Dan was kind, gentle, witty, knowledgeable, and spoke of you (Brenda) and he retiring to Israel. He loved and cherished his family. G‑d's Gifts abounded in Daniel.
I cherish and Dan declined payment for a dreidel and pendant (both inscribed with "the Great Miracle happened here") that he brought me from Jerusalem. We discussed many things, his writings were inspired, and he spoke and wrote of Hillel's dictum, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me; and if I am for myself alone, what am I, and if not now, when."
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Thursday, May 8, 2014
From Shelly Stohl
Strength Behind a Smile
I promised that I would share my humble memories of Dr. Rubin. I apologize in advance to you and to him that, although I had one of the best English teachers in the business, my words are inadequate to encapsulate the full impression that he left with me:
*****
Dr. Rubin nearly always wore a smile across his face. A warm smile, at that. And his voice was lively - upbeat and full of promise. He had much to be happy for, most notably his beloved wife, his four wonderful children (yes, Moshe, even you, though I'm being a bit generous here), and the ever-growing clan of grandchildren.
But Dr. Rubin's wasn't a simple warm smile. It was a wry warm smile. There was something faintly intimidating about his persona. On my visits to the Rubin home, I welcomed Dr. Rubin's exuberance, but I was also always just a little bit scared. Dr. Rubin's smile seemed to stem from a satisfaction, a surety, a pride that comes with hard-won and hard-earned successes, that comes from knowing you've sacrificed in your life for the right things - from knowing that you've made the right choices. His smile betrayed a moral fortitude, as if to say: I've wrestled with some serious dilemmas, I've faced tall obstacles, and I didn't run, I didn't settle, I didn't compromise my values. His smile challenged you - it challenged me - to live up to that standard. It challenged you to live so that one day you could smile like him.
I'm privy, I'm sure, to but a small fraction of the life-altering choices and the trying struggles Dr. Rubin faced as a Jew, as a professional, as a father, and as a grandfather. He must have confronted those choices and those struggles with dignity and with principle - you could read it on his face. And he must have felt certain that he successfully passed on that fortitude to his family - it radiated from his smile.
I promised that I would share my humble memories of Dr. Rubin. I apologize in advance to you and to him that, although I had one of the best English teachers in the business, my words are inadequate to encapsulate the full impression that he left with me:
*****
Dr. Rubin nearly always wore a smile across his face. A warm smile, at that. And his voice was lively - upbeat and full of promise. He had much to be happy for, most notably his beloved wife, his four wonderful children (yes, Moshe, even you, though I'm being a bit generous here), and the ever-growing clan of grandchildren.
But Dr. Rubin's wasn't a simple warm smile. It was a wry warm smile. There was something faintly intimidating about his persona. On my visits to the Rubin home, I welcomed Dr. Rubin's exuberance, but I was also always just a little bit scared. Dr. Rubin's smile seemed to stem from a satisfaction, a surety, a pride that comes with hard-won and hard-earned successes, that comes from knowing you've sacrificed in your life for the right things - from knowing that you've made the right choices. His smile betrayed a moral fortitude, as if to say: I've wrestled with some serious dilemmas, I've faced tall obstacles, and I didn't run, I didn't settle, I didn't compromise my values. His smile challenged you - it challenged me - to live up to that standard. It challenged you to live so that one day you could smile like him.
I'm privy, I'm sure, to but a small fraction of the life-altering choices and the trying struggles Dr. Rubin faced as a Jew, as a professional, as a father, and as a grandfather. He must have confronted those choices and those struggles with dignity and with principle - you could read it on his face. And he must have felt certain that he successfully passed on that fortitude to his family - it radiated from his smile.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
From Moshe - Shloshim Dvar Torah
From the shloshim we had at the cemetery:
In Parashat Shemini there's a disagreement between Moshe Rabeinu and Aharon about whether one of the goats should be eaten or not. Commentators point out that this is really Oral Torah found in the Written Torah, because Moshe had received a commandment about a different sacrifice, and there was a disagreement between Moshe and Aharon how to implement that teaching here. I feel Abba was an "Oral Torah" Jew. Even though he learned a lot of Torah over the years, the Hebrew was still difficult for him. Instead of giving up or remaining mediocre in his learning, Abba always strived to learn more and more, using different translations and different books in order to continue growing in his learning. For example he had the whole set of Soncino Gemarot, but when ArtScroll came out with their Gemarot, he made sure to get those, because they were more conducive to his learning. I think we can all learn from Abba, how to overcome boundaries and continue growing in learning and spirituality.
2) Kashrut: Kashrut is one of the main themes in Parashat Shemini, and Abba was very careful in terms of kashrut. He was an amazing son-in-law that I can learn a lot from. One of the rare outbursts he had towards his in-laws (or out laws as he would say) that I remember vividly from my childhood was over a questionable hashgacha he found on a product in their home. Occasionally he would taste something and it would remind him of the non-kosher food he ate in his youth. Instead of reminiscing and showing that he missed those times, I remember him using those moments as a time to emphasize how happy he was as a frum Jew. There's a famous statement in the name of R. Moshe Feinstein zt"l that the early generation of Jewish immigrants were not successful in keeping their kids frum because they were always sighing and complaining how hard it was to be a Jew, while keeping all the mitzvot. Obviously it is hard at some points to be a Jew, but the question is what you focus on. At work I deal with a lot of kids of baalei tshuva, which has become an issue in some circles because their parents left their previous milieu but were not 100% incorporated in the frum world, and many times the problems show up by the kids. I never felt like the son of a baal tshuva because I think Abba was able to make the full adjustment to the frum world and help us appreciate the beauty of Yiddishkeit.
In Parashat Shemini there's a disagreement between Moshe Rabeinu and Aharon about whether one of the goats should be eaten or not. Commentators point out that this is really Oral Torah found in the Written Torah, because Moshe had received a commandment about a different sacrifice, and there was a disagreement between Moshe and Aharon how to implement that teaching here. I feel Abba was an "Oral Torah" Jew. Even though he learned a lot of Torah over the years, the Hebrew was still difficult for him. Instead of giving up or remaining mediocre in his learning, Abba always strived to learn more and more, using different translations and different books in order to continue growing in his learning. For example he had the whole set of Soncino Gemarot, but when ArtScroll came out with their Gemarot, he made sure to get those, because they were more conducive to his learning. I think we can all learn from Abba, how to overcome boundaries and continue growing in learning and spirituality.
2) Kashrut: Kashrut is one of the main themes in Parashat Shemini, and Abba was very careful in terms of kashrut. He was an amazing son-in-law that I can learn a lot from. One of the rare outbursts he had towards his in-laws (or out laws as he would say) that I remember vividly from my childhood was over a questionable hashgacha he found on a product in their home. Occasionally he would taste something and it would remind him of the non-kosher food he ate in his youth. Instead of reminiscing and showing that he missed those times, I remember him using those moments as a time to emphasize how happy he was as a frum Jew. There's a famous statement in the name of R. Moshe Feinstein zt"l that the early generation of Jewish immigrants were not successful in keeping their kids frum because they were always sighing and complaining how hard it was to be a Jew, while keeping all the mitzvot. Obviously it is hard at some points to be a Jew, but the question is what you focus on. At work I deal with a lot of kids of baalei tshuva, which has become an issue in some circles because their parents left their previous milieu but were not 100% incorporated in the frum world, and many times the problems show up by the kids. I never felt like the son of a baal tshuva because I think Abba was able to make the full adjustment to the frum world and help us appreciate the beauty of Yiddishkeit.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
From Nechama Joshua
My memories of your father are all fond. He was always willing to make the transatlantic + transcontinental flight for family smachot--he could have sent your mother--but he was always a willing participant. I always felt comfortable with Daniel because he would always have a joke or kind word to pass on to me. I know how bad he felt when Michael died, and I remember a lovely luncheon I had with your parents and Avi-z"l and Nancy in Center 1 a couple of years ago. Your father always had a good family story to tell, remembering every detail. I was also impressed with the knowledge he had of my Zedy-z"l because via his shiur with him-he probably got to know him better than any of the other grandchildren. I also remember that when my neighbor was seriously injured in Santa Barbara, I was able to contact Daniel in the middle of the night and know I would get some good advice. (In this case it was to contact Chabad which turned out to be a G-dsend of course).
This Pesach season is so difficult to be without our closest relatives. I know that Pesach was so important for your father--to have the whole family together--to give as much kavod as possible to your grandparents and to have the family together for the seder.
I can only add: מן השמים תנחמון.
Love
Nechama Joshua
This Pesach season is so difficult to be without our closest relatives. I know that Pesach was so important for your father--to have the whole family together--to give as much kavod as possible to your grandparents and to have the family together for the seder.
I can only add: מן השמים תנחמון.
Love
Nechama Joshua
Friday, April 11, 2014
From Racheli's friends
It is a terrible loss, your dad was always a source of joy for me when I would come over or see your family somewhere. There was something about the words he used/way he spoke and smiled that always made me feel so comfortable and welcome--in a way very unique to him and that exceeded how I felt with any other friends' parent.
From Dalia:
I will forever remember your father's laugh, humor and seriousness when we were playing loudly as kids:) I remember your parents used to give us money for doing jobs around the house, and how he was a tough judge- we had to really do a good job to earn our allowance, and I appreciated how he always took us seriously.
From Dalia:
I will forever remember your father's laugh, humor and seriousness when we were playing loudly as kids:) I remember your parents used to give us money for doing jobs around the house, and how he was a tough judge- we had to really do a good job to earn our allowance, and I appreciated how he always took us seriously.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Brenda's speech at Daniel ז"ל's shloshim
Lessons Learned
Today I finished Shloshim—the first 30 days after burying my husband, Daniel Frederick Rubin. As a result, there should be a lightening of the sorrow I feel. First, the shock, then the burial, then the steeping in shiva, then a less severe mourning period. And now tonight, as his wife, I am supposed to be free of all restrictions. I can return to the material world. So, since I am a material girl and work out many of my demons by shopping for bargains, I can return to my old coping mechanisms. I can shop 'til I drop. However, I won’t have my best friend to return to. He never liked to treasure hunt. Often I bought things I didn’t need or like because at that price, how could I turn it down? But he always supported me in my relentless bargain hunting. Usually it was stuff I bought for him or the children or the grandchildren. He always liked getting new things and he hated shopping. When I would spend money for something ridiculous and say I really don’t know why I bought it—he always encouraged me to enjoy myself. He reassured me that I never spent so much and it was less expensive than therapy. Besides, we always had lots of gifts to give to the grandchildren when we visited them. After the children left home, I filled our closets with my bargains. Daniel loved bright colors so I was always on the lookout for bright clothes for him that were not glaring to me. When I would call up to say I was on my way home, my husband would ask, “So where are you?” because he learned that my shopping adventures took me to faraway places. The reason I am talking about this is that I learned how to love by being married to a loving man.
Daniel was the youngest child in his family. His only other sibling was his brother who was 14 years older. He had older parents who indulged him. Instead of getting spoiled, Daniel retained a sense of how loveable he was. As a result, he spread his love around. He would slap friends on the back, do shtick with them, remember certain facts about them that he never let them forget, and basically make people around him happy. I was a middle child. That should say it all. However, my parents were always afraid that we children would be susceptible to thinking too much of ourselves. Or maybe it was the evil eye that would get us. So, my parents did not tell us that they loved us when we were young. Daniel said “love” all the time, so we always showered our children with love and loving words. I remember about 30 years ago how triumphant my husband was. He called me up and said, “I just called Daddy (the name we called my father) and told him I loved him, and he said “I love you” back to me! After Daniel hung up, I got a phone call from my father saying, “Daniel just called me up and said he loved me to me and I said I loved him back. But I couldn’t just say that to him and not let you hear that I love you too.” That was one of my husband’s favorite stories.
He spread the love by going to shiva houses and doing the mitzvoth of mvaker holim and menachem ovel. I was taught that you only go to people that you know. That if you are not friends, you are imposing on that person in their time of sorrow. Under my husband’s tutelage, I started following his lead. I can tell you that he was right. I learned that when acquaintances come and give you support, it is very meaningful. I learned how to give comfort like that from my husband. I grew up Modern Orthodox. Daniel was a ba’al tshuvah. He would show me the books where different things were written. We would try to follow the law not as it was customary in my home but the way the books said. I learned from my husband how to be more Orthodox and less modern that way. For example, my husband always would stick in a “dvar Torah” during the meal. I say “stick in” because I was not used to having a dvar Torah at every meal. My husband would twist the conversation around so all of a sudden it was a dvar Torah instead of normal dinner conversation. After being bamboozled so many times, we had a rule. My husband would have to preface his “very interesting” story by saying it was a “dvar Torah alert!” That way, I didn’t feel tricked into it. Eventually, I became accustomed to the divrei Torah and enjoyed them. If I had attended a shiur, I would tell the divrei Torah. My husband always got his way. He just did it his way—a steel hand in a velvet glove.
Daniel was always interested in making new friends and learning new things. He found all people interesting and loved to learn about what people did. He would ask questions, pay attention to the answers, and remember things about people ever after. He made people happy by his interest in them and added to his own interesting personality by getting so involved in their stories. When he was diagnosed, Daniel needed to wear oxygen all the time. The disease had progressed so far so fast. People wanted to bring us food. Daniel hardly ate anything. I didn’t need more food. However, I didn’t know how I would get Daniel the company on Shabbat he loved. We used to pick up guests from shul all the time. But now he couldn’t get to shul. Besides, he was wearing a tube in his nose. People wouldn’t want to come and visit a sick house. Additionally, I needed to get Daniel to the doctor all the time. How could I cook for company? My mother came every Friday night, and it would be a somber occasion each Friday night thinking about Daniel’s illness and dwelling on his prognosis. Rina Isenberg told me people wanted to help us and that I couldn’t deny all their friendly overtures. I thought how I needed Daniel to be buoyed up by company and I needed company food. My friends and acquaintances filled up our Friday nights with fine food, fine company, and diversion. We felt the air lift as the friends came. Esther Rothberg figured out that friends could share the work. Even as Daniel’s health declined, he looked forward to our Friday nights filled with friends and good times. He would sleep all day just so he could have the strength to be there for our Friday night meal.
A friend asked me why we made our bad news so public, saying, “Didn’t you want to keep it quiet? I would. Didn’t you feel like you were objects of pity?” I asked Daniel and he replied, I don’t feel like people are pitying me. I feel the love they are expressing.” The last Friday night we had I had to warn our friends, the Samsons, beforehand. Daniel was not doing well. I asked them whether they would still come, still bring the food, still sing, and not leave if Daniel had to go to sleep. When Daniel left the table just after the chicken soup, the singing continued. Daniel said he felt good as he dreamed and heard the zmirot in the background. We felt so supported by the community. Daniel didn’t live long enough for us to party with all the friends who volunteered. We couldn’t believe all the love that was being expressed. My mother would get embarrassed and say every week, “What kind of business is this. You invite people to your house and they have to do the cooking?” And I would say, “Yes,” and thank my guests for their largesse and company. It was the highlight of our week. Thank you for everyone who did it and everyone who signed up in expectation of doing it. We felt and feel the love.
Thank you for all your prayers and visits. I just want to say that I once heard a shiur at Beth Jacob about how G-d keeps on sending angels in our days. Just that the angels are people like you who do good works. By not just cooking food for us but sitting and joining in meals with us, you lifted our spirits and spread loving kindness. G-d is in control. If I were in control, Daniel would not have died. I miss him. I need him. I can never repay everyone for your loving support (you know who you are). I hope I can learn from your example how to go into the fire with a friend, stay there when everything is burning up, and work to make that blaze a purifying burning bush. Daniel was not going to die. He was determined to live. The night before he died, I thought he still had six months to live. I started crying and said “I don’t know what I will do without you.” He answered, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” He was telling me that he had no intention of dying. When things looked really bleak, Daniel did not give in. I remember when recounting how bleak everything looked and how our one hope was fading, Daniel responded, “What can we do? We just have to take the next step.” Even in that time, Daniel placed his faith in G-d—we couldn’t call the shots—we just had to take the next step.
As many of you know, Daniel became acutely sensitive to others as he became more ill. Frieda had given me a whole lot of tapes to watch with Daniel on Downtown Abbey. Daniel could not watch the show even though he loved the series when he was well. He felt acutely the putdowns and the class struggle. He could not take the jibes, the slights, the hurts inflicted by master and servants in the intrigue. It was a job for me to find something to distract him that would not hurt him. Going to the Beverly Hills Library, I would bring home nine movies and find that all the movies had something distressing in them. We rented one movie, about a group of orphans in Nepal that learned mountaineering and climbed a mountain. The orphans never reached the summit. What the movie celebrated is the attempt. These orphans benefited by the attempt. Through their struggle, they bonded together and learned to love each other. That experience strengthened them. We loved that movie. You should take it out. Daniel and I didn’t succeed in our struggle. We never got him well. In the struggle, we learned how wonderful our friends, family and community are. I am grateful for your coming tonight. I feel that you already did more than your share by coming to the funeral or the name change and Tehilim session or our house or providing food for us. My Rabbis and friends and family encouraged me to have this memorial service. And in memorial of my husband, I want to say to each one of you, I love you. Thank you for being there for us and now for me. I hope we will only join together for smachot in the future.
Today I finished Shloshim—the first 30 days after burying my husband, Daniel Frederick Rubin. As a result, there should be a lightening of the sorrow I feel. First, the shock, then the burial, then the steeping in shiva, then a less severe mourning period. And now tonight, as his wife, I am supposed to be free of all restrictions. I can return to the material world. So, since I am a material girl and work out many of my demons by shopping for bargains, I can return to my old coping mechanisms. I can shop 'til I drop. However, I won’t have my best friend to return to. He never liked to treasure hunt. Often I bought things I didn’t need or like because at that price, how could I turn it down? But he always supported me in my relentless bargain hunting. Usually it was stuff I bought for him or the children or the grandchildren. He always liked getting new things and he hated shopping. When I would spend money for something ridiculous and say I really don’t know why I bought it—he always encouraged me to enjoy myself. He reassured me that I never spent so much and it was less expensive than therapy. Besides, we always had lots of gifts to give to the grandchildren when we visited them. After the children left home, I filled our closets with my bargains. Daniel loved bright colors so I was always on the lookout for bright clothes for him that were not glaring to me. When I would call up to say I was on my way home, my husband would ask, “So where are you?” because he learned that my shopping adventures took me to faraway places. The reason I am talking about this is that I learned how to love by being married to a loving man.
Daniel was the youngest child in his family. His only other sibling was his brother who was 14 years older. He had older parents who indulged him. Instead of getting spoiled, Daniel retained a sense of how loveable he was. As a result, he spread his love around. He would slap friends on the back, do shtick with them, remember certain facts about them that he never let them forget, and basically make people around him happy. I was a middle child. That should say it all. However, my parents were always afraid that we children would be susceptible to thinking too much of ourselves. Or maybe it was the evil eye that would get us. So, my parents did not tell us that they loved us when we were young. Daniel said “love” all the time, so we always showered our children with love and loving words. I remember about 30 years ago how triumphant my husband was. He called me up and said, “I just called Daddy (the name we called my father) and told him I loved him, and he said “I love you” back to me! After Daniel hung up, I got a phone call from my father saying, “Daniel just called me up and said he loved me to me and I said I loved him back. But I couldn’t just say that to him and not let you hear that I love you too.” That was one of my husband’s favorite stories.
He spread the love by going to shiva houses and doing the mitzvoth of mvaker holim and menachem ovel. I was taught that you only go to people that you know. That if you are not friends, you are imposing on that person in their time of sorrow. Under my husband’s tutelage, I started following his lead. I can tell you that he was right. I learned that when acquaintances come and give you support, it is very meaningful. I learned how to give comfort like that from my husband. I grew up Modern Orthodox. Daniel was a ba’al tshuvah. He would show me the books where different things were written. We would try to follow the law not as it was customary in my home but the way the books said. I learned from my husband how to be more Orthodox and less modern that way. For example, my husband always would stick in a “dvar Torah” during the meal. I say “stick in” because I was not used to having a dvar Torah at every meal. My husband would twist the conversation around so all of a sudden it was a dvar Torah instead of normal dinner conversation. After being bamboozled so many times, we had a rule. My husband would have to preface his “very interesting” story by saying it was a “dvar Torah alert!” That way, I didn’t feel tricked into it. Eventually, I became accustomed to the divrei Torah and enjoyed them. If I had attended a shiur, I would tell the divrei Torah. My husband always got his way. He just did it his way—a steel hand in a velvet glove.
Daniel was always interested in making new friends and learning new things. He found all people interesting and loved to learn about what people did. He would ask questions, pay attention to the answers, and remember things about people ever after. He made people happy by his interest in them and added to his own interesting personality by getting so involved in their stories. When he was diagnosed, Daniel needed to wear oxygen all the time. The disease had progressed so far so fast. People wanted to bring us food. Daniel hardly ate anything. I didn’t need more food. However, I didn’t know how I would get Daniel the company on Shabbat he loved. We used to pick up guests from shul all the time. But now he couldn’t get to shul. Besides, he was wearing a tube in his nose. People wouldn’t want to come and visit a sick house. Additionally, I needed to get Daniel to the doctor all the time. How could I cook for company? My mother came every Friday night, and it would be a somber occasion each Friday night thinking about Daniel’s illness and dwelling on his prognosis. Rina Isenberg told me people wanted to help us and that I couldn’t deny all their friendly overtures. I thought how I needed Daniel to be buoyed up by company and I needed company food. My friends and acquaintances filled up our Friday nights with fine food, fine company, and diversion. We felt the air lift as the friends came. Esther Rothberg figured out that friends could share the work. Even as Daniel’s health declined, he looked forward to our Friday nights filled with friends and good times. He would sleep all day just so he could have the strength to be there for our Friday night meal.
A friend asked me why we made our bad news so public, saying, “Didn’t you want to keep it quiet? I would. Didn’t you feel like you were objects of pity?” I asked Daniel and he replied, I don’t feel like people are pitying me. I feel the love they are expressing.” The last Friday night we had I had to warn our friends, the Samsons, beforehand. Daniel was not doing well. I asked them whether they would still come, still bring the food, still sing, and not leave if Daniel had to go to sleep. When Daniel left the table just after the chicken soup, the singing continued. Daniel said he felt good as he dreamed and heard the zmirot in the background. We felt so supported by the community. Daniel didn’t live long enough for us to party with all the friends who volunteered. We couldn’t believe all the love that was being expressed. My mother would get embarrassed and say every week, “What kind of business is this. You invite people to your house and they have to do the cooking?” And I would say, “Yes,” and thank my guests for their largesse and company. It was the highlight of our week. Thank you for everyone who did it and everyone who signed up in expectation of doing it. We felt and feel the love.
Thank you for all your prayers and visits. I just want to say that I once heard a shiur at Beth Jacob about how G-d keeps on sending angels in our days. Just that the angels are people like you who do good works. By not just cooking food for us but sitting and joining in meals with us, you lifted our spirits and spread loving kindness. G-d is in control. If I were in control, Daniel would not have died. I miss him. I need him. I can never repay everyone for your loving support (you know who you are). I hope I can learn from your example how to go into the fire with a friend, stay there when everything is burning up, and work to make that blaze a purifying burning bush. Daniel was not going to die. He was determined to live. The night before he died, I thought he still had six months to live. I started crying and said “I don’t know what I will do without you.” He answered, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” He was telling me that he had no intention of dying. When things looked really bleak, Daniel did not give in. I remember when recounting how bleak everything looked and how our one hope was fading, Daniel responded, “What can we do? We just have to take the next step.” Even in that time, Daniel placed his faith in G-d—we couldn’t call the shots—we just had to take the next step.
As many of you know, Daniel became acutely sensitive to others as he became more ill. Frieda had given me a whole lot of tapes to watch with Daniel on Downtown Abbey. Daniel could not watch the show even though he loved the series when he was well. He felt acutely the putdowns and the class struggle. He could not take the jibes, the slights, the hurts inflicted by master and servants in the intrigue. It was a job for me to find something to distract him that would not hurt him. Going to the Beverly Hills Library, I would bring home nine movies and find that all the movies had something distressing in them. We rented one movie, about a group of orphans in Nepal that learned mountaineering and climbed a mountain. The orphans never reached the summit. What the movie celebrated is the attempt. These orphans benefited by the attempt. Through their struggle, they bonded together and learned to love each other. That experience strengthened them. We loved that movie. You should take it out. Daniel and I didn’t succeed in our struggle. We never got him well. In the struggle, we learned how wonderful our friends, family and community are. I am grateful for your coming tonight. I feel that you already did more than your share by coming to the funeral or the name change and Tehilim session or our house or providing food for us. My Rabbis and friends and family encouraged me to have this memorial service. And in memorial of my husband, I want to say to each one of you, I love you. Thank you for being there for us and now for me. I hope we will only join together for smachot in the future.
From Elie Klein
From cousin Elie Klein, a blog post about loss and appreciating our loved ones inspired at Daniel ז"ל's funeral.
Elie: "My post proves what a special person he really was - he inspired others even after his passing."
From Racheli's friend:
I have such clear memories of his wit and humor. He was always so
chirpy when your friends came by. But it was more than that--he was
always genuinely concerned when he asked us all how we were.
Elie: "My post proves what a special person he really was - he inspired others even after his passing."
From Racheli's friend:
I have such clear memories of his wit and humor. He was always so
chirpy when your friends came by. But it was more than that--he was
always genuinely concerned when he asked us all how we were.
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