Hasses aren't only avocados.

Mater and Pater: Happy Birthday

Posted by Mater , Saturday, September 25, 2010 5:31 PM

Happy first birthday, our adorable Avocado Jnr. We wish you many more to come!

Pater: Milestones

Posted by Mater , Thursday, September 16, 2010 8:33 PM

...you crawl like a tortoise on crack; you clap, high-five, blow kisses and hide for "peek a boo" - Mater and Pater are entertained for hours with your tricks; you can pull yourself up unaided (not always to our joy)...

...or just strutting your stuff like a model.
Pater likes that despite being a fashionista, you still love animals. And true to your African roots (via Grandma London), it's not just the farm animals that you love seeing...Food still plays a big part in your life, especially now that you can feed yourself. And who knew that grapes were so good????

Your biggest smiles are still reserved for your family...
While Pater and Mater like to think each of us is your favourite, we are but distant seconds to your youngest cousin...

But back to the milestones. In the last few days you've gone from a baby to, well not quite a toddler but something in between. A boddler? You brushed your teeth (tooth!) for the first time....

...and tinkled on the ivories for the first time (relax, Grandma Toronto, she didn't actually tinkle)...

Happy (almost) 1st Birthday, Avocado Jnr!!!

Pater: Grandpa

Posted by Pater , Sunday, September 5, 2010 8:20 PM

Avocado Jnr, it has been a short 11 months since your grandfather passed away and not a day has passed when we haven't remembered him, when we haven't missed him terribly. Today was his stone-setting. A very emotional day and one that, though you weren't there, we want you to know about. Your mother spoke to over two hundred people who joined us by his graveside. Her words, which moved everyone to tears, are reprinted below:
______________________________________
Rabbanim, mom, family and friends:

It is difficult to believe that almost a year has gone by since the untimely passing of my father, zichrono l’vracha. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we were sitting around the table on Rosh Hashanah, celebrating the New Year and thanking God for his recovery? How can it be that a year has passed and in just a few days our family will mark our first Rosh Hashanah without our patriarch at the head of the table, without a loving father to share the joys and sorrows of the last year, without a devoted husband to share the coming year with?

There are no answers that provide true comfort at this time and yet our Rabbis tells us that at this time of the year, at Rosh Hashanah, we are meant to look to our past to gain hope for the future. Perhaps the same can be said for us who have lost one who was so cherished by his wife, by his children, by his family, and by his friends. By recalling my father’s past, understanding where he came from and who he was, maybe the realization that he left behind a strong, palpable legacy can offer some solace to us all.

My father was born on June 10, 1940 in Scranton, Pennsylvania, a fact that he loved sharing with people from almost the moment he met them. The second of four boys, he was outgoing from an early age and his humour, whether directed at himself or others, made him very popular with both girls and guys. Intelligent, a natural teacher, and broad-shouldered in carrying responsibility, his only flaw growing up was his tardiness. An old friend of his told me how he used to pick up my father everyday on the way to school and on most days he’d arrive and my father would only just be putting on tefillin, leaving his friend to sit patiently waiting. And even when he finished davening, his friend would watch as my father gulped down his standard breakfast fare – a piece of my grandmother’s chocolate cake and a glass of milk. Despite living only a half a block from the school, my father held the 1953 record for the most Tardy Days at Madison Elementary School. It was only his reputation as a top student, much loved by his teachers, which saved him from major punishment.

Not that his intellect and natural curiosity always saved him from trouble. In high school my father loved conducting chemistry experiments, whether it was adding salt to his brother's coca cola to see the results, or mixing dangerous chemicals that exploded when brought into contact with water. And one night he brought some of those chemicals home from school and experimented with them…on my grandmother’s kitchen floor. The resulting flames blackened the ceiling and left a permanent hole in the floor. History does not recall his punishment. But whatever it was, it did nothing to dampen his lifelong pursuit of learning why something was, how something was, or how he could make use of it in his life.

Thankfully, his career in chemistry was curtailed when his high school guidance counselor saw his math skills and identified a future in economics. But even immersed in the happy pursuit of academia, my father never forgot his responsibility to his family. While he was a junior at Wayne State University, my grandfather suffered a minor stroke and my father, at the age of 18, took over his candy business in its entirety despite a lack of business knowledge, never once missing a school assignment while he temporarily ran the business. Even after my grandfather recovered, my father still helped out during his summer breaks. One year my grandfather asked him to drive the truck for his candy business, after the regular driver had enlisted in the Navy. My father agreed to take this on and was paid $20 a week. Ever the economist, he then persuaded one of his younger brothers to do most of the job, paying him only 10 cents a week. Despite his generous decision to raise his brother’s salary to 12 cents a week after just two months, he younger brother complained of being exploited. To which my father pointed out that he’d increased his salary a full 20% after only 8 weeks of work!

After paying his way through university, my father took his degree in economics one step further and attended Columbia for graduate school where he received his PhD in Economics, studying under Nobel laureate, Gary Becker. His dissertation can still be found today in the archives of Columbia library, a fact he frequently reminded me before my trips to New York in case I happened to need some light reading.

But for all his love of knowledge, his insatiable curiosity for the unknown, his pride at achieving a doctorate from a university that produced his hero, Milton Friedman, my father would be the first to tell you that his greatest achievement during his college years happened on June 19th 1968.

Setting out on a blind date, he walked into a New York hotel, set eyes on my mother and fell head over heels in love. This is a much overused sentiment but in my parents’ case it was true. And continued to be true for the rest of a married life which ended just shy of 41 years. Anyone who knew my father could attest to his conservative nature. And yet with my mother all of that was thrown out the window. According to my father’s roommate at the time, after their first date, my father told him he’d found The One and wouldn’t be going out with anyone else. His old roommate said that, in his opinion, the best and happiest time of my father’s life was when he fell in love with my mother. I believe him because after just eleven whirlwind days that included dancing, coffee, long walks and movies, my father proposed. And four short months later they got married.

After two years living in New York and my father working for Exxon at 30 Rock, my sister was born. In 1971, my father got a job in Toronto and the small family moved north. My brother was born shortly after and me a few years after that. My earliest memories of my father were the trips we took as a family to New Hampshire, listening to stories on the 8 track as he drove. Once there we’d go on long hikes and he’d play with me in the pool. The rest of the year was equally filled with fun and laughter. My father would take us to the zoo, play baseball and catch with us, and teach us bridge. I remember our weekly trips to shul, playing with his tallis strings, accompanying him to the Kiddush club. As I grew, my father tried to pass on his love of learning - reading with me, teaching me American Ballads, testing me on the subjects I learn in school. And this effort continued even when I was in university and beyond, with his grandchildren. His biggest compliment he could give to one of them was, “ooh, this one’s a smart one”. It wasn’t looks or cuteness that impressed my father, it was the intellect.
And the same was true of his friends. He valued each of them for the intellectual challenge they provided him. Word games in shul were a weekly event with his cronies on and around his row at Bnei Torah. He loved teasing his son-in-laws with double and even triple entendres. His jokes were occasionally low brow but it was the subtle quip or the intelligent use of words that really brought a sparkle to his eyes and a cheeky grin to his face.

In the last 11 months many of you have approached me and told me stories about my father. And since he passed, talking to strangers who dealt with him, whether at the bank, at his brokerage firms or his mechanic, the common thread to all these stories has been how much they enjoyed the simple act of conversing with my father. Talking to him was easy. Talking to him was educational. Talking to him was insightful. Talking to him left me smiling. On every person he spoke to my father left an indelible impression.

His love of knowledge did not stop at the secular. My father’s thirst for Torah study grew with age, especially after meeting Rabbi Marcus, zecher tzaddik l’vracha. Rabbi Marcus and my father enjoyed a strong rapport which led to weekly learning sessions that continued even after his passing in 2007. My father sought guidance from Rabbi Marcus and respected him as both a mentor and a friend. His respect for the Rav of Bnei Torah continued when Rabbi Milevsky became the shul’s rabbi and he greatly enjoyed the intellect the new Rabbi exhibited, and would frequently call us after shabbos and recount what he’d learnt that shabbos from the rav’s drasha.

Yesterday our family celebrated the Bar Mitzvah of my father’s oldest grandson. My father would have been so proud of how well he did. He was always proud of all his grandchildren and loved them in equal measure – cherishing the moments he spent with each of them no matter how long or how short. It is particularly hard for me that my daughter knew him just four short weeks, but I thank God that my father lived long enough to see her come into the world. I only wish he was here to see her take her first steps, utter her first words, or even fall asleep on his arm again as she did when only a few days old. Even then I’m sure he would say “ooh, this one’s a smart one”.

My father’s love for his family and friends, his Ahavat Torah, his regard for his fellow man – whether Jewish or otherwise, his concern for Israel, his strong intellect, his insatiable curiosity, his skill with the English language, his ability with numbers, his warmth, his humour, his sense of responsibility and giving back. These are all the traits that my father learnt over the years. Traits he taught my siblings and me. Traits we will now teach to our children and hope they grow in the footsteps of a great man, a great husband, a great friend, a great talmid and, most of all, a great father.