by Avi Weisberg
Stories abound of the uniqueness of Dad’s character; what we’ve just heard is a drop in the collective bucket of the boundless ocean of stories that everyone here could tell; I myself could go on for hours, but, I can just imagine Dad shifting uncomfortably in his seat and giving me a sideways glance at the prospect of any long-winded speeches, so out of respect for his memory I will look forward to sharing and hearing more and more of those stories with all of you in the coming days, weeks, months, and years.
In the mean time, I will share just a couple of my favorites.
Dad’s unmatched generosity and his ability to sense and alleviate pain was uncanny. I remember once when I was young, Dad and I were in the car on the way back from Tae Kwon Do practice. Standing at the bottom of the exit ramp was a roughly dressed man holding a sign: “Will work for food.”
A few minutes after we got home, I walked in to the kitchen to find Dad, packing groceries into a large paper bag. He picked up the bag, and as he headed towards the door, I asked, “Dad, where are you going?” He paused for half a second, looked at me, and quietly said, “think about it.”
The summers in Connecticut are also a rich mine for memories of Dad; on Circle Beach he and Mom, along with our beloved neighbors, built a haven of peace and tranquility. He often commented on “the greens and the blues”…gazing out the back window at the undulating greens of the marshes, a heron pecking through the grasses for food…and turning around to reflect on the vast blue expanse of the Long Island Sound.
The image of Dad swimming across the east river, climbing up the banks on the opposite side, and walking out, a lone figure set strikingly against the endless grasses of the marshlands….anyone who saw that scene witnessed a man truly at peace.
Of course, Dad eschewed all fancy gear, and despite my best efforts to outfit him, in this case in the latest water-compatible footgear, he was most happy with, as he put it, “a ratty old pair of sneakers”.
These idyllic scenes became the inspiration for the prehistoric landscapes in many of Dad’s paintings, one of which hangs proudly outside my bedroom door in Baltimore—this one with a few diplodocosus and brontosauruses peacefully grazing in the aforementioned grasslands.
Who can forget the Friday night post-Shabbat dinner ritual of settling into the corner and reading aloud the first lines of one of his favorite books, Lost Horizon.
Basketball games pitting the old turks against the young whippersnappers, the Guilford handycraft fair, low tide sports sessions, and weekly Shabbat morning walks to the old red shack followed by poetry readings at lunch and a stop at the Crains’ to say hello…all of these and more are memories woven around Connecticut with Dad at their core.
Throughout his life, and particularly in the last weeks and days of his life, Dad was clear that he harbored no fear of what was to come. No anxiety, no trepidation accompanied the beginning of the next stage that was soon to unfold in his soul’s journey.
One thing that he did comment on, though, was the feeling that he was leaving us behind. That he would not see his grandchildren, those borne and those yet to come into our world….to teach them and see them grow. That they would not have a chance to know their grandfather.
Dad: in the final days of your life I told you this. And I say it now again, that this, your greatest concern, will not come to pass: As you taught us, all of us…as you invested all of your being in instilling in those around you, friends and family alike, your values, whether in the classroom or in the home, these values live on. And what a magnificent picture of his or her grandfather will every one of your grandchildren come to know.
In Judaism, many people have the tradition of reciting Tehillim, or selected chapters from the book of Psalms, for a loved one who is ill; through this recitation we hope to ease their suffering and bring them peace.
And so, throughout the months of Dad’s illness, we would recite four specific chapters on a daily basis, always with the deepest hope that God would hear our fervent prayers and send the much-hoped for relief and peace.
This past Wednesday night, my oldest brother Jonathan suggested, that the following day we all do the recitation of our psalms together, at the same time; he and his family in Jerusalem at the kotel, the western wall, the holiest extant site in Judaism, and the rest of us wherever we found ourselves at that time.
At about 1140 I called my sister Dina who was in Cincinnati with my Mom, and she reported that Dad's situation was stable, that he was breathing peacefully and that they were about to begin. Jonathan and the family had already begun, and so I hung up and started myself.
I imagined Jonathan, his wife Galia, their kids Ginat, Tal, Daniel and Eli, in Jerusalem at the kotel. I saw Oren and Tamara and their daughter Ma’ayan on their way to Cincinnati, my brother in law Andrew and their children Naomi and Matthew, Mom and Dina sitting by Dad’s side, and, finally, Dad, lying in his bed as I last remembered him when I left just a few days before.
The feeling of unity across vast distance was palpable; all of us united in asking God for mercy and relief, for calm and for peace.
I finished and put my siddur, my prayer book, away and returned to my work.
Fifteen minutes later the phone at my desk rang.
It was Mom, quietly telling me that….as we were all reciting our fervent prayers for Dad’s wellbeing….our Dad, our rock…our moral compass… our steady hand, our teacher, half of the pair that had guided us all to where we all are today….
It appears that at the very moment we finished our prayers,
our Dad,
our Dad had died.
Our love, borne by our prayers, escorted Dad through, as Aunt Sharon so beautifully put it, his peaceful transition to the next world.
Dad, we will miss you. But each time we do a mitzvah, a good deed, each time we capture a bug in the house and safely release him (or her) outside with your ingenious “bug catching device” (a plastic cup and piece of cardboard), each time we drop what we’re doing to run to help a friend or a family member, or tell a silly joke at just the right time, Dad your spirit will live on through us. Through all of us.
EULOGIES
by Oren Weisberg
I’ll start by saying that when it came to “speeches” Dad gave a few rules of thumb. In my mind here is the list:
First, keep it short.
Second, have a clear and inspiring message.
Third, keep it short.
Fourth, throw some humor in there.
And fifth, keep it short.
I’ll do my best.
Some of my most memorable times with Dad had to do with walks we would take together (and it is safe to say that we all had these experiences with Dad).
My earliest memories are of walks on Shabbat as we trekked to services Saturday morning. Whether it was to HUC, the Jewish Home for the Aged when it was located on Paddock Road, B’nai Tzedeck when they were located at the old JCC or Chabbad in Roselawn we would have big chunks of time together- to just talk.
So what did we talk about? When I was young I remember mostly complaining about having to walk and not being carried. And as a distraction- Dad would make up great stories on the spot. We had familiar characters that re-occurred such as Mr. Square-top, Mrs. Roundbottom and Lolita Va-va-voom. And my favorites: Who-Dunnits. Stories where we had to figure out who committed some crime (don’t worry all were G rated).
Something Dad enjoyed was hearing every aspect of a book before reading it and hearing every detail of a movie before seeing it. That gave us plenty of conversation material as I got older. Especially because Dad was happy to hear about whatever slap-stick movie I had seen. I remember laughing vigorously out loud with him as I recounted some (what I considered to be) funny movie. He not only enjoyed humor but also appreciated the happiness I was getting from recounting each and every joke.
When I was older the topics of conversation shifted as we talked about my school, work and hobbies, and his research, courses and ideas. We talked about history, politics, history and politics, religion, sports, G-d, spirituality….
As an example:
Me: “Dad, what is the meaning of life?”
Dad: “Growing closer to G-d.”
Me: “How do we do that?”
Dad: “By growing yourself spiritually and by helping others.”
And these were lessons he lived by. Boy, I’m going to miss those walks….
Dad loved to camp. One memorable experience was camping in Peebles, OH (southeast of Cincinnati) some time in the early 70s. It was October and we kids were all happily ensconced in a tent with our dog Lisa. Mom and Dad were “romantically” sleeping under the stars. Needless to say I was surprised when we were awoken in the middle of the night by Mom and Dad. It turns out it was snowing- and fairly hard as I recall. So much for romance…. I think that was the last time we got Mom to camp out….
We would often take trips in the area- we especially enjoyed some of the Kentucky State Parks: Mammoth Caves, General Butler, Big Bone Lick, Natural Bridge. After the snowing fiasco, we would stay in a lodge, have Shabbat dinner on Friday night, say the morning service on Saturday morning together and then we would head off on a hike. He was quick to point out small things of beauty, such as a flower or how a leaf reflected light as much as he would marvel at great vistas and sunsets.
He saw G-d’s hands in all of these things and never tired of soaking in the beauty of G-d’s creations.
Dad also loved Israel and we had many adventures there as well.
One of my earliest memories was of hiking in Ein Bokek on the Dead Sea in Israel in 1973. I remember being very tired (and a little cranky) towards the end of the hike. Dad was able to distract me beautifully by pulling out the pun: Ein bokek, aval yesh bo cookie! After that I was able to finish the hike laughing all the way.
We took hikes around Jerusalem, we took hikes at the monastery of Mar Sava, the Galil, and the Golan. After I graduated college I remember a point when I was trying to figure out which direction to head in professionally. The choices were varied. Dad took me to the Tayelet in J’m and while overlooking the old City I asked him for advice. His response, “Do whatever makes you happy.” He certainly did in his life- he loved teaching, he loved history, he loved yahadut- Judaism, he loved our family. He was someone who lived out his convictions.
I would like to take a moment to address Ma’ayan- our 11 month old daughter: I look forward to taking hikes and enjoying nature together. I’m happy to discuss all aspects of life- but will especially look forward to teaching you about your Grandfather- a unique individual who has been a role model par excellence and a major figure in shaping my life.
Keeping in mind that Dad would not be happy if I didn’t keep this short, I’m going to wrap up.
If I had to summarize Dad I would say he was someone who got life. He understood what it was about and he lived it to its fullest. He did not let things like money, power, titles or ego drive him. Instead, he did what he felt was right and taught us all to strive for the same.
Yehi zichrecha baruch, may your memory be blessed.
by Jonathan Weisberg
I begin writing sitting on an airplane high in the air and faced, as I knew I would be some day with a blank page that I am trying to fill up, trying to summarize the life of a man. The blankness of the page is daunting. After thinking for some time, I realized that this was what Dad must have faced thousands of times in his life. This was the start of his creative process over and over. How did he do it? Did he suffer from writer’s block? Did the words flow freely? I never asked him.
So I had to put down a letter, I’ll start with an “R”, Dad’s letter on his basketball jacket from Ramaz. A talented basketball player, he was starting guard on the team. The head of the cheerleading squad? Ophra.
In later years, during our weekend football games, he always seemed to throw the end-zone bomb just over my head. Run faster next time, always try harder was the message. Another letter, a “C” which he wore on his Columbia University jacket, “lettering” on the track team where he specialized in the relays. A “Y” for his PhD at Yale. Dad studied at an Orthodox Yeshiva, the Jewish Theological Seminary and HUC. Dad believed that in each of these movements, one could find truth and that he could learn something from every person.
Dad was a scholar-athlete and an ecumenicist.
I wrote down a note, the symbol of a sound:
The clicking of the keys of a typewriter. The sound of a word being formed was one which often lulled me to sleep as a child. I can still hear the clickety-clack of the Smith Corona typewriter drifting down from his study on the 3rd floor into my room, located by the back steps. It was Dad’s lullaby and the sound imparted comfort, knowing that he was up there working, thinking, ideas were being committed to paper to become letters, editorials, articles and books.
I scribble a musical note:
Soon we will celebrate the holiday of Purim in which the Megilla is read. This was one of Dad’s favorite holidays. It offered just the right mix of revelry, fun, dancing, prayer, occasional drinking and of course, reading the megilla. For him, singing, cantillating the torah portion or one of the megillas in the synagogue was a skill that he honed and transmitted to a generation of new students.
I sketch a shape:
Dad filled many blank white canvases with paintings. One in particular that comes to mind shows a myriad of shades of green that he observed in the wetlands, contrasted with the blues and whites of the sky. The painting hangs in his beloved Guilford home on the beach.
Well by this time, the letters and notes, symbols and images have begun to fill up the page, and I am frustrated that there is still so much left unsaid.
Years ago, my wife and I, newly married, were doing community work in Africa and two death-related experiences among many extraordinary ones stick out in my mind. In the first one, a member of the community was eulogizing a friend who had just passed away. He said: “How can one summarize a man’s life? It is the books that he read and the people that he knew. “
I confess that this sounded somewhat parsimonious at the time, but re-thinking his words today provides me with inspiration.
About the books: Dad had thousands of volumes of books. Despite loving music and having many interests, Dad had few collections, he drove an old car and fancy clothing was not important to him. Oh, but give him a book and his face would light up, he would hold it gingerly, he would caress it, respectfully explore its pages, and of course, he would read it and savor it.
Not all of Dad’s books were serious and scholarly. For example, starting downstairs, I take a random book off of the shelf. It is The Wind and the Willows. Nearby are eleven different editions in 3 different languages.
On the second floor, there are volumes of journals and scholarly books on shelves in my old bedroom.
Dad’s inner sanctum of books was the attic. The whole floor is filled with scholarly books, books on Judaica, history, and classics. The third floor, originally consisted of two rooms and Dad, with his penchant for the imaginative and romantic, deemed the smaller one “The Bat Cave” and this was a secret hideout where he could be found, taking a nap on Saturday afternoons.
And the larger room, which held more fascination, was filled with more of Dad's handiwork: Cans of thick liquid for making casts of clay tablets, books, projects in various states of construction, and my favorite - an N Scale working train diorama mounted on a proper wooden frame. Simulated grass made out of dyed washcloths, lakes made from that casting goop, roads made of wood and carefully painted.
It
is these two rooms that were combined and the whole area was turned into a vast
study with display cases, shelves and filing cabinets. A clay tablet, a cylinder seal, displaying
some of the earliest wedge-shaped writing known to man, handwritten manuscripts
and scrolls, early printed editions and books of every language and type.
And yet, this is only part of the picture. One of the major parts of Dad’s life, was his spiritual work. Dad had powerful spiritual experiences which became one of the dominant forces in his life and sent him on a decades-long search which took him literally to the far corners of the earth. He left no stone unturned in his pursuit of spiritual advancement.
As a result of this, Dad had extraordinary serenity when it came to the big picture. Why did Dad have to contract a deadly, incurable disease? This was not a problem that made him question the fundamental precepts in which he deeply believed, but only led him to attempt to understand more deeply.
What will I miss about Dad most? Just being able to pick up the phone and consult on anything. Dad and I often discussed bible and interpretations of various texts. Dad loved the idea of entrepreneurship and we conversed often about the goals, challenges and successes of running my own business. Though untrained in business, Dad would often offer up astute and original advice on how to solve a particular management problem.
Before I finish, I must take you back again to Africa to discuss the second experience which becomes poignantly relevant today. One day, I received a phone call in Nairobi. The Italian consul in the coastal Swahili city of Mombasa has a deceased Jewish Italian national. Late 70’s. Blind. Vacationed each year in Malindi. No next of kin. Nobody wants to bring him back to Italy. In Jewish tradition, this man had the status of a Met Mitzvah for whom the obligation of burial is paramount. Many amazing things happened to enable us to bury this stranger in a Jewish cemetery in a strange land but when the burial was over, a sadness came over me.
A man died alone in the world. Total strangers buried him, and could say
nothing about his life.
How different is our bidding farewell to Dad.
Today, a puzzling biblical phrase becomes clear to me. I have read it over many times and it always presented a challenge. It is the phrase:
וימת, ויאסף אל עמיו
A loose translation would be “and he died and was gathered up unto his people” and it appears in the story of the deaths of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. This is a phrase that always seemed strange to me. I never understood what the “gathering up” meant.
Today, as I look out at all of you, I understand what it means. Each one of you was affected somehow by Dad. Some studied with him, some attended his classes, some played basketball with him, many of you heard him chanting in the synagogue or strumming on the guitar, many of you saw his paintings. But even those of you that knew him only casually sensed that they were in the presence of a unique soul. Each of you has gathered up a bit of Dad and gets to keep it forever.
Scholar, Teacher, Rabbi, Athlete, Musician, Artist, Father
יהי זכרך ברוך
May your memory be blessed
Funeral Eulogy
by Dina Weisberg Kramer
I never thought I’d be making a speech like this for my Dad so
soon… a man that was living life to the fullest and just one year ago had a
clean bill of health.
Raised in Manhattan, he married
his Ramaz High School sweetheart and raised a beautiful and loving family. Dad
made the most out of life and he truly appreciated all of the gifts and
blessings G-d had given him. It always seemed to me that he felt like the
luckiest guy in the world.
When we were growing up,
Dad had each of us children choose a special activity to do together. I always
chose painting. We would find a beautiful spot on the beach or in the park and
paint together; it always made me feel special. Although an amateur, Dad himself
painted and drew with talent. I treasured these outings with him.
Dad was
so intelligent and accomplished himself, yet so modest. His acts of kindness
were a true virtue that shaped me- Saying Kaddish for someone who had no one to
say it, picking up trash on the street where he was walking, volunteering with a
boy who had no father in his life. Dad made everyone he spoke to, whether an
esteemed colleague or a toll taker, feel special and cared for. He truly took
the time to listen.
Dad had an exceedingly generous
spirit, not only with material things, but with his time. Dad was always busy
with his work which he loved, the courses he taught, the students he loved to
teach, his research, papers, and other pursuits. He could be busy and
pressured, yet whenever I called on the phone, Dad stopped everything and made
me feel like there was nothing else in this world that he had to do but speak to
me.
He was always eager to hear about all the details
of what was going on in my life. If there was something that interested us, it
interested Dad. In our conversations, he would always ask, "How is the family?"
"How is your work?" "How is the apartment?". Whenever I spoke of having a
party, "Wonderful!" he would say, and I would hear the excitement in his
voice.
He was a truly spiritual and religious man. Neither money nor
status mattered to him and he was always searching for the real truth in things,
not what you would see on the surface. He taught me Gemara and Jewish history
when I was in high school, and during visits home we would learn together. He
had a deep belief in G-d and saw no real conflict in the different denominations
of Judaism and even between religions.
Dad loved
reading the Torah and I can hear his beautiful chanting of Shir Hashirim in the
house many Friday afternoons before Shabbat. He would play guitar and sing songs
to us when we were growing up which play in my mind, like "Michael Row the Boat
Ashore, Hallelujah."
Since I left home for college there have been
countless times I flew back to Cincinnati. Weeks or days before the trip, Dad
would say, "Counting the days 'till I see you!" And every single time, Dad made
it his business to be at the airport waiting for me. He always said how
important it was to greet us at the airport after our travels. Just a few short
weeks ago, Dad felt very weak and we of course planned to take a taxi home from
the airport. But when we got off the plane we were so thrilled to be greeted by
him. He had been eagerly waiting for us, saying that this way he was able to see
us that much sooner.
In the last 16 months, Dad was so happy and excited
to see me in the role of a mother starting to raise my own family, and to watch
the twins growing and developing. I'll never forget how lovingly he looked at my
children when they were together.
Dad was not one to feel sorry for
himself. After learning of his illness, he never said, "Why me?". He had an
unshaken faith, there was a reason for everything. His concern was for us
throughout this whole time.
Over the past number of months, whenever I
would call and hear his voice on the phone, I felt so elated, like I had been
given a tremendous gift to be able to hear his voice and have a conversation
with him. Dad kept his sense of humor throughout this time as well. He would
answer the phone, "Melvin's Crab Joint", or if we were sitting out in the
backyard, "Weisberg Garden Club".
In tribute to my mother, the love of
his life and his strength: Their marriage is an example to all of us. She stayed
by his side, going to appointments, keeping his spirits up, helping him with all
aspects every step of the way, while juggling all of her other obligations. True
to him in every way, her love meant everything to him.
Dad is someone that I hold so precious and so dear. How meaningful and
inspiring his life has been to me, I am sure that in the coming years I will see
more and more of all the wonderful ways he has influenced my life. Dad- a man of
dignity, kindness and sensitivity. So many many sweet memories will always be in
my heart.
Ado-nay natan v'ado-nay lakach, y'hi shem ado-nay
mevorach.
G-d gives and G-d takes back, may G-d's name be blessed.
Eulogy for my Brother
by Richard Weisberg
2/26/12 -- Cincinnati
His middle initial was B. Officially, this stood for our Mom's father's first name, Bernard. But for me B aways stood for Brother. David was a terrific older brother. He introduced me, before I turned 10, to chess, classical music, and Friedrich Nietzsche's amazing wandering hero, Zarathustra. This was in between the fun that always defined our relationship. At ages 12 and 13, my friends and I learned Talmud at his feet, but an hour or so later those same feet were running to catch touchdown passes in Central Park's Sheep Meadow playing grounds. Work and play were David's trademarks, and my friends from those early years still remember my brother's special spirit. Being David's brother brought in those other "B's": basketball, and boy-scouts. David was a varsity high school basketball player and an Eagle Scout. Summertimes we were often at the same camps in the mountains. Here I met Ophra Chill, who starred with David in
the season ending musical at Camp Loon Lake and then on the larger stage of life itself.
Not too much later, the B signified Bridegroom. David and Ophra's storied marriage produced their wonderful children and grand-children. David and I grew even closer with the addition of Cheryl,and then of our own terrific boys,and very recently of our first grand-son, Owen Sy Weisberg. Owen met his great uncle a few months ago at a time when David still had remarkable energy. He had officiated 16 months before at the wedding of Dan and Sara, and now there was this newest Weisberg. David had hoped to attend some day the weddings of Bram, of Benno to Rachel and of Sam to Adina, but these were not meant, alas, to be.
In the end, I realized that was to "B", always, was David as Bequeather. He gave his students, his colleagues, and the scholarly world the gift of his extraordinary mind. He bequeathed to his children a unique sense of closeness to G-d. He bequeathed to all of us the unfathomably good and rich spirit that was -- and is -- his hallmark.
His legacy to me, as my older brother, has extended to all in my circle who were lucky enough to meet him. As the German thinkers he introduced me to so long ago might have said fondly: Bis bald, Brueder, until soon, my brother.
Excerpts from Graveside Eulogy,
by Richard Weisberg
2/27/12 -- Old Montefiore Cemetery
I am an emissary to you from the funeral yesterday in Cincinnati. Some 400 people attended, and each wanted to say something particular about David. Many got to do so, informally, as they extended condolences to us. One lady said she had never met such a "courtly gentleman". I thought that was somehow right, though only of course in part. "Courtly" reminded me that I once saw David play point guard for the Ramaz High School team on the basketball court of Madison Square Garden. But her memory of a man who made everyone feel comfortable in his presence -- and somehow special, too -- added up to "courtly" in the social sense.
In the shadow of our relatives' gravesites here in New York City, where David wanted to be buried, her remark made me think of David's Hebrew name, David ben Fay'vel. I played with the sounds of my father's name and was struck with the similarity to the English word "favorable". David had it given to him to make people feel that THEY were "favorable" to him. Reciprocally, his memory, like his life, will be favorable to all who knew him.
Graveside Eulogy
by Dan Chill
Dear Ophra, Dina, Andrew, Jonathan, Galya, Oren, Tamara, Avi, Richard, Cheryl, Family and Friends,
Today we celebrate the life of a remarkable human being, Doctor, Professor and Rabbi David B. Weisberg—our dearest David—loving husband, Dad, brother, grandpa, father-in-law, colleague and friend.
Many, many years ago, I had the privilege to sit in on one of David’s classes, and was overwhelmed by his charismatic presentation and absorbing, insightful analysis of the texts. Afterwards he and I jokingly discussed the possibility of his writing a commentary on the Bible. We even discussed that it might be called ארזי הלבנון – “Cedars of Lebanon” - playing on the Hebrew translation of the name “Weisberg”. David demurred modestly, but it was clear how appreciative he was that his profound exegesis might be worthy of a comparison—albeit metaphoric—to those lofty cedars of the North.
However, now as I look back upon David’s actual accomplishments over five decades, permit me to suggest an even more apt name for David’s rich life of achievements and many writings—“ענבי אשכול"” (in English, “the cluster’s grapes”); for David was, indeed an איש אשכולות –- an omnidextrous soul of great abilities and successes.
Let us dwell for a moment upon that cluster of choice grapes, and select but a few
Scholar, Educator, Rabbi, Linguist, Orator, Torah/Megilla Reade
Humanist, Community Leader, Lover of Zion, A Man of Peace (slow to anger, quick to forgive), Sportsman, A Man with a Golden Heart
And lest we forget to mention:
Loving husband and brother
Devoted father and grandfather
A colleague of great loyalty and integrity
A friend in need
Needless to say, to describe fully each of these luscious “grapes” would require hours, even days, for they are bursting with the succulent juices of heartwarming tales; but let me address but a few that are very close to my heart.
Although David was technically my “brother-in-law”, I regarded him—and certainly he treated me –as a “brother-in-fact”. Most of you know that Ophra and I came to live with dear Aunt Martha and Uncle Davie Kamerman (Grandma and Grandpa Kamerman) ז"ל, under tragic circumstances—the deaths of our dear mother and father, Dina and Henry Chill ז"ל , in a catastrophic car accident that, miraculously, failed to “snuff out” the lives of Ophra and me, as well. And, yet, David met Ophra as a result of this tragedy, and one can say that “"מעז יצא מתוק – from that bitterness sweetness emerged!
After their marriage, Ophra and David lived in Park West Village, on 97th Street near Columbus Avenue. Although they were newlyweds, understandably seeking privacy and “conjugal bliss”, David insisted that I come over for weekends, holidays or anytime I liked—and come over I did! These were difficult years for me, and I recall how David lovingly guided me through these troubled waters, providing counseling, wise advice and even performing a homework assignment or two. One day I needed a sentence in which to use the word “swarthy”. Without hesitating, David dictated the following to me:
“As the missionary stared out of the pot, he saw a sea of swarthy skins!”
My teacher, Mr. Solomon, could not believe what a brilliant student I had become -- literally overnight!
With David, one had to be very careful what he or she admired because, as many of you know, he would literally “give you the shirt off his back.” One day, I admired a book in his library and, upon my return to Cambridge, found it secreted in the bottom of my suitcase! That was David!
And whenever a poor soul approached David for a handout, his hand was quickly in his pocket for a dollar or two. Once he bemused, half jokingly, that “who knows, this gentle man might be אליהו הנביא in disguise, testing us to see whether the time is ripe for the coming of the משיח”.
And I must mention, en passant, the intriguing initiation into the world of the Weisberg handshake, the family whistle, belly burns and shark bites, and of course the thought-provoking theories of Professor Ellis Rivkin.
But I think that, in his devotion to Ophra, Dina, Jonathan, Oren and Avi, David excelled beyond all others. For Ophra, he would do everything and anything. No chore was too great, no store too far. And you, Ophra, were “the apple of his eye” his rock; and although he joked about your “Mrs. Clean” activities, he loved the tidy house: and loved you deeply, taking great pride in every one of your many accomplishments.
And then there is the incredible amount of time that David devoted to you, dear children, Dina, Jonathan, Oren and Avi. Until a couple of weeks ago, he was studying with you Bible, Mishna, Gemara and Torah reading. In the שמע ישראל prayer, there are words that most of us recite by rote, but David practiced every day of his life: והיו הדברים האלה אשר אנוכי מצווך היום על לבבך ושיננתם לבנך ודיברת בם בשבתך בביתך ובלכתך בדרך ובשכבך ובקומך
David had a saintly purposefulness in all that he did, and it is quite apparent that he has shared this wonderful quality with all of you.
I could continue picking more choice morsels from this luscious cluster of grapes—from the wondrous deeds of this remarkable "איש אשכולות", but let me close instead with a brief story:
At the annual meeting of a major Jewish organization in the Midwest, a famous speaker, known for his oratorical prowess was invited to open the proceedings with a recitation of Psalm 23, commencing with the famous words, “The Lord is my Shepherd”-, I shall not want. . .” In preparation, the orator practiced declaiming the psalm in front of a mirror and even had a friend videotape a practice session, so as to sharpen his thespian skills and “to get down pat” every nuance, intonation and gesture. On the evening in question, he proceeded to outdo Demosthenes in reciting the psalm with Gielgud proficiency and perfection. And when he had finished, the audience gave him a resounding ovation, which gratified him greatly.
The Master of Ceremonies was about to turn to the next event on the program when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small, bearded, elderly gentleman—in fact, the retired Rabbi of a nearby community—seated at a table near the front, and, on the spur of the moment, asked the Rabbi whether he, too would grace the audience with his own rendering of the psalm.
Reluctantly the Rabbi rose, approached the podium and in a barely audible voice proceeded to recite Psalm 23 with great devotion and purpose. The audience strained to hear his worlds and, when he had finished, an eerie hush fell over the hall. And then in the back row, a woman began to weep, and remarkably, within seconds, the weeping rolled down the aisles and across the rows until the entire hall was in tears and turmoil, with many individuals coming up to touch the Rabbi’s coat and to shake his frail hand.
The orator turned to the MC in consternation, and exclaimed: “I spent hours learning the psalm, reciting “The Lord is my Shepherd” in my sleep, and I felt this evening that the audience was ‘in the palm of my hand’ and that they knew how well I knew the psalm. And yet, this elderly gentleman, without practice or preparation, has succeeded to move the audience far more than I.”
Whereupon the MC observed: Yes, you clearly knew the Psalm; and every person in the hall knew how well you knew the Psalm. But, when they heard the Rabbi recite the Psalm, they knew that he knew the Shepherd!”
Our David, too, throughout his amazing life, has clearly known the Shepherd; and now, as he joins the heavenly flock on high, I am sure that the Shepherd is eagerly looking forward to knowing David B. Weisberg, as well.
May G-d grant you—Ophra, Dina, Andrew, Jonathan, Galya, Oren, Tamara, Avi, Richard and Cheryl—the strength to overcome your sorrow, and to find solace and joy in all that dear David has left behind.
יהי זכרו ברוך!
Eulogy at the Funeral
by Andrew Pfeiffer
Hi, My name is Andrew Pfeiffer and I have known Dr. Weisberg since 2006. When I came to the Hebrew Union College in 2006 he was the first member of the faculty that I came to know. After my first semester at the college, I described to my family members how much I enjoyed the opportunity to study there. I explained to them that one of my professors, Dr. Weisberg, was by far the most courteous person I have ever met. I asked him to be my advisor, and over the next 5 years I came to know him much more. Since 2009 I have spent maybe one or two hundred hours meeting with Dr. Weisberg one-on-one, in his offices at the college or at home, or at his dining room table. Half of those hours he spent investing in my education, and for the other half he invited me to assist him in his forthcoming book project.
I told my wife that I wish I could have 30 minutes to share with you in greater detail what this person has meant to me. If I did, you would have to grant me at least ten minutes to wear my heart on my sleeve, certainly to cry more than talk. When Oren called me on Friday to ask if I would be willing to share a few words, I immediately accepted. I need to say Thank You again to the Weisberg family for inviting me to share today, because, in my own loss, the chance to think about what I might share right now has been a tremendous gift to me. I have recalled dozens of memories I carry, that I know those of you here would enjoy hearing. But as that may have to wait for another time, I think there are three things that I must share.
First. Dr. Weisberg loved people. I wish I knew more of the story of how Dr. Weisberg himself was so loved, because he reflected so much of it back in so many directions. One time he was talking to me about the rabbinic students and the challenges they face in their fifth year. He showed so much empathy toward them regarding their thesis work and especially during their placement interviews. He valued his own teachers. Everyone of us who took a class with him heard him speak of his teachers and how much he appreciated them. Even in the past year Dr. Weisberg paid a visit to his own dissertation advisor in New England. We did not speak as often about his relationship with his synogogue, but I know that he deeply valued the opportunity to worship with his congregation. I have continued to meet with him over the past months, and whenever I was on campus students, library staff, and technical employees of the college asked me how he was doing. These men and women have been loved by Dr. Weisberg.
Second, Dr. Weisberg loved what he did. He was eternally the kid in the candy shop. He loved to contribute to research in community. He always tried to treat others with the highest respect. His professional accomplishments speak for themselves, but he walked among the giants in his field. Dr. Weisberg loved the Hebrew Union College. He believed in her mission.
He poured everything he could into her students. Inside and outside of class he addressed us as “distinguished scholars.” At first it made many of us rookies smile. But after hearing it so often, we began to believe more about ourselves than when we did on our first arrival.
He respected the ancient people and their culture. Never belittled their society even when we questioned things such as their belief that the flight pattern of a flock of birds could carry a message from the Gods about fate.
Finally, Dr. Weisberg valued Family. Early in my program he asked me how I was adjusting to the challenge of balancing family life with the responsibilities of being a student. I said that in some ways I felt that it made me a better scholar. I can still hear him saying, “I absolutely agree.” Nearly every single time we met he would ask me about my wife and my children. He always celebrated my joyful reports, and he prayed us through in a season of intense hardship we encountered in 2008.
He is so proud of his children, and he has told me how highly he and Ophra think of you. His love ran deep. For example, after he learned that Dina was expecting twins, and I shared that my own sister had just had twins, he immediately asked me about her experience, and I could his love for Dina behind his asking.
I am so thankful to God for bringing me across the path of Dr. Weisberg. He is one of the most beautiful men I know. He has left a permanent impression on me that has gone into me deeper than any other teacher I have had. I only hope to God that a trace of his spirit will be able to stay with me, so that one day, perhaps many years from now, somone younger than I would see a of sliver of Dr. Weisberg’s impact on me. I should hope that they do, because they will become a better person should they see it.
Memories
Memories, moments and the influence of Uncle David
by Dan Weisberg
Guilford – a NYC kid’s summer paradise
My fascination with Uncle David’s habit of swimming in his sneakers, leading to my failed efforts to emulate him (I didn’t like the “waterlogged” feeling) and my paranoia about banging my unprotected feet into a hidden jellyfish, bucket or anchor.
Cracking up while chanting Uncle David’s ancient Native American agricultural prayers: “Ohowi Needab Rain” and “Owatta Goosi Yam.”
Aunt Ophra’s open-faced grilled cheese sandwiches followed by Good Humor Toasted Almond ice cream bars from the truck.
Uncle David, my dad, Jonny, Oren, Wes and Eric teaching me to ride a bike and throw a spiral.
Cincinnati – Seders and touch football
Eating Aunt Ophra’s delicious tuna salad on matzah at Riverfront Stadium on Opening Day.
Hiking in Kentucky and playing a game where we tried to see who could come closest to timing one minute in their head.
Founding the D.W. Club with Uncle David and Dina. The club’s existence was a secret to non-members – until now!
A wonderful afternoon with Sara, learning the laws, traditions and philosophies of Jewish weddings and welcoming Sara into our family.
My extreme happiness and pride standing under the Chuppah as Uncle David married Sara and me – I knew that everything would go perfectly, and it did.
A two-day visit in late-December 2011, during which Uncle David got to meet Owen, and drive to the local post office with my dad and me, pointing out family landmarks and sharing stories of the neighborhood and house on Beechwood Avenue. We are so glad that Owen got to meet his Great Uncle. Owen will hear many, many stories about Uncle David and the family as he grows up. The traditions will continue and Owen and his generation of Weisbergs will make them even stronger!
Memories of Uncle David
by Benno Weisberg
Words of Comfort
From Jordan, Caleb and Henry Chill
Dear Aunt Ophra, Dina and Andrew, Jonathan, Tamara and Oren, Avi, Richard and Cheryl, Family and Friends,
The devastating news found us last Thursday disbelieving, praying, and still hoping for a miracle. A deep sadness followed the initial shock, and our thoughts immediately moved to you, our beloved family, knowing that what was difficult for us must be impossible to comprehend or accept for you. Under such circumstances it is human nature to bring up memories, old and new, desperately trying to preserve the connection with our loved ones. However, on occasion such memories seem to spring out effortlessly, uncontrollably, as if with a life of their own; it is then that you realize just how special these memories are.
To us, as children, Uncle David was the Beach, and the Beach was Uncle David. His welcoming stance at the door of 121 was only the beginning. Nature walks to the Red Shack, swimming and boating, poetry circles around the Shabbat table, Tora readings in the family room. The image of Uncle David boyishly catapulting over the fence for just one more dip was the true “Funcle” Element, and in his element he was. In retrospect we realize this was just another setting for Uncle David to show his intense love and devotion to his family, qualities which you had the privilege to enjoy year-long.
As we grew up additional facets of his brilliance caught our eyes. Uncle David possessed an insatiable desire for knowledge, a burning desire to uncover one more mystery. He was respected and loved by colleagues and students, whom he diligently nurtured and supported as though they were his own children. Together with his life-long mate, Aunt Ophra, he manned an outpost of Judaism and tolerance in Cincinnati, raising a close-knit family with the strongest possible Jewish identity. He displayed a wonderful mix of sensitivity and love of mankind; in vain did we search our recollections for an angry retort or unguarded word. We admired him for his unconditional love for Israel, recognizing its uniqueness and importance, and forgiving it for any shortcomings. To us it was a great source of pride that he and the entire family felt so much at home in Israel, perceiving this as his blessing to our, and later Jonathan’s, choice of path.
Years went by, and, with white-and-gray streaks furnishing him with a sage-like aura, we enjoyed more and more times in Israel. By now outposts had sprouted up in New York, Boston, Baltimore, and, so close to our hearts, in Jerusalem. Not surprisingly, flags of giving and kindness were flying over these as well. We cherished these visits as well as Uncle David’s patented Friday phone calls. Happily we had the chance to share special joyous moments with you, a Bris on a snowy Jerusalem Shabbat, a wedding on a snowy Sunday, and, from afar, the happy news of most welcome new members of the growing family. It is a heart-wrenching realization that we will enjoy the happy events of the coming years together, please-G-d, yet without our cornerstone and pillar of strength.
It is fitting that last week’s Tora portion was Terumah, meaning donation or contribution. The People of Israel are asked to contribute in any way they can towards the building of the Sanctuary. “From each and every man whose heart should so command ye shall take my offering.” Two things made us think immediately of Uncle David – his lifelong endeavor of selfless giving, to be sure, but no less important his respect to everyone and anyone, no matter how small the contribution. Uncle David had the special gift of counting the pure intention as deed. Filled with sadness as we all are on this somber occasion, we know he would find comfort and solace in the legacy he has left behind, and for you and us all it is a challenge and a sacred pledge to try and follow in his footsteps.
Our hearts and thoughts are with you in these difficult times. We watched anxiously from afar with true admiration as each of you, in his, or her, own way, strived to make a difference, postpone the inevitable, and, by virtue of sheer will, bring on a miracle. Love and support came from all and in many forms during these excruciating months. Frequent visits, cycling heroics, medical attention, tender loving care, and simply holding a frail hand speak volumes of your dedication and perseverance. It is a tribute to your wonderful family which we love so dearly that you showed such determination and strength in the face of adversity, and it is this inner strength which we pray will allow you to support each other, cherish the memories, and continue Uncle David’s path of love, kindness and giving. We will miss him terribly, and we will hold him close to our hearts.
Yehi Zichro Baruch.
Memories of Uncle Dave
by Sam Weisberg
Most drivers at one point in their lives get in near-scrapes with other drivers; if they happen to be in the right, they get very angry. A driver in the right usually honks multiple times. He swears profusely. As he drives past the near-accident, he yells—presumably at the other driver but in actuality at his passengers—about how dumb people are and how terrible the state of the world is. I do not drive to this day, mostly because of situations like these, where I watch once-calm people suddenly beset by uncontrollable rage.
Uncle David was no such person. Uncle David was hands-down the saintliest driver I’ve ever encountered. I vividly remember the morning of Thanksgiving 1998, during my freshman year of college, wherein Uncle David, Avi, Ophra and I drove from Cincinnati to a cabin in rural Kentucky, for a hiking trip. We had barely pulled out of the driveway when some speeding maniac ran a red light, nearly swerving into our car. I have already described how most people, even sensible people, would react.
Uncle David didn’t get angry. Uncle David didn’t swear; he barely flinched. Nor did he abuse the car horn. He tapped the horn exactly once—a rather gentle bleat, but firm enough to get the point across. And then he said, in the same serene, soothing, fair-minded inflection as always: “Guy…doesn’t even look where he’s going. Just darts out of nowhere.” And that was it. End of lament. I was spellbound by that then, and I am now. Even when it was right to be wrathful, David was innately incapable of wrath. And I will never forget it.
The rest of that hiking trip symbolizes everything I adored about Uncle David. There was a political debate on that car ride, and maybe he didn’t agree with everything I said, but his response was so even-tempered and compassionate that, for probably the first time, I began to see the benefit of really listening to what people with different ideologies are saying, to learn from how they view the world, to stop seeing things in black and white. And while I’m usually annoyed when someone stops a conversation short, there was something about the way Uncle Dave did this—“Now, let’s enjoy the fabulous scenery”—that was totally appropriate, and I was more than willing to comply with his wishes.
When we got to Kentucky, I think Dave was so happy to be there that he remained jolly even when we had to unload all the contents of our vehicle just to get the darn car up the 89-degree hill leading to the cabin! I would definitely say he inspired me to remain calm and even humorous during temporary—if annoying—setbacks.
I’d say it was during this trip that I really began to see Dave’s true appreciation for the outdoors, and getting the most out of limited daylight. Throughout that long weekend, Uncle Dave went to bed each night at 7:45 PM and woke up at 5 AM. To look at the sunset, to paint pictures as serene as him. I did not—and still don’t—have that sort of discipline. I’m always afraid I’m missing too much and so I let the hour get later and later before I finally give in to sleep. Uncle Dave never had these fears.
My last vivid memory of that hiking trip: there was a television in the cabin, but we rarely watched it. Only the last night, to watch “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.” (True to his spirit, Dave’s favorite films were outdoorsy adventure films). Exactly ten years earlier, in the third grade, I’d visited Cincinnati with my entire family for Thanksgiving, and as a TV junkie brat I was astonished that my Uncle, Aunt and cousins hardly watched TV. But during that weekend in Cincinnati, and ten years later in
It’s my belief that Uncle Dave got the absolute most out of each day of his life. He blended all his passions seamlessly—nature, Judaism, touch football, thoughtful conversations about each—and influenced relatives, friends, pupils with his intellect. He loved sharing these passions and hearing everyone’s take. He was also deeply interested in other people’s lifestyles and hobbies, as I learned during his wonderfully comprehensive speeches at my and others’ Bar Mitzvahs, at weddings, at ceremonies. Though his demeanor was usually on the gently serious side, he was great at horsing around, and I’ll never forget that infectious horse laugh of his when something really cracked him up (such as the Newlywed game at his and Ophra’s most recent wedding anniversary). I’m going to miss him dearly, and I promise, once I finally learn how to drive, to follow his lead and treat even lunatic drivers with kindness.
