Back in July, when Dad was in the hospital, he told me it would be sad for us when no one would be at his funeral. I told him, “Don’t worry, Dad. Mom has lots of friends. It’ll be okay.” 

And though the chapel, in fact, was packed with Mom’s friends, many actually were there to say goodbye to my dad. I know he would’ve been pleased and relieved.

***

It’s really hard to talk about 86 years of a man’s life in just a few minutes. So, I simply want to share details about the man most of you did not know. 

Dad lost his father, Grandpa Bill, when he was only 15. He lost his mother, Nana Irene, when he was 51. With these losses, he felt profoundly orphaned. His parents were never capable of being his “home team” or “safety zone.” They never were able to express pride in any of his accomplishments. Moreover, they never enveloped him in unconditional love or support. He lived his entire life with these deep wounds. 

This is why mom and the rest of us were so important to him. We were all that mattered. We were what he never had in his younger life. 

Dad was not passionate about his professional work, didn’t yearn to travel, didn’t derive pleasure from material goods, and didn’t indulge in fine cuisine or wine. And yet, despite being plagued by health issues, he actually did enjoy life. 

Dad loved Rocky and WWII movies. He was an avid fan of all of Boston’s sports teams. He loved fishing, reading, and learning. He was good at card games and was a great bowler. 

Dad was proud to have been a Harvard man and to have worked for The IBM Corporation. He loved Israel, watching people walk down Dizengoff. and was particularly proud of the grandchildren who served in the IDF. Mostly, he just wanted to bask in the glow of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren whenever he could. 

I’ll forever remember with tremendous love and joy… My first ballgame with Dad at Fenway park with Yaz and Jimmy Rice playing… Horseback riding or ice skating on Sundays… and hot fudge sundae outings without telling Mom. He had an MGB with no heater and drove me to kindergarten in the winter; both of us covered with blankets and singing “Doe, a deer, a female deer…” the entire way. But mostly I’ll remember how much he loved David, Brandon, Jennie, Jessie, Erez, and all of my grandchildren.

But Dad also had less endearing traits. He was annoyingly opinionated, had extremely high standards —constantly pushing us to do better and maximize our potential — and, in his younger days, was not someone to be messed with. He had a temper!!! (Though we never actually saw it, we know he had a thick belt with spikes on it in the closet and he’d use it on us if we pushed him too far.)

Ironically, my favorite thing about Dad was how afraid he was of Mom. And given that he died on Halloween, I simply must share an infamous and fitting story… When we were kids, my mom bought a huge bag of candy for Halloween. She warned us not to touch it and put it on a shelf at the top of the pantry. On the night of Halloween, my dad bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Front and center on the double!” We four kids came racing down the steps and lined up in the kitchen in age-order. Both of our parents were red-faced and screamed at us that someone had opened the bag and eaten some of the candy. And no matter how we each swore on the bible and denied committing “the crime,” we weren’t believed. We were sent to our rooms and punished. I was sure one of my siblings did it.

Years later, while reminiscing at some family dinner, I asked my siblings to ‘fess up. “Come on,” I pleaded. “It doesn’t matter now. Who ate the candy?” Then, amid the insistent denials, I see my dad slinking down in his chair. “Dad???” It was then he exclaimed with hands in the air, “Do you remember Mom’s face and the sound of her voice? I wasn’t going to tell her that I ate the candy!”

Simply put, Dad was afraid of mom. But he also loved her deeply. She was his due north; his compass. His port in every storm. She always was there for him. She was his high school sweetheart and wife of 65 years.

My father made a huge impact on all of our lives. He helped others in ways we never knew. He was needed and valued. He was a success in what counted most. Most importantly, he was loved. 

Daddy, as you enter heaven, remember your own advice… go in with your right foot first. 

6/22/39 – 10/31/25