Rabbi Sanford Akselrad

November 14, 2008

Truths My Father Taught Me

It was the day after Yom Kippur and I was sitting around a table with our student Rabbi.  My cell phone rang and I could see that it was from my Mom.  She rarely called in the middle of the day, and so I sensed something was up.  And it was.  

After many months of fighting the good fight, my Dad received the worst possible news.  There was nothing more that could be done to treat his cancer.  He had a few weeks left to live.

I think many of us hear can relate to when we heard the news.  The shock.  The disbelief.  The devastation and helplessness.   Maybe it was in a doctors office.  Or at a loved ones home.  Or far away on the other end of the phone. 

Someone you love is dying and there is nothing you could do to stop the progression of disease or bolster the fragile human body. 

With time, and reflection, I know that there is one progression  that continues to go on.  And that is the process of learning and loving.  With the passage of time, the lessons our loved ones taught by word and by example take on incredible meaning. 

Years ago there was a movie entitled Lies my father told me.  I remember watching the movie, when I was in high school at a youth group event.  It was shown in 1975.  It was a movie about a Jewish boy growing up in Montreal in the mid 1920's.  Much more than this I don’t recall.  What stuck with me was not the content of the movie, but the title of the movie.   Lies my father told me. 

Lies my father told me?  What kind of title was that for a movie?  My Dad would never lie to me.  He was always honest.  Straight forward. 

As parents we work very hard to engender that type of trust in our children.  Our children may lie to us.

Over and over again, in order to get what they want.  But they are watching us to ensure that we ALWAYS tell the truth.

And God help the parent who changes his or her mind!  “You promised!”  Our children will admonish us.  “You gave me your word!”   Or they will take fiendish delight in declaring, “you’re lying!”

They are very strict when it comes to us.  Children don’t understand when work gets in the way.  Or when situations change.  They just look at us with innocent eyes and want but one thing, “to trust us”.  To know that they can rely on us no matter what. 

Such unconditional love in life is rare.  But I had it with my Father. 

So I thought, on this special Shabbat, the second Yahrzeit of his passing,  I would share with you the Truths  my father taught me. 

My Dad was a rabbi who was fond of quoting from pirke avot.  He found wisdom in their ancient words.  “Seek and you will find”   “In a place where there is no humanity, seek to be Human.” “It is not incumbent upon you to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it altogether.” 

Through these simple admonishments my Dad taught me a love of Jewish learning and a core sense of values. 

As I grew up my Dad did not encourage me to become a rabbi.  He just, encouraged me. 

To be what I wanted to become.  Whatever it was that would make me happy.  Certainly learning was stressed.  Going to college was stressed.  But it was up to me to find my own path in life. 

How many parents want their parents to follow in their footsteps?  How many live vicariously thru their children?  And how many use their children as nachus machines, producing a ready story of their success at a cocktail party  as if that proved what a great parent they were?

My Dad had four children.  All of us so very different.  All with different intellectual abilities, different personalities and strengths.  For each he encouraged in a way that we felt his words to us were only to us.  But in the end the words were intended to achieve the same goal: Happiness in life. 

My Dad was one to shape our lives, but never one to harp on us or belittle us.  How many parents in their anger find themselves lashing out at their children calling them names?  Saying things in haste, in resentment, and in extreme emotion that they wished that they could take back? 

No my Dad was not perfect.  But I take great joy in celebrating his life by remembering his goodness and allowing his weaknesses to fade. 

To fade, yes.  But not to ignore.

 For I have come to realize that I must embrace my Dad as whole person and not a saint.     For human weakness was part of my Dad’s Truth.

Often he was so busy helping others, that   there was little time for family.  He made little time for hobbies and fewer time for self.  He never realized how smart he was even though his wisdom was sought after by nobel prize winners and children alike.  He never learned to swim though he took swim lessons every year for 20 years in our back yard pool.  Mathematics was a foreign language that he never learned.  Thank God my mother was an accounting major!    And of course, he never could find his keys or glasses.  

I guess that is why one of his favorite expressions was, “Seek and ye shall find.”  When I was a child I did a lot of seeking for my dad!  

Another truth my Dad was famous for was ending almost every letter with two simple words, “Enjoy, enjoy.”    The Talmud teaches us that when we die we will be held accountable for all our deeds.  This we all know.  But the Talmud also teaches that we will be held accountable for all of life’s pleasures that we could have enjoyed and did not. No we are not a hedonistic people.  But neither are we monks.   Life is to be lived!  It is meant to be filled with challenges, but also wonderful journeys.  It is meant to be explored and embraced. 

The Chasidic master, Reb Nachman of Bratslav taught: “Mitzvah gedolah l’yot b’simcha tamid.  It is a great mitzvah to always be happy.”  That’s a difficult mitzvah to keep.  But one major step forward in fulfilling it is to remember that so much in life is beyond our control.  So much in life depends on mazel.  But rather than complain about what we can’t change, we should focus on our attitudes which we can control.   “ Enjoy, enjoy” my Dad would say with a chuckle.  “Enjoy, enjoy.”  

But I think what was most important were  the truths that my father taught me about family.

Having seen what bitterness and envy and mistrust could do to families, my father and mother always worked very hard to ensure that the family was close. He taught us to respect each other and each others feelings.

 He taught us to be forgiving.  

Too often in life, as children grow up, they grow apart.  And not just because of distance.  Marriages change things.  How we interpret our pasts changes things.  How we mature changes things.  When our loved ones die and how they die changes every thing. 

My family has been fortunate  because in the shadow of my father’s death, his children’s bond has grown stronger.  And stronger in ways that we could not fully understand or expect.  We try harder to call each other and not just e mail.  I try to visit more often.  We organized a family reunion   so that the younger generation now scattered in over several states could get to know each other. 

Sometimes my Dad would teach us by recounting a story.  One of his favorite teachers in life was Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel.  But he noted that as brilliant a writer Heschel was, he was a poor public speaker.  He spoke so softly that people had to strain to hear him.  When a young Cantor came to sing at Beth Am he advised her to be sure to check the microphone.  The extra attention to detail would be well worth it.   All the beauty in her voice would be lost if it could not be heard.  

The story was more than a truism.  It was told to me as a life lesson.  All the Torah wisdom in the world would be for naught unless it was heard.   By heard, he meant lived through ethical deeds.  For my Dad this meant a particular focus on social justice and civil rights.  I am sure that the election of the first African American President would have made my father particular proud. As an aside, I had the remarkable good fortune of being in Grant Park on Election night.  Months earlier a meeting that was originally set for New York City was moved to Chicago because of the NY Marathon taking all of the hotel rooms.  I added a couple extra days to my stay for fun.  It did not dawn on me that I would be in Chicago on election day!  But there I was and my wife and I were inextricably drawn along with 250,00 others to Grant Park to cheer the election of the first African American for President of the United States.  While I was there I could not help but look up to heaven and think of my Dad.  How this Truth of treating others regardless of their faith or the color of their skin had finally come to pass.    Politics aside, the strides that we made through this election are immeasurable.  This would be an example of a voice - the voice of America being heard. 

He used to love to sing “America the Beautiful”.   He had such a passionate love for this country.   But he also noted that there were times when people who dissented from popular opinion would be accused of unpatriotism.  That those in the opposition would try to silence them by characterizing their opinions and ideas as “Unamerican”.  He only sang louder.  And more passionately.  He would not be silenced. 

Several years ago, when my Dad learned that he was going to die in what was to have been just  a few months, he started to write his life memoirs.  Eventually they were published and placed in the historical archives of the University of Berkley.  He had delayed writing his memoirs for many years, because like most of us he found it hard to face his mortality.  Even at the age of 85.

In the end he accepted his mortality.  But he did want one last thing.  Something that I think we all want deep down.  He wanted his Truths to out live him.  

So thank you for allowing me the privilege of sharing with you some simple truths from a most uncommon man.

 f this special shabbat  is a time of reflection and introspection, perhaps you will find truths that were also taught to you by someone you love.   Cherish them.  Or perhaps you have simple truths of your own that you want to give to your family.  Share them.   For the sweetness and power of our life’s journey  is in our ability to find simple truths and hold them near, and to pass them on... Seek, ...and you shall find.  

Shabbat Shalom