Delivered by Rachel L. I. Davenport at Temple Emanuel July 14, 2000
You all know that my father was a decent man, a just man, a mensch. You
know that he was a thinker, an asker, and a tremendous resource to all of
us around him. He knew EVERYTHING and remembered everything, from
"factoids" like who the inventor of the safety pin was (one Walter C.
Hunt) to biblical references to current events. I know I'm not the only
one who would pick up the phone and call him with questions on a very
regular basis. He liked engaging with people on an intellectual level.
Conversations around the dinner table at me parents' home were lively
events filled with guests and conversation, learning and questions, and
many one-liners and jokes. My father loved a good pun -- even more so a
bad one -- and enjoyed hearing and telling jokes.
When I think of him, I think of the twinkle in his eyes, especially
after he'd just said or heard something particularly amusing. He was sly
and mischievous and very funny, NOT in a ha-ha-kneeslapping way, but in
that twinkly way of his.
He had a real spark, a taste for adventure and a tremendous amount of
energy, both physical and mental. He had a deep and abiding love for my
mother and for our family.
I think of being under his tallis with my siblings during birkat
hacohanim, the ancient priestly blessing. It was crowded under there and
inevitably, someone would poke someone else, but when we were there, it
felt like we were in our own special world, a space in which Abba
enveloped us with his love and protection and with his tallis. It was
always a bittersweet experience to emerge when the blessing ended.
My father's life was a patchwork quilt of experiences and people. He
willingly shared all that he knew and did with all of us around him. It
is impossible to understand what we will do without him. With his death,
the fabric of our life has been torn.