friend, who I traveled the world with, came. I was very fortunate that my whole family travelled to Kathmandu to attend our marriage and, as you can imagine, my father was extremely proud to serve as our religious guide.

Then, after our children were born, Shakun and I decided to have the boys' bar mitzvahs in Israel. Once again, I was dragging my family around the world, as they were becoming accustomed to. As Bruce remembered earlier in his image of he and Dad walking together in Jerusalem, most of my family came to share this beautiful event in our family's life.

Now, just a few weeks ago, 55 years to the day I was born, March 5th, 2009, as you know, my father fell at night which precipitated his death. I was already on my way to the States, flying over the Gulf or the Atlantic Ocean at the time he fell, to spend Spring break with Josh & Ezra while seeing Mom and Dad in Florida. Of course all of our plans changed that night.

But I consider myself extremely fortunate, my friends in Nepal would say it was a spiritual karmic confluence, that I was on my way to see Dad when he fell. In every way, I feel extremely blessed that I could share these past three weeks with him.

And, since I first saw the spark of divinity in my father's eyes when I was born, it seemed right that I should be there with him at the time when the light of his eyes departed. For me, it was a spiritual gift to have this time with my father in the hospital and hospice. For, besides the birth of my three children, when their eyes first opened, there is no more sacred time in life than death.

All of us, Bruce, Claudia, Avery and I were blessed to have this time with Dad these past few weeks, and to be near Mom during this passage.

There was an etching that was in my parents' home when we were growing up. For some reason, I was always attracted to that lithograph by Ben Shahn. It was titled, "And, one must have been beside the dead and dying." The words come from a Ranier Marie Rilke prose poem. Rilke was a young man, 27, I think, and he was writing about how little he had accomplished in life at that time. He was reflecting on the many things he must do in life, travel, emotions, experiences, before he could write a single line of verse, of poetry. Shahn turned these thoughts of Rilke into a beautiful series of lithographs. My parents still have the one titled, "Beside the dying" in their home. We have a copy in our home in Kathmandu, as well. Since I was a child, this drawing of a black man's head, stretched back, his eyes closed, the spark of life extinguished spoke to me.

Dad, this poem, this one's for you...

[then I read the poem, "Within Beyond", that I wrote the night Dad died, which is included down below Josh & Ezra's eulogies...]

Ezra's Eulogy for 'Poppa'

Dear Poppa,

As I have come to terms with your passing, I have tried to make sense of it all.

I have tried to understand why (how) I had to walk away from your bed knowing that I would probably never be with you again.

I tried to understand how I was supposed to say goodbye to you. You, Poppa, who since the moment I was born have been a self-evident truth. I always knew somewhere out there in this wide and, at times, scarey world you were there.

I have tried to understand how this world can take away you, my grandfather, from us who we hold you so dear.

I have tried to understand how your soul was here sixteen years ago, when I was born, how you were here ten years ago, one year ago, but not tomorrow...

Poppa, I will never know the answers to these questions, but what I do know is that I take comfort knowing that you have become part of something larger and more meaningful than any position we hold here on Earth, a place in our hearts.

Thank you, Poppa, for all the wisdom you have imparted to me.

Thank you, Poppa, for all those jokes and witty descriptions.

Thank you, Poppa, for all those great homemade meals cooked by Grammy you shared with me.

Thank you, Poppa, for giving me my father who has given me my mother who has given me my brother and sister.

Thank you for giving me my aunts and uncle who have given me my cousins.

Thank you for giving me this family.

Thank you for giving me all these wonderful friends of yours.

And, most of all, thank you for giving me all these years of love and support.

I have always dreamed of seeing your twinkling blue eyes at my graduation and I promise that after I look out and find Grammy's beautiful and elegant figure, I will look up to see you.

I love you, Poppa, my grandfather.

Joshua's Eulogy for 'Poppa'

It's hard to say something for someone who you loved and now is gone from the physical world. You want to say everything that he meant for you, but you also want to keep it short enough to respect the great and wonderful life he had.

To me, Poppa will always stay in my heart because he accepted my mother. He accepted what she meant to his son and three grandchildren. He did not look for the differences or similarities we had from the rest of his grandchildren, but instead brought us all together under his dream of a loving family.

And, even with all of our differences and similarities, the one wife, four children, ten grandchildren did not need this moment to come together; instead, Poppa, you have been the architect, creator and keystone of our family. However, your passing does not mean our tall building will collapse as you gave each of us the abilities, health and confidence to know that we can carry on the togetherness of our family.

We gather here today at the Keystone state of America before we go our separate ways to our own separate lives, but because of you, Poppa, we leave knowing that we can always count on each other for support and love. We are family.

Thank-you and rest in peace, Poppa. We love you.

The Beyond Within

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

The Beyond Within: A Son's Prayer


Go in peace, my great Father.

Travel beyond the light and shadows.

As this passage has ended.

Your next journey just begun.

We can never understand this mysterious life

Or what comes for us after death.

Yet as your spirit passes through that unseen

Gateless gate,

Remember to leave some crumbs along the way,

So your children, family and friends can easily follow,

Each in our own time.

Please don’t mind if we don't rush,

Because we each have a bit more to do in this

Fragrant, passing, deceptively attractive world

We (temporarily) call ‘home’.

I know we won’t get lost along the way…

As our soul knows where to find you.

In that every place where the essence of being waits without time,

For each other.

Though, if somehow we forget to remind ourselves

That we, too, are coming,

One day. Alone. Like you.

Crossing to the other side.

We know that you will find us.

Beyond logic or prayers.

As the mystics say, ‘this is the nature of love...’

Within beyond.

Shimmering faintly in the full dark emptiness

We see every night above the Himalaya.

There for all to see,

And observe.

And learn from…

As your passage has taught us

That you will never be very far away, Dad.

Always among us

Nearby, within the beyond

The beyond within.

Beyond the Beyond: A Son's Prayer

two weeks ago, on march 6th, while i was flying across the atlantic to the states, my dad took a serious fall and hit his head in the bath about 3 am in the night. the ambulance came in the middle of the night to take him to the emergency room of a nearby hospital, as he was bleeding badly from the side of his head. since then, dad has been in intensive care continuously.

throughout these two weeks, my dad has been only slightly and occasionally conscious. while i've been in the room with him, at the best, he will open an eager, longing eye and smile faintly, but then quickly, easily, slips back to the depths of sleep and that nebulous world beyond tiredness or awareness.

now, this past week, dad's been suffering from pneumonia and a deep leg thrombosis. because of these additional complications, the medical staff have intubated him (providing air to his lungs) and opened a main line for dopamine (to balance his pulse and increase his heart rate).

yet my father is often agitated, restless, twisting around in the hospital bed and grimacing. after over two weeks horizontal, even at the tender mercies of the (often) kind-hearted staff, with tubes protruding from his mouth, his chest and other parts of his body, he must be terribly uncomfortable.

he is, no doubt, aware that he cannot speak or articulate his thoughts, his fears or his feelings and, therefore, must be so hurt and isolated as he watches the doctors and nurses come and go while his body appears to weaken around him.

then, because there is so much pain, the staff give him increasing doses of morphine and other pain-killers which sedate him, rest him and cause him to lose track of where he is and how much he wants to be well again, free from these constraints and with us standing, watching someone else suffer so on that bed...

in many ways, we realize that dad is too far beyond to come back in a way that we would want for him (or he for himself). so, we are waiting to see how his treatment goes this week, and whether there is any slight chance of a recovery -- but, honestly, it doesn't look good.

as you can imagine, it's not easy for any of us -- especially, priscilla, my mom, who will have to make some of the decisions about how much life support and further medical treatment to continue to offer dad in the coming days.

but, as we know, have seen, and been always taught, life doesn't often end easily, nor do any of us ever escape the travails and pains of mortal suffering, either our own or those we profoundly love...

suffering remains the constant in our daily lives, transformed and released for many by profound means of meditation, for some by the transubstantiation, for others by deep ritual prayer or the constant repetition of a sacred name of g-d.

yet, in all manners and languages, these are forms by which we bless and sanctify the ineluctable passage of the body and soul as they return to the great and unknowable universal, immutable and constant source from which we originally came.

and to where we each, in our own way, in our own time, return.

bless you, dad, for all of your love, care and kindness with which you protected us for these many decades. some times it was more than we could absorb, some times more than we needed, but it was always from your devotion to us, your children, to shield us from the raw realities of the world outside.

you have done your work well. know, as you go, that we are all well. your wife taken care of, your children with loving partners secure in this world. your ten grandchildren each making their way, sometimes lost and confused, as the world can be a hard and uncertain world, yet often with joy and enthusiasm on their faces, as the world can be a delightful and charming passage -- but always loved and protected, as you taught us, by their parents and friends.

go in peace, my great father.

travel beyond now.

it is time for your next journey.

your next adventure in this mystery of life

and what comes after death.

yet as you go through that gateless gate,

remember to leave some crumbs along the way,

so we can easily follow, in our own time.

we won't rush, however,

because we know where to find you.

and, if not, if somehow we forget what we learned once,

we know that you will find us.

somehow.

i believe.

as that is the nature of love...

beyond beyond.

shimmering faintly in the darkness

we see every night above the himalaya.

there for all of us to see,

and observe.

you will never be very far away.

beyond the beyond.

Emily Dickinson, "Death"

On my father's latest illness as he lies for two weeks now in an ICU hospital bed still unable to come back to consciousness, weakened in body and mind, holding on to his 82 years of a full and worldly life, while this crisis takes its toll day by day.

In the end, we are all sweet forms of fruit ripening on the tree of time. Lovely, luscious and lustrous while we are in the sun. Yet, alas, the nocturnal rays of moonlight will follow day as night and the crepuscular rays constantly measure the length of our shadowy, amorphous, temporary time here on Mother Earth.

------------------------------------------------------------

Emily Dickinson, "Death"


Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Ansel Adams Nature Quotes

"What I call the Nature Scene -- just nature -- is a symbol of many things with a never ending potential."

"The world of stone and space and sky reveals to all people the patterns of eternity."

"I did meet with people in the mountains who matched their power and dignity, not because they could conquer peaks, but because they seemed to understand and become part of the mystery."


Ansel Adams Quotes
From an Ansel Adams Georgia O'Keeffe Exhibition