This past Sunday, on the second day of yom tov, my uncle, Moshe ben Efrayim Zalman ve’Bracha, passed away in his 94th year. He was born in Krakow, fled as a child from the Nazis to Soviet occupied Poland, then again eastward when the Nazis attacked again in 1941. He spent the next four years in a refugee camp at Ksil Orda in Kazakhstan. He returned to Krakow with my father and their parents in 1946, but soon was sent to a yeshiva/orphanage near Versailles where he lived until the rest of the family joined him in France.
The family emigrated to Toronto in 1950, where he and my father became electricians. He and my Aunt Rochelle raised four amazing children, my cousins, who are themselves parents and grandparents, who carry his beautiful legacy forward in their own families, congregations, and communities. He derived so much joy from the lives and accomplishments of his children and grandchildren, and indeed his entire extended family. Though in his early life he encountered the loss of almost his entire community and most of his extended family, throughout my life, at least, he confronted ill news with dark humor or wistful and wry understanding, and chose to focus his energies on his community and his family.
He learned Torah almost every day, and had a great love for Israel and the Jewish people. He was gregarious, a true raconteur, telling stories and singing in (at least) four languages, including his beloved French, with a beautiful Parisian accent. He loved chazzanut, classical music, and opera. And he painted. So many styles, both his own abstracts and in tribute to other artists. My favorite painting of his, envisioning Noah’s ark in a surging, violent sea, hangs above my mantlepiece at the center of my home.
He served in the Chevra Kadisha, paying final respect and kindness preparing the dead for burial, for decades. He helped operate and lead and eventually was the last leader of his congregation, Chevra Shas. He was respected, admired, and even adored by many throughout the breadth of the community.
After my father passed away, close to 27 years ago, my uncle’s wisdom, his unconditional love, and his all encompassing support - matched in every way by my aunt - sustained me through my most difficult challenges.
My uncle and I shared a lifetime curiosity, interest and pursuit of knowledge of our family’s genealogy and its roots across Europe and beyond, couched in our equally constant study of Jewish history. Whether it was a discussion about a rabbinic ancestor in medieval Languedoc, or a document announcing my great grandfather’s passing, we both recognized the immense legacy of our family - and of all families - in our people’s 3500 year journey.
His Jewish identity - and the responsibility of passing on the knowledge, pride, respect, and positive action that identity demanded - was paramount in his life. There is something heroic in living a life like his, influencing dozens, hundreds, even thousands of lives, passing on generational wisdom, and transforming history, memory, into action.
Action is what our brothers on an airDubai flight over Saudi Arabia took on Wednesday, as an apparently radicalized Omani co-pilot stabbed the Indian pilot who heroically managed to open the cabin door before collapsing. Israeli passengers overcame and restrained the attacker, gave immediate and lifesaving aid to the pilot, and enabled additional flight crew who were on board to land the plane. All of the passengers are now safe in Israel.
It occurs to me that heroism can’t only be measured within short timeframes like the 45 seconds they had as the terrorist put the plane into a 20,000 foot dive. It can also be measured in years and decades. It can be seen in the quiet, confident words of a plumber who used his yiddishe seichel to begin to right the plane even as they were pulling the attacker out of the cockpit; but also in the words and melodies of a father, grandfather and great grandfather ensuring that our precious heritage is preserved for the next generation, and the one after that.
Ultimately, heroism boils down to an assessment of what a moment or a lifetime demands of you; a preparedness to use your skills, your energy, your resilience, and your determination to accomplish a seemingly insurmountable challenge; and a willingness to selflessly act on all of these. The heroes on the plane spoke of their families, those they loved. In his way, my uncle’s most important canvas, for his most important work of art, were those very same cherished souls.
May his memory be, as was his life, a blessing for all of us.