Yosh Mantinband Eulogy
Dad,
You and Mom were always different from one another when it came to going places. Mom tried to squeeze the most from every moment in life, or in other words, she was perennially late. You, on the other hand, hated being late. You preferred to get places early. If a meeting was called for 7:00, you liked to get there at 6:30. If the airline recommended arriving 2 hours early - for you 3 hours is better still. No matter what it was, you liked to be early..
But Dad - you left us too early.
I was so looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks. To showing you pictures of all the family from Ayala’s bat mitzvah, your first great-grandchild to reach majority. But most of all, I was looking forward to talking to you face-to-face.
I felt cheated when we visited you last September. You were so sick that you were barely aware of our presence. After we were gone, and you got better, you had no memory of our having been here. Besides feeling cheated, I had another moment of trauma from that September visit. It awakened long-dormant memories – a flashback of another hospital visit. After the terrible car accident, when I was barely three years old we visited you in the hospital. Also then, you didn’t recognize me – didn’t know who I was. It was a frightening experience for a young child. Seeing you in September, when you didn’t recognize me was frightening again – I felt again like that small, frightened child.
But, thank G-d, you got better. On Skype calls or through messages sent through Golda & David, Monti & Cheryl, we were able to be in touch again across the miles. And I reconciled myself saying I’d be seeing you again soon in person. It was frustrating talking over the computer and I wanted some real face-time. Little did I know that G-d had other plans for you.
Dad – I have a confession to make. When I was growing up I was often afraid of you. You had a terrible temper. When I was old enough to understand, Mom explained that after that terrible car accident, and the head injury you suffered, you had changed and become short-tempered. But she remembered and told me about how sweet and even-tempered you had been before the accident. It puzzled me as a child. And it seemed unfair that I didn’t know the dad she described. Over the years, the seemingly impossible happened, though. You mellowed and evolved back into the sweet, even-tempered man mom had originally married. It was like receiving you as a gift again and again.
When I consider myself, I am sometimes startled at realizing how much of who I am comes from you. Some are little things – like habits and mannerisms. I see how you tilt your head or lean into your hand & realize I do the same thing. More fundamentally, I learned from you to have an abiding belief in our ability to make an impact on the world – helping people – helping to make the world a better place. And moreso, that we have a duty to do so. I wish that I could reach your level. You were so selfless and unassuming. Very few people knew all the things you did to improve the lot of others.
Almost everyone knows about how you weren’t happy until you’d made at least one person around you happy, too. Your free-ticket business cards, million dollar bills and red clown noses became your trademarks and many know about them. You took humor seriously. You actively studied and pursued it. Who besides you knew there was an organization dedicated to bringing humor to the world? Their annual Humor conference was one of the highlights of your life.
However, not everyone knows about your other behind-the-scenes activities, unrelated to humor. For example: Hundreds or maybe thousands of people were fed by you. It all started once when you went shopping at the bakery at the end of day and discovered that the left-over baked goods were being sold for a heavy discount. You made it your business after that to stop by regularly and buy ALL the left over baked goods and donate them to charity.
After retirement you barely slowed down. You busied yourself with all your volunteer work. Your sense of humor shone through there, too. You’d say – “A paid worker is good in exchange for something. A volunteer, on the other hand, is good for nothing.” I hope someday to be as good as you were. You gave so much to so many in exchange for nothing other than the pleasure it brought you. You gave them comfort, solace, less hunger, a smile, a better feeling about being alive.
And there’s more. I love to learn new things all the time. I realize that’s also something I got from you. You were always taking various adult education courses and studying new things. I also remember how you took off on a solo vacation once to take a cruise with Jacque Cousteau to engage your passion for oceanography.
Another important thing I learned from you and mom is about how love between a couple is a complex thing. And how it can endure through difficulty. We were not a well-to-do family. Despite the financial hardships, of which I was blissfully unaware as a child, our family flourished and our childhood was full of enrichment and fun. There were other difficulties, too – the car accident was a major one. But your love for mom and hers for you were stronger than the difficulties. Who among us has not quarreled with his or her spouse? I learned from you that having a quarrel doesn’t mean you’re not in love. Your and mom’s love for one another was a rock solid foundation throughout your lives.
Another dimension to love that I learned from you involves something so simple it seems silly now when I recount it. I remember on a trip to Israel when you & mom were visiting all of us and our families went to the Dead Sea. You and mom, who were, of course, much older than us, were walking along the beach holding hands. Somehow I thought that was for young lovers. But you taught me that love stays as young as we let it.
When mom died, also much too early, you began saying kaddish for her. You were already a regular at making the minyan in your shul. And you never stopped saying kaddish for her every day. She remained a continuing presence in your life.
Dad – you loved your wife and you loved your children. As each new grandchild was born your love expanded to encompass them all – and then your great grandchildren, too – and they all loved you so much, too. How I wished you could be well enough to be with me at Ayala’s bat mitzvah next week. But G-d had other plans for you and for me. Instead I’m here with you now and I can’t imagine being anyplace else.
There was so much innate wisdom you held – and shared casually with those around you. Our tradition teaches the importance of gemilut hasadim – acts of lovingkindness and ahavat hinam – loving others selflessly. For you it was a way of life, as the examples I’ve mentioned. You also knew, without having been taught, the lesson taught by the Chafetz Chaim – not to speak ill of anyone. You always used to say “If you don't have something good to say about someone, don't say anything at all.”
Dad, there isn’t enough time to describe all the sides to your personality and your life and all the lessons we could learn from you and from how you lived your life. You embodied the concept of Tikkun olam – improving the world.
Dad – I’ve come now to the hardest part. I want to ask your forgiveness. Please forgive me for not being a better son. For not calling more often. For not telling you more often I love you. With you no longer here to teach them, I hope to teach my children as you taught us – through personal deed and example.
On every birthday you always told us that things will only get better. So I say to you now – Dad, remember – the first 88 years are the hardest. Now you’re entering a better place – olam shekulo tov – a place of infinite goodness. Without pain. Where you can again speak with the startling clarity of a Distinguished Toastmaster. Where you can again walk along the beach holding hands with Mom, at a never-ending humor conference.
Now, I have an excerpt of some words written by my son Zusha. He posted these on facebook the day after Dad died. He wrote in Hebrew, but I’ve translated it to English.
“Last night my grandfather died in the United States at the age of 88. One of the things that exemplified my grandfather was his simple innocence. Family was very important to him. Also laughter, love and humor.
It is written: נר ה' נשמת אדם- man’s soul is a divine candle. That is, a person’s soul is like a candle that adds light to the lives of others – It doesn’t remove light – only adds. It all starts from that – And with the simple things in life.
I didn’t manage to see my grandfather (or Zayda, as we called him) very often due the distance. My current profile picture (on facebook) is one of the last I have from when I got to see him a few months ago in the States. Whenever I asked him “How are you feeling?” he would answer simply “Better – now that you’re here!” And that was how we would answer everyone!
He always went around with a wallet full of cards - free tickets that he distributed. On the card was written “This is a Free Ticket! It’s not worth anything, but it’s free!” “That’s one of my ways of putting humor to work!” That was his visiting card. He would give them out on the street and at his weekly volunteering at the train station.
He also used to give us million dollar bills that were actually worth more than anything in the world! Some of you reading this have also gotten some from me.
He once told me a story. He was at the grocery store and the cashier was troubled about something. He decided to give her one of his million-dollar bills. At first she didn’t understand and didn’t want to accept it. He said “Take a closer look”. She did and saw printed on it “The funny money of America”. That succeeded in bringing a smile to her lips.
When I visited him last June he was clearly happy to see me. He insisted on giving me a grand tour of the entire dining floor of the home he lived in. For dessert he took me out to the veranda overlooking a lake with fountains and swans. All this touring he did with his walker. Of course, he gave me a “free ticket” to this spectacular performance.
I know that he was suffering and in pain the last few months, but whenever he was able he smiled! He smiled for us… I also know that he stayed in this world as long as he could only for the sake of his family. He didn’t want for any of us to suffer.
The wisest of men, King Solomon, says in Proverbs that it is better to go to a house of mourning than to a party. One wonders why? The answer is very simple. At a party we tend to forget why we are alive. In a house of mourning, though, we get a reminder. We are reminded that the only things a person takes to the grave are his deeds.
We don’t light the memorial candle – in Hebrew called ner neshama, which literally means “soul candle” -- only to remember a person. And the soul candle is not lit only by the flame. The best way to honor the memory of someone is to take at least one small thing he taught us and apply it in our own lives! Thus we fulfill the phrase נר ה' נשמת אדם - “a man’s soul is a divine candle”. Thus we continue to spread his divine light in the world.”